Laura bled her way toward the kitchen. A branch caught on a sink and snapped off. Laura begin to weep, still making her way toward the coffee machine, her face growing paler and paler as the stump of the branch spurted blood onto the coffee cups.

“Oh jeez,” she said, tears falling from her face and landing like dew on her already blood-spotted leaves. “Clumsy me. Just a real Sally Knock-’em-down.”

A blond man wearing a white apron, handsome in all of the expected ways (and in this way almost forgettable), followed behind her carrying a tray of used dishes. As he rounded the corner of the table, Diane saw it was Troy.

Diane got to her feet before she even knew that was what she was going to do. He did not look at her. He trotted with his dishes. She thought she was going to say something, but she didn’t know what to say, so she just followed him. It was definitely Troy. Would she follow him into the kitchen? She wouldn’t know until the moment came.

He was nearing the swinging silver door and they were well past the restroom arrow sign, well past the point where her presence could be excused, and still she hadn’t said anything to him.

The man, and now she was starting to feel unsure that it was Troy, maybe just a man who looked similar, or even a man who didn’t look that similar at all, turned around to face Diane. As he pressed his back against the door to open it, he looked at her.

“Excuse me,” Diane said much louder than she had intended, “is this the restroom?”

He said nothing. The door swung shut, then open, in smaller and smaller increments. The man who looked like Troy was gone.

“What are you doing, Diane?” It was Laura. She was not smiling. Her branches were still bleeding a little onto the floor.

“Nothing. I just—”

“Restrooms are back that way.”

Diane pointed at the door to the kitchen.

“Nope, back that way,” Laura said, her face giving nothing away but bland service industry congeniality.

Diane walked toward the restroom, but she did not need to use it so she just slowed her way back into the restaurant and past the coffee counter, glancing into the kitchen area. She couldn’t see anyone in it.

“They’re right over there, Diane,” Laura said from across the room. She pointed with a leafy arm, her face no longer congenial, her eyes unmoving, unmoved.