Julie dragged her thumb across the fogged-up window of the truck stop. Outside there was nothing to see but snow and sky, both the same grey. A compact car not so much drove by as it slid. After watching for a minute, the window fogged over again.

Emily kicked her legs and started humming a tune that kept changing every time she took a breath.

“Em. Stop.”

The waitress appeared out of nowhere. She glared too much out of one eye and the corners of her thin lips nearly nearly touched her jaw line. “Hey. I ain’t got all day, sweetie.”

“Just coffee.” Julie didn’t look up to confirm that she’d been heard.

“I’ll have some pancakes and a cup of hot chocolate, please.” Emily smiled so her dimples appeared.

The waitress scowled and disappeared.

Emily started humming again. She drew cartoon characters on the fogged up window. She moved the napkin holder so she could see her reflection in it, then made faces at it. She tried to build a house of sugar packets. “Whatcha writin’?”

“Just a story.” Julie didn’t look up.

”’Bout what?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. Ghosts I guess.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I do, just not normal ghosts.”

Emily cocked her head sideways and her straight blonde hair fell in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well ghosts aren’t dead people. They’re just memories. Sometimes they’re other people dreaming about them being somewhere, and they dream about it so hard that other people see them. So I guess ghosts are other people’s dreams or memories, and sometimes you can see your own memory, and sometimes only other people can see it.”

“Your coffee.” The waitress (‘Peg,’ Julie saw her nametag say) cracked a ceramic coffee mug on the table, sloshing half the contents onto the table. Peg pulled a handful of creamer out of her apron and tossed them at Julie.

“So ghosts aren’t dead people?”

Julie finished her paragraph, then looked up. “No. They’re just memories.” She grabbed a handful of napkins and mopped up the coffee.

“I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either. I don’t think we’re supposed to.”

“So how is the story about ghosts?”

“I’ll figure that out when I finish it.”

The coffee sat and got cold, was refilled, and got cold over and over. Peg eventually wandered back to the table and slapped down the cheque. “We’re closing, honey peaches.”

“But Emily never got her pancakes or hot chocolate.” Julie scribbled the final paragraph in oversized letters so that the story wouldn’t end with space at the bottom of the page.

“Who?”

Julie looked up. The diner was empty. The parking lot outside was dark and empty. The yard light cast the snow in green.

“Never mind.” Julie fished a ten out of her jacket and gave it to Peg.

“Lonesome night.” Peg walked away, pulling on her apron strings.

“Not for all of us.” Julie whispered. She drew a cartoon face on the fogged-up window, grabbed her jacket, and slipped out of the booth.