"Coffee?" Teresa asked as Angela sat at the counter.
"Please. And wheat toast."
"That all you're calling supper?"
"It's an installment payment. The rest comes later."
Teresa shook her head but smiled as she poured the coffee. At the far end of the counter, Walter Price was studying his check with the attention of a man reading unwelcome medical results. Walter was sixty-eight, a former Army mechanic who had worked at Fort Redstone decades earlier. He kept his brown jacket clean, though its collar had become shiny with wear, and he spoke slowly because his hearing sometimes betrayed him in crowded rooms.
Walter opened his wallet and counted the bills inside. He counted again, looked toward the window, then pushed his plate away. Angela saw his fingers hesitate on the edge of the check. She recognized that hesitation instantly, the moment when pride and arithmetic arrived at different answers.
"Teresa," Walter said, trying to keep his voice low, "could you take the eggs off? I thought the deposit would clear today."
Teresa opened her mouth. She knew Walter, knew he paid when he could, and was already reaching for the register to make the adjustment. Before she could say anything, Angela slid a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter.
"Add his breakfast to mine," she said.
Walter turned sharply. "Ma'am, I can pay for myself."
"I know."
"Then why would you do that?"
"Because today I can. You can return the favor to somebody else whenever it suits you."
Walter looked at her for a long moment. He had survived years in which strangers wanted gratitude measured as a debt, and he was wary of kindness that made an audience for itself. Angela had spoken as though paying for breakfast was no more consequential than passing a salt shaker. He sat back down and thanked her, then tried to insist that he would repay her on Friday.
"You can try," she said. "I'm very difficult to find when somebody owes me twelve dollars."
He laughed, and Teresa put the check away before he could argue again. Walter noticed the brass tag hanging from Angela's key ring beside her coffee. He leaned closer, squinting beneath his cap.
"Fort Redstone," he said. "Haven't seen one of those in a while."
Angela rested her hand lightly over the keys. "You know the place?"
"Motorpool. A lifetime ago. I drove trucks that could shake the fillings out of your teeth. Do you work there?"
"I do."
"Anything I ought to know?"
Angela smiled. "Only that a man who used to drive those trucks should eat his eggs before they get cold."
Walter accepted the boundary. He understood better than most that work could have rules a diner conversation did not need to cross. When Angela stood, wrapping half her toast in a napkin, he thanked her again and asked whether she was heading back before the weather turned worse. She checked the clock and said she had to return something before six. There was still time.
In a booth near the window, Denise Walker looked up from a physical therapy appointment card. The appointment had run late, she explained, and she was waiting for the 5:15 bus. Angela offered to drive her home, but Denise refused because she knew Angela had somewhere to be. They agreed to share supper the following weekend, and Denise threatened to inspect Angela's refrigerator for actual vegetables.