by Leanne Davis
I saw a lot of disdain too and watched people turn their noses up at me. I have not only suffered the insult of being spit on, but I have also been threatened with violence. I’ve had insults hurled from people in passing cars, from the innocuous to the pretty horrible, based on anything from my transient lifestyle to my skin color. All of it could make a guy pretty much hate most of humanity. But for all of the bad ones, there good ones, too, like a certain unique, bold, middle-class white woman who was willing to become some kind of champion for me. Good ones like Tara.
Their son, Wyatt, lacked the understanding and willingness to accept something he wasn’t used to. After taking his girl out, he all but burned his tires in getting his point across. Tara winced and said, “He isn’t so sure about this.”
I didn’t believe that Wyatt was savvy enough to pose any threat with his anger. Hell, Wyatt was raised soft and always cared for. He thinks he’s owed that. Maybe he thinks I’m infringing on that and am a possible risk to it. As if somehow, my being here endangers his ability to live as he chooses. He seems naive to me. Sweet. I can’t imagine him being out alone, not even for one night, in the woods where I’ve traveled, or on the city streets where I’ve slept. It makes me burst out laughing. He’d wet his pants. He’s soft and coddled and couldn’t understand any kind of environment where he isn’t pampered. Just like the family he came from, he believes that my lifestyle is a total failure. That I’m lost and broken. And he sure as shit doesn’t want to save me, not like Tara thinks she can. He doesn’t want to be affected by it either.
And hell, that girl of his is hot! Sweet, shy, and as soft as he is. I rub my hands together as I sit up, staring out the window and taking in the incredible view. She is all those things, so maybe Wyatt should worry. It would be fun to mess with Wyatt for the attitude he just gave me.
I rub a hand over my face, relieve myself in the bathroom, and jump into the shower, letting the luxury of the hot water sluice over me for a good twenty minutes. Let them pay for it! I’ll take advantage of any luxuries they provide. And hell, they made me stay. I could have slept in the barn. I offered to. I really did. I knew, however, that Tara would reject that before I appealed to her so sincerely. She’d consider that close to abuse. She’d never allow a kid to stay in her barn. She sniffed her refusal; even their dog didn’t sleep outside at night, only inside. It was about then I met their black lab named Wilson who was an older dog. Having been inside for the entire event, he was never even aware that I snuck onto their land or came into their house. He was on the bed in their bedroom and only wandered down when he heard them dumping food into his bowl.
I come down and find Tara making me breakfast. Sure as shit. Breakfast! I get eggs and bacon and coffee and orange juice. It all works for me. I’m not picky. I don’t get a lot of home-cooked meals, so yeah! Hell, yeah! I’m all over it and I eagerly devour the many helpings she gives me. I hope she realizes I’ll eat them out of house and home if they allow me to. And unlike them, I already know Wyatt wouldn’t do that. He’d politely ask and apologize for eating a lot or using all the hot water. Fuck no! I’ll take what’s available whether they offer it to me or not. I’ll take advantage unless told otherwise. My attitude is: take what I can while I can.
Oddly, Tara seems pleased with my hearty appetite. She beams with pleasure.
Ryder isn’t here. Wyatt isn’t around. I don’t ask where they are. Tara informs me she’ll drive me to the café with her. I fold myself into her mid-sized, newer model sedan in a pretty blue color. Tara makes innocuous conversation during the few miles back to the town I’ve been trying to ditch for several days now. Passing the liquor store on the main street, I sigh inside my head. Even now it’s still devoid of people. How do the florist, the jewelry store, and the small grocery stay in business? I wonder. There are no homeless people sitting around. No one is out wandering the sidewalk or opening the stores yet. We arrive at a building that’s lit up with a sign that says, “Chloe’s Corner Café” and Tara pulls around the back to park beside a few other cars. We get out and enter through the back door into a bustling kitchen. I see a pretty black lady, about Tara’s age or so, who is kneading dough on a pristine counter as we enter.
“Hi, Tara… oh, who is this?”
“Chloe, meet Wesley. He’s going to be helping us out here.”
Chloe’s eyebrows rise. She’s got beautiful curly hair, ending just above her shoulders, wide-set eyes, and arching, delicate eyebrows. Her figure is lovely and curvy and she’s as short as Dani. Tara is tall and willowy compared to Chloe. The eye candy around here! It’s surprising, but welcome. Suddenly another older lady, like graying old, comes through the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the dining area.
“Hey, good morning.” Tara says with a huge grin.
The woman is heavy set with voluminous features, her gray hair twirled up in some kind of messy bun. “Morning, Tara. Who’s this?”
“This is Wesley. A friend of Wyatt’s from college. He’s staying with us for a few weeks and has agreed to help out around here while he is visiting. You know, we could always use the help and he might get a bit bored otherwise.” I give Tara a glance. Her introduction of me is so cheerful and overly casual, as if I’m really a friend of Wyatt’s and just looking for something to fill up my time. Is that the way Tara’s playing this? I guess I welcome the lie. It lets me keep a lower profile and lessens the odds of receiving more critical judgment. It generates a blind acceptance when she can avoid telling people I’m actually working off a debt for stealing from the blind charity. That sounds disgusting. Staying with friends and working just to pass the time is an entirely more constructive, albeit alternate reality.
Then the door swings open and in walks the short, petite figure of Dani Dawson. She immediately lifts her face, scanning the small crowd until her gaze lands on me. There is a subtle shift of her facial features, perhaps a hidden blush? I can’t tell from the distance that separates us, but watching her demeanor, I think there is. Maybe she is embarrassed to see me. But not because of doing something stupid while people are looking on. No. I’m sure that’s not it. I’m sure she’s confused as to why my presence is affecting her so intensely. I feel it, too. Even if I have no proof.
“Dani, you remember Wesley,” Tara begins.
Dani nods and smiles my way with a small “Hi.” It’s a squeak really. She grabs an apron from behind the door and wraps it around her uniform. On the other lady, the uniform looks frumpy and dated, but on Dani, it’s adorable and cute, and it complements her petite figure. Her hair, that lovely nest of delicate curls, is again pulled back. It curls up around her scalp and shoulder and the wispies fly over her cheeks and mouth. The apron emphasizes her small waist and her small, slender shoulders. Her breasts are not large but perfectly fitted to the slimness of her profile and shoulders. She’s actually a tiny woman.
Adorably tiny.
Maybe the most adorable I’ve ever met. I can’t stop thinking about her shy smiles and glances directed my way. “It’s filling up out there. Looks to be a busy morning,” she mumbles into my shoulder. She won’t look up at me but rushes back through the door, giving me one last smile before she disappears.
Tara turns to me. “Chloe, can we meet in your office?”
Chloe puts the dough in the oven as she nods, then washing her hands off before walking across the kitchen. We go into a small alcove and through a door. It’s a standard office, and Chloe sits down at the desk in the center of the room.
“This is who robbed Mrs. Carson the other day,” Tara announces with surprisingly little preamble. Chloe’s face startles, and she immediately turns to me with a skeptical look as she gives me more scrutiny.
“And you thought you should bring him into our kitchen? But why?”
“Dani found him in our barn. He was in a sleeping bag. He doesn’t have a home. He’s on his own, and he said he needed the money for a friend. He was sorry and I’m quite convinced of his sincerity. Ryder started to
take him down to the station, but I convinced him not to. We’re letting him stay with us and work here. He isn’t willing to share his last name with us yet. Anyway, we expect him to earn two thousand dollars and to replace one thousand to the charity as his means of making amends. I think it’s a better lesson and experience than throwing him into jail.”
I’m shocked at Tara’s bold honesty with her co-worker.
“Well, shit, that’s quite a bit to take in so early in the morning,” Chloe answers.
“Yes. I realize that. I hope you’re okay with this. I really think this is going to be better for him.”
“What if he robs us?” Chloe asks bluntly, her gaze landing on me.
“We have something of great value to him locked in our safe. I really think it means enough to keep him in line and dissuade him from robbing us if the thought should ever cross his mind.”
“You’re confident of his motivation?”
“Yes.”
I shrug. “She isn’t wrong. I actually don’t ever steal. I have this friend and she needed some help. I was only trying to help her.”
Chloe’s gaze hardens. “One chance. Wesley, was it? You don’t fuck me over, I won’t fuck you over. Deal?” She stands, leans forward and puts her hand out to me. Cut and dried. But her gaze remains sharply riveted on me.
I step forward, taking her hand in mine as we exchange a strong handshake. “Deal.” I’m surprised and pleased by the reception she gives me. I do not expect it from a business owner especially after hearing I mugged someone just days before. “Thank you. That’s really decent of you.”
“But I’m also not a pushover. So, you get another chance. Especially if Tara is giving it to you. Consider yourself warned and welcomed.”
I let out a laugh before Tara shows me where I’ll work. The dishes, the washing, the collecting of dirty dishes off all the tables. I’m shown the entire restaurant, where everything is, and introduced to the staff and even some regular customers. I guess they are anxious to get my face recognizable as people will now be seeing more of me. It’s a pleasant space, bright and well lit. Painstakingly clean with pleasant colors. A bar with single seating and many tables of varying sizes fill the window-lined room. The food is fresh, and a wonderful aroma fills the air.
I immediately go to work. Carrying a tub with me, I start checking the empty tables, clearing off all the dirty dishes, napkins, and scraps. I push it all into the tub until it’s full, and then I take it into the back where I begin processing it. I sort the scraps into the compost bin, the washing into the sink and I separate the trash from the recycling. The dishes clank into the sink, ready for rinsing and washing. Others are ready for drying and putting away. There’s always plenty of silverware to wind into the napkins that are carefully set at each table with the patrons’ menus. It’s crowded and busy with a steady stream of people. Hours pass like this. It isn’t hard work. It stays busy with dozens of unidentified voices clashing and filling my head, making it as mind-numbing as I thought it would be.
“Take a break, Wesley. This isn’t a sweatshop,” says Chloe while making pastries mid-morning.
I shrug. “I’m not paid for that though. I shouldn’t slack off.”
She gives me a quick smile. “I prefer that anyone work more and not less. You should see some of the lazy dolts I deal with in this position. Treat this as any legal form of employment. Take a break.”
Nodding, I walk into the room at the back where she points. There sits Dani.
My mood instantly perks up. I smile, turning towards the coffee provided, and I pour some. Doughnuts, muffins, and fruit are also available with plastic plates and utensils. “Free?” I ask her.
She nods. “Yes.”
I take a healthy sampling of everything, sitting down and biting into the homemade doughnut, thoroughly enjoying its sweet stickiness. I ignore my previous consumption of several pounds of food from Tara earlier today as I scarf down two more doughnuts while we sit there. Dani sips from a water bottle, browsing on her phone.
She giggles, and the sound is soft and cute, making my heart blip all weird in my chest. Which… what the hell? That’s an inappropriate response. “What are you laughing at?”
She shakes her head. Her eyes are full of mirth, and I’m convinced it’s at my expense. “Well, now you have to say it.”
“It might offend you.”
“What? I have maple glaze all over my mouth?”
“No. You eat like you are homeless and hungry. Not carefree with all of your roads of unlimited freedom.”
I sit back, staring at the last bite on the plate. I devoured the desserts in maybe forty-five seconds. The coffee still steams away. I take a small sip, letting the aromatic and heavenly bean taste fill my mouth as it slides down. Tasty. “This food—it’s hard not to scarf down. Even the coffee.”
She nods and drops her phone, folding her hands together over it. Her upper body shifts like she’s crossing her legs under the table. “It is. Chloe is a true chef, trained and certified. She goes to great lengths to get farm fresh ingredients and doesn’t skimp on anything. I think that’s why it’s no greasy spoon, not like you’d typically associate with a hometown café. She cooks with the integrity of a gourmet restaurant, but a menu that most of the small-town clientele prefer. You know? Waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, custom sandwiches, chicken fried steaks, hamburgers, all the usual favorites. But her recipes are a slice of sheer heaven.”
“I’m salivating. So, Chloe is the owner?”
“Chloe and Tara and Ryder. Ryder was married to Chloe’s twin sister, Wyatt’s mom. She was murdered when he was three in a shocking and sick case of obsession in a love triangle. Anyway, Ryder was originally exposed to the restaurant by his first wife. Then he married Tara, who was a waitress here and eventually moved up to help with the books and management and yeah, now they own it.” She drops her head, picking at her phone’s cover. “I don’t know why I gave you their entire life history.”
“Because of my acute listening skills,” I say with a small smile. I have a dimple that gets admired a time or two by girls before they fall for the charm of my smile. Why not flash it now? But Dani just drops her head and tugs at a wayward, flyaway curl at her ear.
“So, you’re saying Ryder is really Wyatt’s dad?”
She lifts her head. “Oh. Yeah. He’s his dad.”
“Oh, I assumed they adopted him.”
“No. You shouldn’t assume. I should think you’d know that.”
“So, you and him… how long have you been a thing?”
“Years. Since we were in high school.” I wince at the small-town quaintness of them. Yuck. Years? They were basically babies in the ways of the real world and even in what life might have to offer them. They didn’t even know how naive they were. And being together in this small town, they wouldn’t get world-weary anytime soon. On Dani, however, naivety is sweet and hot as hell, which I find kind of confusing. I don’t usually go for innocent or clueless girls, especially those who are so provincial. But I kind of like it in Dani’s demeanor.
“And now you work here?”
“Full time for the summer. I have one more year at the community college. I start in late September.”
“Oh.” I hold in the eye roll. I truly believe a library card could give her the knowledge of the world, the stuff that universities exchange for stupid wealth before they pass it on to you. But hey, it’s the thing to do. The proper and “only” path to success, or at least that’s what many young people are told. As if they’ll fail if they don’t do that. So, duh, this girl, I’ll just bet, follows every rule of society, both written and unwritten, so of course she’s going to college. And she will accrue a sizable debt that will lower her credit score and create extra financial stress for at least a few decades.
“Ah. Where and why?”
She smiles, her lips all glossy with a soft, shiny sheen. Her tongue licks them. “Just over twenty miles away, there’s a community college. Eventua
lly, I want to be an orthodontist. But that’s a good ten years from now. First, I need my associate’s degree, then I’ll transfer to a four-year university to finish my bachelor’s, then onto four more years of dental school and after that, two or three years of an orthodontic residency.”
I choke on my sip of coffee. I start to sit back on the chair legs, but flop down at the same moment. “An orthodontist? What… what makes that a girl’s dream? An obsession with straight teeth?”
“Money. Status. It guarantees me a wonderful salary in an industry that is always in high demand so it’s not like the work will ever dry up. It’s also a doctor, and I like the prestige, but I’m too squeamish to be a medical doctor. I can’t handle needles, tissue, blood, dissections or bodily fluids. But orthodontia is more about gadgets and gear. I think I’ll be good with that. The hours are reasonable, and in fact, they’re even less than most jobs once you’re established. And in the end, I’ll need no one… ever. I’ll always be able to support myself quite well.” She meets my wide-eyed gaze of surprise and gives me a little shrug and a smile as she looks away again.
My mouth shuts. “That’s a well-thought-out answer. And goal. And dream.”
“Yes. I am always thoughtful, and I must have plans. Long and short term.”
I blink. “Wow, we couldn’t be more opposite.”
“No. Obviously.” She gives me another endearing smile. Teeth. The girl dreams of fixing teeth. I’ve honest-to-God never met anyone who thought through such a goal as being an orthodontist. Maybe later on, it would become a practical solution, but to already have it as the end goal? The biggest dream out of life? Wow, not something I would ever pick. It makes sense when it’s articulated, but not at all the typical career for someone our age to dream about. Ten to twelve years of schooling? I can’t even comprehend it. I think of all the places I’ll go in that time. All the states I’ll see. And as many countries as I can. I have so much to learn. And do. And experience. The difference for us is I’ll be out living life and meeting real people while she studies about life in a prescribed setting and sterile classroom.
