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Unit1SomethingforstevieItrynottobebiased,butIhadmydoubtsabouthiringStevie.Hisplacementcounselorassuredmethathewouldbeagood,reliablebusboy.ButIhadneverhadamentallyhandicappedemployeeandwasn’tsureIwantedone.Iwasn’tsurehowmycustomerswouldreact.Steviewasshort,alittledumpy,withthesmoothfacialfeaturesandthick-tonguedspeechofDown’ssyndrome.Iwasn’tworriedaboutmostofmytruckercustomers.Truckersdon’tgenerallycarewhobusestablesaslongasthefoodisgoodandthepiesarehomemade.Theoneswhoconcernedmewerethemouthycollegekidstravelingtoschool;theyuppiesnobswhosecretlypolishtheirsilverwarewiththeirnapkinsforfearofcatchingsomedreaded“truck-stopgerm;”andthepairsofwhite-shirtedbusinessmenonexpenseaccountswhothinkeverytruck-stopwaitresswantstobeflirtedwith.IknewthosepeoplewouldbeuncomfortablearoundStevie,soIcloselywatchedhimforthefirstfewweeks.Ishouldn’thaveworried.Afterthefirstweek,Steviehadmystaffwrappedaroundhislittlefinger.Withinamonthmytruckerregularshadadoptedhimastheirofficialtruck-stopmascot.AfterthatIreallydidn’tcarewhattherestofthecustomersthought.Hewasa21-year-oldinbluejeansandNikes,eagertolaughandeagertoplease,butfierceinhisattentiontohisduties.Everysaltandpeppershakerwasexactlyinitsplace,notabreadcrumborcoffeespillwasvisiblewhenSteviegotdonewiththetable.Ouronlyproblemwasconvincinghimtowaittocleanatableuntilafterthecustomerswerefinished.Hewouldhoverinthebackground,shiftinghisweightfromonefoottotheother,scanningthediningroomuntilatablewasempty.Thenhewouldhurrytotheemptytableandcarefullybusthedishesandglassesontothecartandmeticulouslywipethetablewithapracticedflourishofhisrag.Ifhethoughtacustomerwaswatching,hisbrowswouldpuckerwithaddedconcentration.Hetookprideindoinghisjobexactlyright,andyouhadtolovehowhardhetriedtopleaseeachandeverypersonhemet.Overtime,welearnedthathelivedwithhismother,awidowwhowasdisabledafterrepeatedsurgeriesforcancer.TheylivedontheirSocialSecuritybenefitsinpublichousingtwomilesfromthetruck-stop.Theirsocialworker,whostoppedtocheckonhimeverysooften,admittedtheyhadfallenbetweenthecracks.Moneywastight,andwhatIpaidhimwasprobablythedifferencebetweenthembeingabletolivetogetherandSteviebeingsenttoagrouphome.That’swhytherestaurantwasagloomyplacethatmorninglastAugust,thefirstmorninginthreeyearsthatSteviemissedwork.HewasattheMayoClinicinRochestergettinganewvalveorsomethingputinhisheart.HissocialworkersaidthatpeoplewithDown’ssyndromeoftenhaveheartproblemsatanearlyage,sothiswasn’tunexpected.Therewasagoodchancehewouldcomethroughthesurgeryingoodshapeandbebackatworkinafewmonths.Arippleofexcitementranthroughthestafflaterthatmorningwhenwordcamethathewasoutofsurgery,inrecoveryanddoingfine.Frannie,myheadwaitress,letoutawarwhoopanddidalittledanceintheaislewhensheheardthegoodnews.BelleRinger,oneofourregulartruckercustomers,staredatthesightofthis50-year-oldgrandmotheroffourdoingavictoryshimmybesidehistable.Frannieblushed,smoothedherapronandshotBelleRingerawitheringlook.9Hegrinned.“OK,Frannie,whatwasthatallabout?”heasked.10“WejustgotwordthatStevieisoutofsurgeryandgoingtobeokay.”sheresponded.“Iwaswonderingwherehewas,”saidBelle.“Ihadanewjoketotellhim.Whatwasthesurgeryabout?”12FranniequicklytoldhimandtheothertwodriverssittingathisboothaboutStevie’ssurgery,thensighed.“Yeah,I’mgladheisgoingtobeokay,”shesaid,“butIdon’tknowhowheandhismomaregoingtohandleallthebills.FromwhatIhear,they’rebarelygettingbyasitis.”BelleRingernoddedthoughtfully,andFranniehurriedofftowaitontherestofhertables.Afterthemorningrush,Franniewalkedintomyoffice.Shehadacoupleofpapernapkinsinherhandandafunnylookonherface.“What’sup?”Iasked.“ThattablewhereBelleRingerandhisfriendsweresitting,”shesaid,“thiswasfoldedandtuckedunderacoffeecup.”Shehandedthenapkintome,andthree$20billsfellontomydeskwhenIopenedit.Ontheoutside,inbig,boldletters,wasprinted“SomethingForStevie.”“PonyPetealsoaskedmewhatthatdancewasallabout,”shesaid,“soItoldhimaboutStevieandhismomandeverything,andPetelookedatTonyandTonylookedatPete,andtheyendedupgivingmethis.”Shehandedmeanotherpapernapkinthathad“SomethingForStevie”scrawledonitsoutside.Two$50billsweretuckedwithinitsfolds.Frannielookedatmewithwet,shinyeyes,shookherheadandsaidsimply,“Truckers.”15Thatwasthreemonthsago.TodayisThanksgiving,thefirstdayStevieissupposedtobebacktowork.Hisplacementworkersaidhe’sbeencountingthedaysuntilthedoctorsaidhecouldwork,anditdidn’tmatteratallthatitwasaholiday.Hecalled10timesinthepastweek,makingsureweknewhewascoming,fearfulthatwehadforgottenhimorthathisjobwasinjeopardy.Iarrangedtohavehismotherbringhimtowork.Wemetthemintheparkinglotandinvitedthembothtocelebratehisdayback.Steviewasthinnerandpaler,butcouldn’tstopgrinningashepushedthroughthedoorsandheadedforthebackroomwherehisapronandbusingcartwerewaiting.“Holdupthere,Stevie,notsofast,”Isaid.Itookhimandhismotherbytheirarms.“Workcanwaitforaminute.Tocelebrateyoucomingback,breakfastforyoutwoisonme.”Iledthemtowardalargecornerboothattherearoftheroom.Icouldfeelandheartherestofthestafffollowingbehindaswemarchedthroughthediningroom.Glancingovermyshoulder,Isawboothafterboothofgrinningtruck