With much pleading and feigned sadness, Jack managed to convince Sarah to let him work with her and the rest of the evening staff. Gabriel was still there, Sarah explained that he stayed in one of the two rooms in the lounge while she occupied the other. According to her, she was training him for a certain role, so he needed to observe all operations until closing at midnight. She didn’t elaborate further.
Most of the night shift started to arrive around 8:30 pm. By then, the two optional meals for the night were ready. One was a spicy fish sauce with rice as a side, and the other was potato porridge laced with vegetables.
"What if they ask for more of one than the other?" Jack asked her as they got plates and cutlery ready, the menu having gone around so the visitors could make a choice. "Won't one of the meals end up being wasted?"
She shrugged and rewashed a fork that had a spot of grease. "That has never happened before. Somehow, everyone seems to know what to order to get the pots diminishing in equal proportion." She looked up into space for a second. "It’s somewhat magical."
The way she said it made Jack stare at her strangely. He should have asked her more questions, but it was time to serve. Two ladies—he hadn't caught their names—that looked as young as Danny and reminded him of his sisters appeared at the kitchen door with the menus they had chosen.
Sarah took the menus from them and started serving.
"Time to go, peeps!" she said as she and the chef opened a pot lid each. The aroma of delicious food filled Jack's senses.
Within seconds, they were passing laden plates to the girls and him.
In the restaurant, the nightlife had come alive. Laughter echoed through the room, and conversations flowed freely, just as they had during the day. Jack paused mid-step, tray in hand, drawn to the scene before him. The people scattered around the tables didn’t seem to have arrived together, yet they spoke and laughed as if they’d known each other their whole lives. And maybe they had. It was a small town, after all.
Some people never left their hometowns, never chased the greener pastures of the city. Maybe here, they had learned to truly become brothers, friends—connected by the smallest things and the simplest places, like Drago’s. Here, there was no need for pretense, no pressure to be anything other than themselves. Jack watched them, feeling for a moment as if he had stumbled into a world where people had figured out how to live, not just exist.
Jack served the tables with a big smile, not just because Sarah had reminded the servers to smile before they began taking out plates, but because it was all too pleasant for him. It was a happiness he couldn't fathom but knew that it was. Maybe smiling wide enough would eventually grant him access to partake in the easy conversation around the tables. Maybe he could become like them if he let his heart become as free as theirs.
They took pauses in between their conversations and laughter to thank him for the plates of food he put before them, and he nodded in acknowledgment. By the time the last person was served, there were tears standing in his eyes. He wiped them with the edges of his sleeves he should have rolled up before starting to work. He wiped them before Sarah or anyone else could see them. He didn’t want to be asked about them. He wouldn't have known what to say. How do you explain what you can't fully understand yourself? Where would he even start?
Finished with his task, Jack stood behind the counter with Sarah, quietly observing the world she had built. The warm, lively atmosphere buzzed around them, filled with easy laughter and familiar faces. As he watched the way people connected, it finally clicked for him—what religious folks meant when they said, "It’s not about the building; it’s the people."
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Gosh! Just look at them, Jack thought, taking in the sight of these people who made this place feel like home.
A girl in frills, her red hair catching the light, climbed onto the small wooden stage set up for karaoke. The music began to play, but the tune was unfamiliar to Jack. It was Adam Harvey's "That's What You Call a Friend."
The room respectfully quieted and focused on the somber-looking girl. When she started her first note, her voice was a clear alto. It gave Jack goosebumps. It was a beautiful song and must have been popular here. They all seemed to know the song, yet no one tried to overshadow her in her singing.
They sang under their breaths or just swayed, so focused, as though it was the first time they were hearing the song. However, in the melodious beauty of her country singing, each word seemed to pour through him. Every damn sentence seemed to make sense.
He repeated the words to his subconscious, over and over again. He heard the girl singing. He singled out the words, tying them to his soul and consciousness.
‘When the good times roll count your friends’ Jack wondered who he would count as friends. Demi for sure but who else? Maybe Golden?
‘When the chips are down count again’ Of his friends who would still be there. When he decided he couldn’t continue his life of sex and fame, who would still be there? His thoughts went back to Demi, would she still be his friend after all this? If he left this life for good, would she still be there?
The words of the song sank deep, hitting Jack with their truth—there would only be a ‘precious few’ standing by you in the hardest times, and those few were what you called friends.
As the song continued, the room seemed to fade around him. Jack found himself in a dark space, standing before a door, knocking hesitantly. He pressed the bell, unsure of why he was even there. What had led him to this door? The song’s melody still lingered in the background, but his focus was slipping. The door felt familiar, like it held something he’d long been searching for—community, love, self-acceptance—yet he couldn’t place it.
Suddenly, he was outside that same door again, but this time he wasn’t knocking. He had been thrown out. The confusion that had clouded him earlier was gone, replaced by a deeper sense of sadness and loneliness. His arms hung uselessly at his sides, aching for the warmth of a hug, for words of comfort that never came. Instead, he felt rejection—pushed away, left cold and alone.
The girl’s voice floated back into his awareness, distant but grounding. Jack stood before the door that wasn’t really there, wondering what lay behind it. He longed for a friend’s embrace, for a companion to make the loneliness bearable, but all he got was a cold dismissal. Every hope he had for connection slipped away, leaving him as that same sad, lone man, haunted by past failures.
Maybe it was all in the past—he told himself that—but it didn’t feel like it. Every thought, every feeling was wrapped in the weight of that past, magnifying it, forcing him to see it clearly.
Why?
Maybe it was so he could finally embrace the present he found himself in. Maybe it was a way to push him toward a better future.
He didn’t know what that future could hold for him, but he knew he couldn’t ignore the present any longer. He had to grab hold of it, to trust that whatever had brought him here—whatever force had led him to leave everything behind and drive to Lily Corner—was something worth following. Something that could change everything.
A burst of applause jolted Jack back to reality. The girl on stage had finished singing and was curtsying, her red hair catching the light as the crowd erupted in cheers. Jack blinked, watching her blow kisses to the audience, little tears sparkling in her eyes. She had done something special tonight, something that had moved everyone here. She deserved the praise showered upon her.
And in Jack, she had stirred something even deeper.
He joined in the applause, clapping for her, but also for the realization growing within him.
Several moments passed before Jack felt it—an unsettling sensation, as if eyes were on him. He turned his head sharply to the side, and sure enough, Sarah was watching him, her gaze fixed with quiet concern.
"You were crying," she said softly, worry threading through her voice.
No, I wasn’t, he thought, confused.
But instinctively, his hand moved to his face, and his fingers brushed against the dampness there—tears he hadn’t realized were falling.