by Devney Perry
Cole had taken my car back to the station so I could drive Jamie’s truck home tonight. As soon as we closed up The Maysen Jar, I was planning on driving around for a bit, listening to Jamie’s favorite country station, then finding a spot to park and cross that item off his list.
“Hey, Poppy?” Helen poked her head into the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I didn’t look up from the carrots on my cutting board.
“That girl is back.”
I dropped my knife and wiped my hands on my apron as I hurried to the door, peeking around Helen.
Sitting in the same seat she always did—tucked into the far back corner of the room—was a young girl who’d been coming into the restaurant regularly for the past few weeks. She always came at the same time, around three in the afternoon, and always wore the same clothes, faded black leggings and an olive-green coat that was two sizes too big and hung to her knees. On her feet were scuffed black ballet flats.
But even though her clothes were old and worn, she’d put effort into her appearance. Her face didn’t need much makeup—her light brown skin was flawless—but she’d dusted her cheeks with a bit of pink to match the shadow she’d used to highlight her large caramel eyes. Her long hair hung nearly to her waist, and she’d added some product to tame the frizz from her ash-brown curls.
“Did she order anything?”
Helen shook her head. “No. She just took one of the free cookies and asked for a glass of water.”
I frowned. The girl never ordered anything. Instead, she came and sat in that corner, attempting to blend into the wall as she read the same tattered book or worked on homework.
I didn’t care that she wasn’t a paying customer. I cared that she was young—probably only sixteen—and she seemed to be surviving on my free cookies alone. She’d gotten visibly thinner in just the time she’d been coming to The Maysen Jar.
But whenever any of us would approach and offer her something, she’d politely decline and leave the restaurant. So yesterday, Molly and I had told our staff to tell us immediately the next time the girl came in.
“Do me a favor,” I told Helen. “Go put a chicken potpie and apple pie in the toaster oven, then make a vanilla latte. I’m going to get this soup on the stove and then I’ll be out.”
While Helen went to prepare the food, I hurried to finish my chopping and toss the veggies into my chicken stock. With the burner set to simmer, I washed my hands and untied my apron. When I came out front, Helen had everything on a tray.
“Thank you.” I took the tray. “Wish me luck.”
She crossed her fingers and smiled.
The girl noticed me when I hit the halfway point of the restaurant. She sat straighter, shoving a paper into her textbook before stuffing them both in a canvas backpack.
So I picked up my pace before she could escape. “Hi.” I set down the tray just as she stood from her chair. “Please don’t go. Please.”
She eyed me warily but sat back down.
“Thank you.” I took the chair across from her. “My name is Poppy. This is my restaurant.”
The girl looked to the food, swallowing hard, then back up to my face, but she didn’t speak.
“I was hoping you could do me a favor. I made a few changes to my piecrust recipe,” I lied. “Maybe you could try these and give me your honest opinion. Tell me what you think.”
“Oh, um, I don’t—”
“I know it’s after lunch and you might not be hungry, but even just a couple bites would help. And it’s free, of course. Taste testers don’t have to pay. What do you say? Lend me your taste buds?”
Her eyes dropped to the food again, and this time, she licked her lips. “Okay.”
Victory! I held back my smile and stood. “I’ll let you eat without me hovering. Just don’t leave before you tell me what you think.”
She nodded and waited for me to step back before she picked up her napkin and silverware.
I turned and walked right back to the kitchen, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder. Then I stood in the middle of the kitchen, counting to one hundred, before I came back out to the counter, pretending to take inventory of the display case.
“Is she eating?” I whispered to Helen.
“Yeah.”
I sighed. “Good. I’m going to go make the noodles for the soup so they can dry for a while. When she’s close to done, come and get me.”
Helen nodded. “You got it.”
I’d never made noodles so fast in my life. Nervous energy poured from my fingertips as I kneaded the dough, and by the time Helen came back to get me from the kitchen, I had the noodles all rolled and cut.
With a towel in my hand, I walked back to the girl’s table and smiled. She’d finished everything except for the vanilla latte, which had gone untouched. “What did you think?”
“It was really good.”
“Great!” I cheered and sat down. “I’ll keep those changes then. Did you not like the coffee?”
She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I, um . . . can’t have coffee.”
“Are you allergic?”
It was a stupid question. The minute I asked, my eyes wandered to her stomach.
Her coat, which she’d always kept closed, was now unbuttoned. Underneath she was wearing a fitted black shirt that molded to her rounded belly.
“Oh!” I smiled wider, hoping to hide my shock that this young girl was pregnant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. How about a hot chocolate instead?”
“That’s okay.”
The girl spoke so quietly, I leaned my arms on the table to hear her better. “Are you sure? I make the cocoa mix from scratch. I’d be happy to make you one . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
She pulled her coat tight around her shoulders without an answer or eye contact.
Was she afraid of me? Or was she worried she was in trouble? I didn’t want to scare her away from coming back, but I also didn’t want her to leave before I got some answers. This girl might not be asking for help, but she needed it.
“You’re not in trouble.” I gently placed my hand on the table. “You’re welcome here anytime. If all you want are cookies and water, that’s fine with me. Take as much as you’d like and stay as long as you’d like. I’ll even mark this table reserved for you.”
Her head was still ducked, but I caught a faint nod.
“And if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. I’ll leave you alone, but I’d like to get to know you. I like to know all of my regular customers.”
I waited. And waited. But she still didn’t move. I was about to give up when her face lifted and she gave me a shy smile.
“Belle.”
“Belle. That’s a beautiful name.” I held out my hand. “I’m Poppy Maysen.”
She took my hand and looked around the room. “Maysen. Spelled like the restaurant?”
“Yep.” I rubbed my hands over my arms, pretending to be cold. “It’s kind of chilly in here. I think I’m going to make one of those hot chocolates for me. Sit tight, I’ll whip one up for you too.”
Before she could protest, I stood from my chair and grabbed her tray, taking it back to the kitchen. Then I went behind the counter and got out the whole milk. I didn’t need the added fat, but Belle did.
Helen came to my side as I started the steamer. “How’s it going?”
“Progress, I think. Did you notice she was pregnant?”
She shook her head.
“Would you pack up some stuff to go? I don’t know if she’ll take it, but I can try. Maybe do stuff that will last a couple of days or is easy to reheat, like stew and a mac ’n’ cheese.”
“Got it. I’ll throw in a salad too for some vitamins.”
While Helen made a to-go bag, I whipped up two hot chocolates in our largest mugs. Then I carried them back to Belle’s table and sat. “Here you go. Cheers!”
I took a long sip of my cocoa, relieved as she did the same.
“So, Belle. Ho
w did you find this place? Do you live close by?”
She shook her head. “No, I heard some girls at school talking about it.”
“Do you go to Bozeman High?”
She nodded and took another sip of hot chocolate.
“Is this your senior year? Is that why you get out so early?”
“No, I’m a junior. But my last class is just study hall and the teacher doesn’t make us stay if we have good grades.”
A junior. Which meant she was probably only sixteen years old. Sixteen. Hungry. And pregnant. I hoped that she was at least getting meals at school.
“Do you have a favorite subject?”
“I like home ec.”
“No way! That was my favorite class too. I loved the cooking, obviously. What’s your favorite part?”
She smiled—the first genuine smile I’d seen—and it was stunning. “I love the cooking too.”
“Have you ever made homemade egg noodles?”
She shook her head.
“Well, I’m making some today for chicken noodle soup. Want to help?”
She nearly dropped her mug at my offer. “Really?”
“Let me show you my favorite part of the restaurant.” I winked. “Follow me to the kitchen.”
An hour later, I had three times the egg noodles I needed for the soup and I was letting Belle mix a batch of triple berry pie filling. I’d done most of the talking in the past hour, telling her tidbits about myself and my cooking experiences, but as we’d started with the berries, she’d finally begun to open up.
I’d learned that she was sixteen, like I’d guessed, and lived with her dad. I also found out that she’d been walking here after school on the days when she needed a quiet place to do her homework.
And that she was definitely eating for two.
“How far along are you?”
“Six months, I think.” Her shoulders folded inward as she whispered, “I’m not exactly sure.”
“Have you been to the doctor yet?”
“I don’t have insurance.”
Most sixteen-year-old kids didn’t. “What about your parents?”
She shook her head.
When she shied away even farther, I backed off the questions. I’d made a lot of progress with Belle today, and I hoped I’d earned her trust this afternoon. Maybe in time, she’d be more open to sharing about her life.
“Have you ever made corn bread before?”
She looked up and nodded. “Once in class.”
“All right.” I dug out my recipe card from the stack on the table and handed it over. “Show me what you’ve got.”
By the time five o’clock rolled around, meal prep for the next two days was nearly complete. While I’d been distracted—trying to get tidbits of information from Belle—she’d focused completely on cooking, cranking out every recipe card I handed her with utter perfection.
“Thanks for all your help.” I handed her a towel to dry her hands. “You’re welcome here anytime. You’re a natural in the kitchen.” So much so that I was going to talk to Molly about hiring her part-time. At least that way, we could guarantee she was feeding herself and her baby.
“Thank you. I had so much fun.” Belle beamed until she glanced at the clock above the sink. “But I’d better get home.” The word “home” sounded like she was swallowing nails.
As she pulled on her coat and slung her backpack over her shoulders, I went to the kitchen door and surveyed the restaurant. Helen was helping a customer at the register and a couple of the tables were full, but we still had an hour before the dinner rush.
My eyes wandered to the windows up front. It was getting dark, the winter light not lasting long these days, and it would be cold for Belle to walk. The wind was picking up too.
“Belle, let me give you a ride so you don’t freeze.”
She shook her head, pulling on a pair of mittens that had seen better days. “I’ll be okay.”
“Please?” I begged. “I’ll worry about you all night.”
She walked by me and through the door, but stopped when her gaze hit the windows and she shivered. Her beautiful eyes came to mine. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “Come on, I’m parked out back.”
I told Helen I was taking Belle home and left her in charge of the restaurant while I grabbed my coat from the office. When I opened the back door, the cold air hit me hard in the face and it only took seconds for my nose and ears to sting. I had no idea how far away Belle lived, but just a block in this weather and she would have turned into an icicle.
“I like your truck,” Belle said as she climbed inside, running a hand along the leather seat.
“Thank you.” I turned the key and fired up the heat. “So where to?”
Belle gave me directions as we drove, and as we got closer and closer to a sketchy part of town, the knot in my stomach tightened. Had she been walking home in the evenings all this way? Through this neighborhood? We were miles from the restaurant. We were miles from her school.
By the time I pulled into her trailer park, I’d made a decision. Molly didn’t need to pick a stranger to receive a free car.
I was buying a vehicle for Belle.
“It’s the last one on the right.” She pointed down the dead-end road that led through the trailer park.
Belle’s arms were wrapped around her belly as she huddled against the door. She did not want me seeing where she lived. The only reason she was letting me drive her home was utter desperation.
Just as the last trailer down the road came into view, Belle’s arms shot out. “Stop!”
I slammed on the brakes, jolting us both forward. “What?” I turned to her for an explanation.
“Can you just park here for a sec?”
“Um . . . sure.” I pulled to the side of the road.
Her trailer was three down from where we were parked, close enough to see the siding was falling apart and two of the windows were covered with plywood. I was assessing the shiny black car out front—one that was much too expensive for the owner of that trailer—when a man stepped through Belle’s front door.
The guy was tall, kind of lanky, and had perfectly styled dark hair. If not for the cigarette in his mouth, I’d consider him good-looking. Was that Belle’s dad? If it was, why wouldn’t she want to go home before he left? “Do you not want your dad to see that I drove you home?”
She shook her head. “That’s not my dad. That’s his friend Tommy.”
The color drained from her face as Tommy got into the shiny black car. She didn’t have to say anything for me to know she was terrified of him. The air in the truck turned cold with fear.
As Tommy pulled away from her house, Belle covered her belly and ducked down low below the dashboard. Only when Tommy had raced past us and his engine could no longer be heard in the trailer park did she finally sit back up.
“What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer as she stroked her baby bump.
Something was wrong. This entire situation screamed wrong. The hairs at the back of my neck were prickling, telling me that things were far worse for Belle than I could have ever imagined.
And I suspected Tommy was the cause.
I reached across the bench and put my hand on her shoulder. “Who is that Tommy guy?”
She stroked her belly without an answer.
“Um . . . do you have a boyfriend?”
She shook her head.
Damn it. That meant I couldn’t skip my next question. “Belle, whose baby is that?”
She kept her eyes down and I was sure she wouldn’t answer, but then she looked up and squared her shoulders. “Mine. This baby is mine.”
That baby was Tommy’s. She didn’t have to say his name for me to guess the truth. And given her obvious fear, I was also guessing that her child hadn’t been conceived with her consent.
“If something is happening with that guy, if he’s hurting you, then we need to go to the police.”
&nbs
p; She shook her head. “No. It will only make things worse.”
“Belle, you—”
“No!” She cut me off. “No.”
I sighed. “What about your parents?” Did they even know she was pregnant?
“I just live with my dad and he’s gone a lot. He’s kind of out of it.”
I ran a hand over my forehead. What was I going to do? I’d just met this girl, but I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing to help. If she was being abused by one of her dad’s friends, she couldn’t continue to live in that trailer. She certainly couldn’t bring a baby into that trailer.
“Is there anyone else you could stay with?” Anyone with health insurance so she could see a damn doctor?
She shrugged. “My grandma lives in Oregon, and I could probably live with her but I don’t have any money. My dad, um . . . he usually needs it.”
If money was all she needed, I’d gladly pay her way to Oregon. She could go by plane. Or by bus.
By car.
A plan rushed through my mind as I put the truck back in drive and steered us the rest of the way to her house.
When I parked and shut off the ignition, her hand shot out again. “You don’t need to come inside!”
I took her hand in mine and squeezed. “It will go faster if we both pack your stuff.”
“What?”
“Come on.” I opened my door. “You’re going to Oregon.”
An hour after I’d left the restaurant with Belle, we were back.
Belle’s meager belongings were in Jamie’s truck. She’d called her grandmother to announce her pregnancy and confirm she was still welcome in Oregon—which she was. And she’d left a note for her dad, something she didn’t expect he’d see—or care about—until she was long gone.
So while Belle was inside the restaurant using the bathroom before her journey, I was sitting in the driver’s seat of Jamie’s truck, staring at the picture I’d pulled out of the visor.
“It’s not exactly buying a stranger a car, but I think you’d be okay with it.” I touched his face. “You’ve watched over me for long enough. Look out for her instead, okay?”
His frozen smile was all the answer I needed.
I pressed a kiss to my fingers, then to the photo, before tucking it back into the visor so it could be with Belle as she drove to Oregon. Leaving the truck running, I grabbed my purse and went inside. Then I walked straight to the office safe, where I pulled out all of the cash Molly had planned to take to the bank tomorrow.
