"Morning, Walter," she said warmly as she approached with a menu.
Walter smiled and removed his old jacket.
"Morning, Darcy. Coffee first, please."
"Same as always?"
"Unless you've suddenly started serving something better."
Darcy laughed.
"Not in this town."
Walter settled into the booth and placed his hands on the table. His fingers were rough, marked by age and years of physical work. A small photograph was tucked inside his wallet, showing a much younger Walter standing beside a Navy ship.
He rarely showed it to anyone.
The photograph reminded him of a period when his life had been very different. He had been strong, impatient, and convinced that the world could be understood through discipline and hard work.
Time had changed his body, but it had not taken away the values he had carried throughout his service.
Darcy returned with a steaming mug of coffee.
Walter thanked her, took his medication with a little water, and looked toward the window.
For several minutes, the morning remained peaceful.
Then the diner door opened.
Sheriff Vance Hollister walked inside.
He did not enter like an ordinary customer. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, glanced around the room, and walked directly toward the counter. His heavy boots struck the floor with deliberate force.
Two men sitting near the window immediately stopped talking.
Darcy looked up from the register.
"Morning, Sheriff."
Hollister gave her a brief nod.
"Coffee."
"Of course."
He glanced across the room.
His eyes stopped at Walter's corner booth.
For several seconds, he said nothing. Then his expression changed slightly, as if he had found something that had been bothering him for a long time.
Walter noticed the sheriff watching him.
He did not react.
He simply lifted his mug and took another sip.
Hollister walked toward the booth.
"You're sitting in the wrong place."
Walter slowly lowered his coffee.
He looked up at the sheriff, confused.
"Excuse me?"
"The booth. Move."
Walter glanced around the diner.
There were several empty tables. The booth opposite him was available, as was a table near the window. Nothing suggested that his seat was reserved.
"Is there a problem, Sheriff?"
Hollister placed one hand against the edge of the table.
"I said move."
Walter studied his face.
"I've been sitting here for breakfast every Tuesday for years. There are plenty of other seats."
The sheriff's jaw tightened.
He disliked being questioned, especially in front of other people. In Clearwater County, most residents had learned to agree with him before he finished speaking.
Walter did not know whether the sheriff was having a bad morning or whether there was another reason for his hostility.
But he knew he had done nothing wrong.
"Look," Walter said calmly, "I'm almost finished. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes."
Hollister stared at him.
"You don't seem to understand how things work around here."
Darcy stopped wiping the counter.
One of the customers lowered his newspaper.
Walter placed his mug on the table.
"I understand perfectly well. I'm having breakfast."
The sheriff leaned forward.
For a brief moment, Walter thought the man might simply walk away. Instead, Hollister grabbed the edge of the table and dragged it outward.
The metal pedestal scraped against the floor with a harsh noise.
Walter instinctively reached for the tabletop.
His coffee tipped over, spilling across the laminate surface and soaking part of his napkin.
"Hey!" Darcy exclaimed.
Hollister ignored her.
He grabbed Walter by the lapel of his old wool jacket and pulled him out of the booth.
Walter's foot caught against the metal table support. His body twisted sideways, and he stumbled toward the glass pie display near the counter.
The movement happened too quickly for him to recover.
His shoulder struck the floor first.
A sharp metal corner clipped the side of his head.
The glass display shook violently, and several ceramic plates fell from the nearby counter. They shattered against the floor, sending fragments across the linoleum.
For a moment, Walter could not move.
He heard Darcy shouting his name, but the sound seemed distant. His head throbbed, and something warm began running down the side of his face.
He slowly raised one hand toward his temple.
When he looked at his fingers, they were stained with blood.
The diner went silent.
Nobody moved.
Hollister stood over him, breathing heavily. He looked down at Walter as if the elderly man had caused the entire disturbance himself.
"Get up," the sheriff ordered.
Walter tried to push himself off the floor.
His shoulder hurt, and his vision briefly blurred. He leaned against the counter and struggled to stand.
Darcy hurried around the register.
"Vance, what the hell are you doing? He's bleeding!"
The sheriff turned toward her.
"Stay out of it, Darcy."
"He's an old man! You knocked him into the display!"
"I said stay out of it."
Darcy stopped, but she did not return behind the counter.