A television mounted in the corner displayed a weather alert. The meteorologist pointed toward a rapidly worsening storm and warned that temperatures were dropping toward 12 degrees Fahrenheit, with wind making conditions feel even colder.
People were being urged to get indoors immediately.
Customers began requesting their checks.
Maria wiped down her final table and grabbed her coat.
"Lashonda, I have to go. The babysitter just texted. She's worried about getting home."
"Go," Lashonda said. "I'll close."
"You sure?"
"I need the extra hour anyway."
Another hour meant another $12.
Maria squeezed Lashonda's arm.
"Be safe, okay? Last bus is 11:30."
By 10:30, the final customer had left.
Wind rattled the windows.
Ice began forming along the corners of the glass, and snow came down so heavily that the streetlights were becoming difficult to see.
Dmitri had left Lashonda the keys with strict instructions to close before midnight and be careful going home.
She began the familiar routine.
Wipe the tables.
Stack chairs.
Count the register.
Sweep.
The radiator clanged as it struggled against the cold.
Lashonda glanced at the clock.
10:43.
If she finished by 11:15, she could still catch the last bus.
Then she saw him.
A figure moved beyond the frosted window.
Lashonda stopped sweeping.
She stepped closer to the glass.
The man appeared to be around 70, with silver hair. He wore wool trousers, leather dress shoes, and a thin cardigan sweater.
No coat.
No hat.
No gloves.
He stood in the middle of the sidewalk turning slowly, as though searching for something he could not remember.
His shoulders were hunched against the wind.
Even through the window, Lashonda could see him shivering.
She stood holding the broom and watched.
He did not knock.
Did not wave.
Did not ask for help.
He simply stood there patting his pockets again and again, confusion visible on his face.
A stronger gust hit him.
Snow swirled around his body.
He stumbled and caught himself.
Lashonda looked toward the clock.
10:47.
Forty-three minutes until the last bus.
She should finish closing.
Leave.
Catch the bus.
Get home.
This was not her problem.
Then Diane's voice appeared in her memory as clearly as if her mother were standing beside her.
Baby, we don't have much, but we have enough to share.
Lashonda set the broom aside.
She walked to the front door and tapped against the glass.
The older man turned toward her, squinting through the storm.
She motioned for him to come inside.
He hesitated.
Then slowly crossed the sidewalk.
Lashonda unlocked the door and pulled it open.
The cold struck her face immediately.
The man stumbled inside.
She closed and locked the door behind him.
Up close, the situation looked worse.
His lips had a bluish tint.
His hands trembled violently.
Snow covered the shoulders of the thin cardigan and was already melting into the fabric.
His eyes seemed unfocused.
"Sir, are you okay?"
Lashonda guided him toward the nearest booth.
"Sit down. Let me get you something hot."
He sank onto the seat.
Lashonda rushed behind the counter and poured coffee.
She brought sugar and creamer too.