It is the summer of 1961. I rush into the diner as always, mostly on time but rarely early. It’s unusually quiet for the start of the lunch hour. Lil has assumed her usual spot at the far end of the counter, no coffee, no cigarette, waiting restlessly for a customer, any customer to arrive. 

Anna has taken over one of the booths to tackle a huge pile of paperwork. A young man in his twenties is sitting at the opposite end of the counter from Lil. With nothing but an opened book before him, I wonder at Lil’s lack of attention.

The stranger has dark hair, neatly parted, and combed back sleekly with some product, I assume. His horn-rimmed glasses, the thick tome whose passages he’s highlighting, and his pale blue button down shirt suggest he may be a very young instructor at Proctor Academy’s summer school.

As I offer him a menu and water, I notice he’s wearing an apron, just as Anna jumps up to explain. “This is our son, James, just home from prep school. He’ll be Bud’s relief at the grill this summer.” 

Turning to James, Anna says, “This is Nancy, the new waitress we hired to help Lil during lunch and to work the dinner hour after Lil leaves.” I blush slightly as he nods and accepts the water I’ve delivered. He denies the menu with a grin. 

As he returns to his reading, I think I might be meeting my fourth boss. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Lil shifting on her stool, looking in our direction. I excuse myself, though both James and Anna have already returned to their tasks. 

As my confidence and ability as a waitress has improved, Lil has fewer horror stories to tell about me. I wonder if she is missing that. Will James be her new target? Nah, the owners’ son — probably best not!

Many restaurant customers tip according to service, and at a diner such as Quimby’s, speed and accuracy are key. A waitress has some control over accuracy but little over how fast the cooked food arrives. 

Lil, nearly whispering, says, “Tips are best with Bud at the grill, but Anna, with the parsley and cleaning the edges of a plate, ugh. Sometimes every second counts! Tips can suffer and it ain’t your fault, Kid.”

Now I’m Lil’s audience. What will she say about James? 

“James can be faster than Bud, imagine that! But his mind wanders. Don’t talk to him when he’s cooking. Don’t ask questions. 

“Don’t flirt, if you get my drift. He doesn’t date townies, anyway, so forget that.”

James turns out to be quite the conversationalist. Orthopedic surgery is the subject of the textbook he’s poring over, and I learn his dream is to be a surgeon. When he discovers I’m interested in nursing, he’s off and running. 

“Look at this amputation method. See how the skin is cut to cover the bone, like a V. Brilliant, right?” 

I gulp, second-guessing my future plans. He is relentlessly enthusiastic, and I find it sweet until the grill orders begin to pile up and I share a worried look with Lil, my new ally.

The fall season brings more activity to Quimby’s when the Proctor Academy boys return. The diner shares a boundary with the campus, and despite generally strict rules for the students about leaving the grounds, coming to the diner is allowed during certain hours. Since this is my first September working at the diner, Anna starts to prepare me. 

“They just wander all over the restaurant, gabbing with each other, and never sit down. They all want frappes — you know milkshakes with ice cream added, and fries. Only one scoop per frappe, but they’ll tease and whine for more. 

“It is always a mad rush. I’ll be at the fryer as Bud is often resting before the dinner crowd.” The mayhem Anna describes will occur during my shift; Lil will be off by that time of day. 

Yikes, I’m worried but I’m also excited. I wonder why my high school friends don’t ever come into the diner, even though Quimby’s is just across the street from the school. That would be so fun.

On that first Friday, about six Proctor students arrive and behave just as Anna predicted. One senior — red headed, slightly quirky, fun loving, handsome, and sweet — well, he catches my attention, for more than what he orders.

“Whoa, who’s the new girl? Where’s Lil?” 

My cheeks redden just a little. I’m braver now; I can banter with the best of them. But my curiosity is still with the red-head, whose eye contact I seek and receive. Yahoo!

One afternoon I’m relegated to the back kitchen for dishwashing. The serving window between the dining room and kitchen is useful for conversation and diversion so there is no surprise when my red-headed friend, John, appears. During some back and forth teasing I grab the spray hose, aim, and fire, just as Bud appears at the door. 

I am convinced my waitress career, and my fun, ends here and now. But Bud shakes his head and with a smirk returns to the grill.

After several months, John and I become high school sweethearts. I invite John to be my king at Andover’s high school prom, an unprecedented move at my school as, traditionally, the elected queen chooses a fellow senior to be her escort. My classmates generously accept my choice. 

John later introduces me to Boston’s north shore and live action at the Red Sox. Two years later our lives are happening at two different colleges, and John knows, before I do, that our “now” is more important for each of us than holding on to an unlikely future. My days at Quimby’s ended when I left for nursing school, grateful for life lessons learned through the support of the Maguire family and from Lil, who taught me the importance of laughter, even laughing at oneself.

Bud died in 1978, I believe in his early 60s. Anna, I discover, not only managed Quimby’s, but taught at Proctor, oversaw apartment rentals, and was a parent to another son whom I never met. Anna remarried and lived into her 90s in New London with her expanded family. 

James, who died at age 71, did not become a surgeon but lived a full life — a linguist in Arabic for the Army, Bronze Star in Viet Nam, and a PhD research sociologist, as well as a culinary talent. According to John’s sister, with whom I worked for many years, John, now 80, is well, happy, and despite living in DC, a fervent Red Sox fan.

I have lost track of Lil. She would have loved this story.