Vengeance

7 MEDINA FALLS, ARKANSAS

Sarah Greenwood stood beside the table in Irina’s Diner, pen and pad in hand, as a customer perused the menu. While she waited for him to place an order, another patron entered the crowded restaurant, and Sarah mentally updated the growing list of those waiting to be served, prioritized by their arrival time. It was busy this weekend, as usual, with Sarah helping her mom out in the evenings while her dad handled the cooking duties all day, assisted at night by an ever-changing list of teenage assistant cooks looking to make a few bucks.

After waiting on the same customers for several years now, Sarah could take most orders without asking. However, Leonid Romanko rarely ordered the same meal in succession, and tonight the elderly gentleman was particularly indecisive, flipping the single-sheet menu from back to front.

My goodness! There really aren’t that many options to choose from!

“How about the borscht, Mister Romanko? Or perhaps the pelmeni dumplings? Some authentic Russian food tonight?”

It was an appropriate recommendation. Irina’s Diner was named after Sarah’s mom, a first-generation immigrant from Russia, and the menu included several popular dishes from her homeland. Many of the customers enjoyed the food, given that fifteen percent of the town’s population were Russian immigrants.

“I’ll have the borscht,” Romanko decided.

Sarah scribbled down the request and hurried toward the kitchen, where she added the order to the dozen slips hanging from the cook’s clip line. As she moved to the next customer waiting to be served, she glanced at the stranger sitting at the counter. A week after his arrival, he was a regular at the diner now, stopping by for lunch and dinner each day. He was staying in Miss Potter’s guest cottage, earning money by doing odds and ends around her house and yard: repairing gutters and fences, and even fixing some of the stubborn windows that had warped and stuck shut over time.

The mystery man was a topic of conversation at the diner, with patrons wondering who he was and what had brought him here. The only thing anyone had learned thus far was his first name — Jake. Not even Miss Potter had learned his last name or anything noteworthy about him. However, Sarah had drawn her own speculative conclusion. He was half Russian. One-third of Sarah’s friends were half Russian, and while it was difficult to determine their other ethnicities, she could spot the Russians in the crowd. Perhaps Medina Falls’ high percentage of Russian immigrants was what had drawn the stranger to town.

There was something more, though. The man seemed wary for some reason, always sitting at the counter on a stool offering a clear view of the front door, surveying the customers as they entered. His eyes occasionally swept across the entire diner, taking everything in. He had eaten in the diner more than a dozen times now and despite her repeated attempts, Sarah had learned nothing about him, as the man routinely deflected or ignored her questions.

Sarah’s attention was caught by a louder than normal conversation at the counter. Mikhail Goergen was haranguing Irina about the food he was waiting on. He and Irina were good friends, both from the same region in Russia, and the two would occasionally banter back and forth about one topic or another. Tonight, Goergen was complaining in Russian about the slow service.

Irina fired back, also in Russian. “When we lived in the Soviet Union, you remember what we called a four-hour breadline? Fast food!”

Sarah, who also spoke Russian, laughed at the joke, as did Goergen. But what caught Sarah’s attention was that the stranger, sitting at the counter nearby, broke into a grin. Her hunch had been correct. Jake spoke Russian, and was likely at least half Russian.

After dropping off her latest order, Sarah stopped by the stranger, speaking in Russian. “Your smile gave yourself away, Jake. You understood what my mom said. Are you full-blooded or half Russian?”

He didn’t immediately answer, so she added, “My guess is half Russian. Mom or dad?”

He finally answered. “Mom.”

“That means you probably don’t have a good Russian last name,” she said, shifting back to English. “What is it, again? I don’t recall.”

She caught a flicker of a smile on the man’s face. “Nice try, Sarah.”

For some reason, his smile made her feel good. Most of the time, the man seemed lost in his thoughts, a distant look in his eyes as he seemed to be recalling painful memories. Tonight was the only time she had seen him smile the entire time she had been around him.

“This is a monumental moment,” she said. “I’ve learned something about you.” She leaned closer to him. “Care to share any other tidbits tonight, like where you’re from, what brought you here, and how long you plan to stay?”

The man surveyed the diner’s patrons, then returned his gaze to Sarah. “It looks like you’ve got several customers waiting to place orders.”

Sarah sighed. Jake was right. She had already dawdled too long.

“Some other time, then,” she said, “when you’re in a more talkative mood.” She smiled and said, “Don’t make me wait too long.”

She hurried to her next customers, quickly taking their orders. When she looked back toward Jake, his stool was empty. Just some folded-up money on the counter, paying for dinner. Each time, she hoped he would pay with a credit card, so she could at least learn his last name and begin unraveling the mystery, but he always paid with cash.

The curiosity gnawed at her.