January 22: EAVESDROPPER. Many Thanks to Angela for today’s prompt, as we take a moment or two each day this month to reflect on words that come from the community. And thanks to Linda G Hill for getting us organized!

It started in his ears, a soft buzzing that originated from the high booth next to him. They’d come in from the cold, two women with long coats unzipping with such zest that he missed their initial conversation, after their loud greeting to the waitress, Margo, who seemed to always be working, at this particular breakfast and lunch café.

The women (Pamela and Suze) had been regulars long before he had become one, and they slid into their usual booth just behind him, shaking the foundations of the entire row of booths. No need for him to slide down and hide himself; he’d gotten there early and ordered and received a coffee and vacuum pot, French toast topped with a fried egg over easy, and three sausage patties made in-house. His maple syrup bottle rested in its throne next to the tower of square packets of jelly with too many marmalades. Salt and pepper stood guard, ready to serve when their tops were twisted, tall and silent as palace guards. The waitress wouldn’t be visiting him for awhile.

The women placed their orders, asking for their usual, which Margo—clever woman that she was—had memorized and was now communicating to the cook behind the service hatch with a nod and a raised eyebrow. He waved his pancake flipper. Tips were better that way.

The soft buzzing began again, and he adjusted the volume on his surveillance earpiece and lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. He sipped quietly as they “spilled the tea.” So much gossip! He had to listen and not laugh out loud; at some point, the key info would be dropped and he’d have to move on it right away.

Their orders arrived with a clatter and jangle of plates and cutlery, and he had to adjust the earpiece again. Margo asked if there was anything else they needed, they cheerfully replied that everything looked and smelled delicious as usual, followed by the very soft sound of blowing and sipping at their very hot coffee, black. Up went the volume on his piece, and he sliced and dipped another piece of French toast, following it up with a chunk of sausage, also dipped in syrup. This really was one of the best parts of his job.

“So Pamela,” said Suze, sotto voice, “The troops come in after midnight, special train at the Frontage Wildlife park. Expect 3,000 boots.”

“Got it,” answered Pamela, adding primly, “And it’s about time. These breakfasts are doing a real number on my waistline.” She paused, then asked, “3000 boots? What is that?…”,  murmured and groaned a bit, “Math’s not my strong suit. How many bodies?”

“Never mind,” hissed Suze. “I’ll connect up with Horace. You just keep your mouth shut.”

“Never would have figured Suze to be the brains in this partnership, but there you go,” he thought. Forking up his last bite of French toast and sausage and washing it down with the last of his coffee, he rose, leaving $25 on the table, and the two masterminds in their own booth. He tipped his head at the cook and Margo as he strolled away, zipping up his down vest, after buttoning up the extra heavy winter flannel jacket. He’d skip the black watch cap for now; the sun was out and the temperatures were just below freezing.

The bell over the door jingled as he pulled it shut behind him. Pamela and Suze stood up, grabbing their coats, and followed.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2026) 

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