Cathy, the nightshift waitress at Bill’s 24-Hour Coffee Shop, walked to the booth in the back and started cleaning up Larry’s mess. She was not at all surprised by his lousy tip.

He had sat there on his computer for nearly three hours, sucking down three pots of coffee and devouring four apple crumb muffins. The stench of his smoldering pipe tobacco would take hours to dissipate.

She could tell that the redhead didn’t want to be there. Cathy didn’t blame her. And the woman never even had any­thing to eat or drink. The jerk probably wouldn’t allow it.

There was a napkin on the woman’s side of the table that had been used and neatly refolded. Odd, she thought. She picked it up, opened it, and saw smeared mascara. She had thought the woman might have been crying. Probably being abused. Cathy knew something about that. Leave him, Honey—he’ll never change.

**********

It was 6:02 AM when Greg pulled into the IHop parking lot in The Woodlands. Funny name for a city, he thought: The Woodlands. Why not just Woodlands? But he didn’t really care what the name of the city was. He just wanted to get Cynthia back—safe and sound.

Sandy had called his cell and suggested they get some breakfast. Greg didn’t want to stop, but he was feeling a little weak.

“I’m starving, Man,” said Sandy as he got out of his car. He and Rebecca had kept each other wide awake by exchang­ing stories about themselves.

“You were driving awfully fast, Greg,” said Rebecca.

“Sorry,” said Greg, even though he really wasn’t.

“No,” she said. “I like to go fast.”

Sandy caught the double meaning, and smiled at Rebecca. She smiled back at him, but he wondered whether she was smiling for the same sexy reason.

Greg saw different smiles than he had seen between them earlier at the hotel. Like two people with a secret. Like two lov­ers. Lovers? How could they be lovers? They’d been driving down the interstate at 85 mph. Although…he wouldn’t put it past Sandy to attempt it. I must be getting delirious, he thought.

As soon as they had been seated, Greg got up to walk to the bathroom. On the way, he passed a table that had not yet been cleaned, and stopped in his tracks. There was a paper napkin that had obviously been used and then neatly refolded. And the silverware had even been placed back on top of it.

“Did you see who was sitting here last?”

The waitress seemed uneasy with his question.

Why? What did she know that she was not saying? Then he realized the wild look in his eyes was probably scaring her.

He spoke confidentially. “I’m sorry. My girlfriend is miss­ing, and I thought she might have been here.”

“Well, this isn’t my table, but I did notice the woman. She had beautiful red hair.”

“Yeah—that was her. How long ago did they leave?”

“Five or ten minutes.”

Greg rushed to Sandy and Rebecca, who were looking over the menu.

“We’ve gotta go. Now!”

“We were just about to order,” said Sandy.

“They were here. He brought her here.”

“How do you know?” said Rebecca.

“I just do. Come on!”

Greg hustled out of the restaurant, with Sandy and Rebecca close behind.

As they hurrying to their cars, Greg said. “I saw a napkin. It had been used and then refolded—just like Cynthia does it.”

“A napkin?” said Sandy.

“Yes. She always does that. It’s a habit. And the waitress said she had beautiful red hair. I’m telling you—it was Cyn­thia!”

“But, Greg,” said Rebecca, “we don’t know which way they went.”

Greg looked at the cars and trucks flying by in both direc­tions on I-45. “I know, but we can’t just sit around while he gets away. We were so close. They must have just pulled out when we drove in.” An idea flashed through Greg’s mind. “We can split up and go to every gas station and any other place that’s open and ask if they saw them.”

“Well, it’s only a little after 6:00. Not much is open this early,” said Sandy.

“That’s good,” said Greg. “That should make it easier. I’ll go south and y’all can go north.”

“He might not have even got back on the freeway,” said Rebecca.

Greg waved his arms in the air wildly. “I don’t care. Let’s just go, and hope we get lucky.” He jumped in the Bonneville, cranked up the big V-8 and drove off.

Sandy shook his head. He wanted to help his buddy, but his stomach wanted to go back inside for tall stack of pancakes. “Let’s go.”

He and Rebecca got into Sandy’s silver Impala and took the feeder road to the next street, made a U-turn and headed north.

**********

“May I help you?”

The diminutive elderly woman was startled by the huge man standing over her. It was only 8:00 AM, and the grocery store had just opened. If she cried out for help, would anyone even hear her? But then she realized it was only Crow.

Kroger Bagley, Jr. was the 6’ 2”, 235-pound 29-year-old son of a grocer who was himself the son of a grocer. He had worked for his dad at Bagley’s Food Mart in Sugar Land since he was 16.

“Oh, Crow, you scared me,” she said as she slapped his arm.

To him, her slap felt like the brush of a feather. “I’m sorry, Mrs. uh…Jacobs. You need something off the top shelf?” He jumped into a karate stance, and looked like he was about to attack the shelves at any moment. Then he squinted as he sur­veyed the upper rows of cereal boxes.

Mrs. Jacobs watched him for a few seconds. It was as though he might be able to figure out what she wanted if he just stu­died them long enough. Such a nice boy, she thought. Not too bright though.

“The Nabisco Shredded Wheat,” she said.

“Oh!” He snapped his fingers as though he almost had it.

“You’ll get it next time, Dear.”

“Here you go. Have a great day, Mrs. Jacobs.” He grinned at her and waved broadly as she ambled down the aisle.

Then he heard something hit the floor and break on the next aisle.

“Zachary, I told you not to touch anything.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” said the young boy, with no hint of sin­cerity.

“Well, you’re gonna be sorry when I get you home, Mis­ter.”

Crow ran around the end of the aisle and up toward the scene of the accident.

Zachary started crying when he saw the big man barreling toward him at full speed.

His mother said, “I’m sorry about this. Look, just at it to my bill.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, Ma’am,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. “I just don’t want anybody to slip and fall down.”

He took the walkie-talkie from his belt and held it to his mouth. “I need a cleanup on aisle seven, Johnny.”

“Thanks.” The young lady rolled her cart down the aisle, fussing at her son all the way.

The pretty lady reminded Crow of his girlfriend. Well, she wasn’t really his girlfriend yet. But he could tell she liked him a lot.

It had been about a year since he had told everybody at the dinner table that he was moving out. His dad was shocked and his mother started sobbing. He later realized she was crying because she didn’t think he could make it on his own. His 79-year old grandfather had said, “Well, it’s about time, boy.” They were all impressed that he had already located and signed paperwork for an apartment. It was only a few blocks away—but still.

At first his mom and dad took turns dropping by his place to check on him. But after a couple of months it sunk in: he could actually survive on his own. Although, his mom was still not convinced he was eating well enough. Did a grocery store mom spend more time worrying about her children eating veg­etables than a typical mom? He didn’t know. She was the only mom he’d ever had.

On the very first day at his new place, he had bumped into his girlfriend. Of course, she was not his girlfriend then. They hadn’t even met yet.

She was standing at the mail boxes when he drove up. And just as he was approaching, she turned to walk away with her mail. He had accidentally caught her with his right shoulder and knocked her backward, sending her mail into the air. He grabbed her just before she could hit the ground.

He had apologized like crazy. But she had seemed more amused than upset.

Later that night he had heard a knock and thought someone was at his door. So he opened it and saw a pizza delivery guy standing across the hallway. When the door opened—it was her again.

He just stood there watching like a puppy as she paid the delivery guy and he walked off.

“You like pepperoni?” she said.

“Sure.”

And that was how it all started. Pizza and TV. Or Chinese takeout and a movie.

They were great friends. And to him, much more.

She laughed at him a lot—sometimes when he wasn’t even trying to be funny. But he didn’t care. He loved to make her laugh. But he did wonder why she never wanted to go out to eat or go out to a movie. Or out anywhere.

So, she wasn’t his girlfriend yet. But he was already her boy­friend—even if she didn’t know it.

Someday, the Food Mart would be all his…and so would she.

Mr. and Mrs. Kroger Bagley, Jr.

Crow and Chaucey.