The bell over the door rang as the last of the lunch customers left the diner. Hare stacked the plates, barren except for uneaten crusts and crumpled napkins. She dumped out the mostly finished mugs and wiped the coffee rings from the counter, picking up the little stacks of nickels and dimes as she travelled its length.
The ferry whistle blew.
She washed the dishes. Outside the ferry slipped around the point, heading back to the mainland. Hare counted the days’ tips and figured it would take three more weeks of scrimping to have enough money to finally leave him.