The Eastsons Chapter 7

Mr. Eastsons scowled deeper as he pulled up to the small mom-and-pop restaurant. It was 10:26 p.m., and their little one, Hana, wanted, no, needed to use the restroom. The little restaurant was the only one open, and according to the gas station they had tried earlier, it was the only business granting access to customers using the restroom facilities, provided they bought something from the restaurant. It was quite annoying because nothing he saw on their website was cheap. Everything was $3 and up. No $0.50 gum or $1 ice cream; everything was $3 and up. It was frustrating, but Hana needed to use the restroom, so he guessed it was time to empty out his pockets. It was very annoying indeed. Good thing they only had to drive less than an hour more, and they would be at the campsite. Thank goodness. No more pit stops and being pressured to buy something just to use the business’s restroom.

Putting the family blue Honda into park, Mr. Eastsons, whose full name was Jeremiah Adam Eastsons, used his rearview mirrors to cast a glance at his wife—the mother of their children—sitting in the backseat. The strawberry blonde woman was fast asleep, along with the rest of the little ones, except for Hana. Around her was a large green blanket she was sharing with the two little ones next to her. She was sleeping now to take watch later when they reached the campsite and he went to sleep. They had decided to do shifts during the nighttime while camping; it was only wise.

“Alright, Han,” Mr. Eastsons said to his youngest, shifting his mixed green and blue eyes from his wife to his daughter. “No waking mom, and let’s go.”

Hana nodded, then gently removed the blankets from around her and opened the car door, stepping out at the same time as her dad. The two closed their doors, and Mr. Eastsons locked the doors using the buttons on the car keys. Mrs. Eastsons had spare keys with her, so he didn’t bother waking anyone up to watch the doors. If they went missing, Sarah knew what to do. First, she would call him, and if he didn’t answer, she would go looking for him and Hana in the nearby stores until they were found. If that didn’t work, she would call the cops. It was their family plan, and it worked for them.

Grabbing his daughter’s hand, the two Eastsons approached the little mom-and-pop restaurant. When they entered, they found—much to their surprise—a bunch of people watching television and eating. It was getting late at night; what were all these people doing here? Ignoring the stares from the patrons, Mr. Eastsons masked his expression and approached the restaurant cashier area. Not once did he let go of his second-grader daughter’s hand; he didn’t trust these people.

“Yes?” The cashier—a light-skinned, half-Asian, half-Black young woman—asked while chewing gum. Her name tag read “Samantha.” In his head, he thought she didn’t seem like a Samantha; she looked more like a Sasha or Kisha or something. But appearances could be deceiving, just like the little restaurant they were currently in, which should have been empty at this hour but was full. Don’t most places shut down at 10:00 p.m? Where they full because it was the weekend? “How can I help you?”

“Um… restrooms?” Mr. Eastsons stated. The young woman stared at him for a few seconds before answering.

“Restrooms are only open to paying customers. No buy, no using facilities,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Right,” Mr. Eastsons replied, feeling a wave of irritation wash over him. He hated places like these, but what could he do? “Seven small cups of orange juice, seven burgers, and seven fries. To go.” He figured he might as well treat his family.

The cashier typed in some information on her end, then looked up with a joyful smile. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Your total comes up to $58. Is that alright, sir?”

“Yeah,” he grunted.

“Good. Cash or card?”

“Card. Debit.” Mr. Eastsons said as he pulled out his Wells Fargo debit card. Not once did he let go of Hana’s hand.

“Good. Good. Just insert your card and put in your PIN, and we are good to go.”

“Right,” Mr. Eastsons replied, following her instructions. Once done and with the receipt printed, he looked at the cashier and said, “Restrooms?”

The cashier nodded, then in a loud voice yelled, “José, we need restrooms. Door. Keys?”

A few seconds later, a male voice replied from what Mr. Eastsons assumed was the kitchen.

“In the 3rd drawer down. You know the code.” He answered, and the cashier nodded before bending down to the drawers below her cashier station. After a couple of minutes, she emerged with keys and guided the two of them to follow her to the restroom area. The two Eastsons complied without question.

As they made their way to the restrooms, Mr. Eastsons noticed that the news playing on a large television in the corner was covering a story about a college dropout who had run away. It featured the usual sensational details, and he tried to tune it out. But not before hearing that the runaway was armed and had a manifesto. Yep, this was America—gun violence was the norm, and he didn’t want to think about it while he was just trying to help his daughter. So he continued to tune it out and focused instead on getting Hana to the restroom quickly.