AMERICAN PIE: Wednesday Nights
By the time Mylea stepped into the sports bar that evening, the place had already settled into its usual rhythm.
Low conversations drifted between the booths while the television over the bar played highlights of Scott L. flying through another ring of fire somewhere out west. A few regulars shook their heads, laughed under their breath, and went back to their drinks.
Mylea tied her apron and moved behind the counter.
Everybody at North Point knew the routine.
Every Wednesday evening, Lenny stopped in before visiting his wife.
Not early.
Not late.
Always Wednesday.
A little later the front door opened and Lenny stepped inside carrying his old brown jacket over one arm.
“Evenin’, Len,” Manny called out.
“Hey, Manny.”
Mylea looked up and smiled.
“The usual?”
“You already know.”
She reached beneath the counter for the boxed apple pie while Manny started putting together the children’s meal Lenny always asked for before going to see his wife.
“How’s she doing?” Mylea asked.
“Little tired this week,” Lenny said. “Still says the nurses can’t make coffee.”
Mylea laughed softly.
“She’s probably right.”
Lenny smiled and laid a fifty dollar bill on the counter beside his credit card.
Mylea immediately shook her head.
“Lenny, that’s way too much.”
He gave a small shrug.
“She still likes the pie.”
Then he smiled to himself.
“And she still steals my fries.”
That pulled a quiet laugh out of Manny behind the counter.
Lenny straightened his credit card carefully with his fingertips before sliding it toward Mylea.
“Gotta wash up before I head over there,” he said.
“You already look nice,” Mylea answered.
Lenny smiled faintly and disappeared down the hallway toward the washroom.
The moment he was gone, one of the regulars near the corner booth leaned forward.
“I got the meal.”
Another man nodded toward the tip.
“Put that on mine too.”
Manny glanced toward Mylea.
She smiled softly and gave a small nod while Manny slid Lenny’s untouched card back across the counter and quietly closed out the check another way.
Nobody made a big deal out of helping him.
That was part of the kindness too.
When Lenny came back, Mylea handed him the pie, the meal, and his credit card.
“There you go.”
“Appreciate it.”
As far as Lenny knew, everything had gone through like always.
He gave everybody a small wave before stepping back out into the Baltimore night carrying the pie carefully in both hands while the soft glow from the television flickered quietly across the bottles behind the bar.
