For one reason or another, she was embarrassed at Emerson seeing her in her uniform.
“Hey, Farris.” Emerson ticked his chin her way in greeting.
Theron saluted from his brow.
She turned away to get the order the cook set on the back counter after dinging the bell. Picking up the plate, she walked it over to the man in the far booth and slid it onto the table.
“There you go. Anything else I can get you? More water?” she asked, setting his bill upside down within reach.
“No, that'll do it.” He dug into a pocket for money, checked the bill, and set a ten down. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.” Farris plucked the ten off the table and walked it back to the register. She made change and tucked her tip into a pocket on her apron.
Tips were one thing that made this job somewhat tolerable.
Farris, done with that, turned to face Larissa and the girls again, hoping against hope that they knew what they wanted and she could get their order out of the way.
What she found was Larissa peering around at Emerson past the white-blonde length of her hair. There was no mistaking the coquette look or the come hither pout.
Emerson didn't seem to notice. He slid into a booth with Theron after shrugging off his coat.
That didn't stop Larissa. She nudged the girls, snagged her drink, and sauntered over to the table.
“Hey. Mind if we join you? I'm Larissa Miller, this is Renee and that's Cait.” She introduced all her friends. Renee and Cait glanced expectantly at Emerson, then at Theron.
Emerson looked surprised. He didn't have time to answer, either, before Larissa slid into the booth on his side, trapping him between her and the wall. He obliged her, thrusting a hand through his hair while seeming vaguely uncomfortable.
He glanced at Farris and they made a few seconds of eye contact. Why it bothered her so much to see Larissa and her cronies descend on Emerson, she couldn't say.
“Oh, she did not,” Beelah hissed on the way by.
“Yes, she did.” Farris glanced away from the table and went back to work. The busiest rush was over; now there were just a few people in booths against the wall and five customers belly up to the counter. She heard Emerson make the round of introductions.
Theron piped up with a greeting and draped an arm along the back of the booth behind Renee and Cait.
“So, we saw you at Farris' old house, and I wondered if you and Theron would be up for a little challenge?” Larissa said. She flipped a length of hair over her shoulder and made eyes at Emerson.
“What kind of challenge?” Emerson asked, leaning his elbows on the table.
“We're up for a challenge,” Theron interjected, grinning like a cat who ate the canary.
Farris could hear it all. Larissa made sure of that. She traded a disgusted look with Beelah then grabbed a cloth to wipe down the counter.
“You know the Rocket got damaged in the tornado, right? Well, Daddy said we could have the Halloween party in the barn. But we need to decorate, and it's big, so we'll need help.” Larissa sipped her Sprite.
“Doesn't sound like a challenge so much as work,” Emerson said.
“Oh no, it's a challenge, trust me. We have a real coffin and a vampire and everything. It all has to be set up just the right way. It'll be totally cool.” Larissa tried to sell her idea, tacking on a brilliant smile.
Farris, with her back to the group, exhaled.
She would rather dig her eyes out with hot spoons than go to the Halloween party at Larissa's house. Her father owned half the acreage in Newcastle. The 'barn' was an enormous, enclosed space with finished walls and a peaked, tall ceiling.
“I don't know. Might already have plans that day,” Emerson said.
“What? We don't have plans. We're going,” Theron said.
Cait and Renee laughed little girlish, flirty laughs.
“Did you hear that? Larissa's going to have the party at her house!” Beelah said, aghast when she overheard the conversation.
“We can't go anyway. We promised O'ma.” Farris, who had been waffling about actually going out on Halloween, fell back on that excuse. Her eighteenth birthday, and she was relegated to couch time in a half torched loft.
“You so have to come. We'll welcome you to Newcastle with a party you'll never forget,” Larissa said with a knowing, sly tone.
Farris wanted to scratch her eyes out.
“Hey, waitress! What about our order?” Larissa raised her voice Farris' way.
Beelah had disappeared into the back. There was no way to flat out ignore Larissa without putting her job in jeopardy. Farris had no doubt Larissa would complain to the manager. Steeling herself, fighting down another blush, she walked over with the pad and pen in hand.
“What can I get you?” She happened to catch Emerson's eyes. Just for a second. He seemed displeased.
“Um, I'll have the Number Three. Cottage cheese on the side, no onion rings,” Larissa said. She smiled smugly at Farris.
Farris wrote the order down.
Renee and Cait added theirs.
“Just coffee for me. Black,” Emerson said. He stared at Farris, hands up near his mouth.
“I'll have the house special and Dr. Pepper,” Theron added, leaning in to look at Renee's menu.
“Got it. Your order will be up--”
“You going to the Halloween party, Farris?” Emerson asked, cutting her off.
Larissa choked on her drink.
Put on the spot, Farris froze. It was uncomfortable enough to be taking orders from the group, much less being forced to make a decision without warning. She'd promised her grandmother that she wouldn't go out on her birthday.
Promised.
But something wicked took hold of her tongue and she said, “Oh, yeah. Bee and I are going. We have the night off. Where ever it's at, we'll be there.”
She smiled at Emerson and Theron and spun away from the table.
What had gotten into her?
Beelah came out of the back just then and Farris trapped her near the coffee pot. “We're going to that party. I already told them we would.”
“Farris! We promised--”
“I know. I know. But Larissa deserved it.”
“Well. What Grandma doesn't know won't hurt her. We'll stay in all the rest of the day besides the party,” Beelah said.
“Now we need costumes, too.” Farris hooked the order sheet above the arch where the cook delivered the food.
“We can do that tomorrow before work.” Beelah wagged her brows and veered away to go refill someone's coffee.
Farris, feeling better about the situation, filled a tray with the requested drinks and returned to Emerson's booth.
He was leaning into the corner of the seat, further from Larissa, a truculent expression on his face.
Farris set down all the drinks.
“Thanks. How soon until our order is up?” Larissa asked.
“About ten minutes.” Farris left the table before anyone could say anything else. She approached the man with the hat to check in.
“Need anything else? More water?”
He'd finished all the food on his plate and three quarters of his water.
“Mm, no. I'm good. Thanks.” He glanced up with a smile.
He wasn't a bad looking guy. His eyes were gray, like storm clouds, and he had a well defined jaw.
Farris nodded and left him to his privacy.
“Hey Bee, will you deliver the food to them when it comes out? It's time for my break,” Farris said, tilting her head to indicate Emerson's table. The less she had to go over there, the better.
“Sure, I got it.” Beelah busily wiped down the counter and put two glasses in the sink.
Farris pushed the swinging doors to the kitchen open and breathed a sigh of relief to be out of sight of the customers. The cook, an older man with silver-gray hair and a kind smile, winked as she passed through.
“Hey, Pete. I--” About to request something for
dinner, she paused. “What's that smell?”
“What smell?” Pete asked. He straightened from where he was bent over cleaning a grill.
Farris drew in a deep breath. “That smell.”
Pete sniffed at the air. There were many scents vying for attention: french fries, vegetables, meat, heated oil.
“Don't smell nothin' other than the food, Farris.”
She quirked a smile at the cook and headed for the coat she'd hung on a peg near the back door. Sliding her arms into it, forgetting about dinner, she buttoned up the front.
Again, a strange smell tickled her nose. She couldn't place it, couldn't figure out what about it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.
Something, something. What was it?
Maybe Pete had burned a burger earlier. Yet it didn't strike her as charred meat. Looking around the kitchen, she didn't see anything that tipped her toward an answer. The chop tables were clean, the grill being cleaned by Pete. None of the warmers had food underneath at the moment and the burners were clear of pots or pans except one.
Weird.
Just as she stepped outside into the chilly, October air, a faint hiss hit her ears.
Hard on the heels, an explosion rocked the building.
All Farris saw were stars-and-earth-and-fire-and-smoke. End over end until she slammed into the ground and everything went black.
Chapter Ten
Trapped between chatty Larissa and the wall, Emerson fought off claustrophobia and an increasingly dark mood. He wasn't into Larissa, didn't care what her Daddy had and what he didn't. And if someone pressed him, he would admit that the only reason he'd agreed to help decorate her barn for Halloween was on the off chance that Farris would show.
At least that part worked in his favor.
Theron, in his glory, entertained the girls with tales of travel. Infusing the stories with jokes and wit, he had Cait and Renee on the edge of their seats. Larissa laughed in all the places she was supposed to.
He didn't miss the glances she tossed his way, or how she flipped her hair coyly over her shoulder.
It wasn't that she was bad looking, or that he wouldn't have taken her up on the flirtations she offered if the situation was different, but his attention was elsewhere.
Namely, Farris.
Buying the hope chest for her had been the least he could do in her current situation. The stricken expression on her face at the auction sliced right to his heart. If he'd had enough money, he might have bought the house back for her, too.
Bemused by his reaction to her and his need to protect her, he watched as she shared whispers with Bee and disappeared into the back. Distracted by her, he was only vaguely aware of a man in a hat departing through the front door along with two other customers bundled against the chill.
Larissa was chattering on about one thing or another, trying to get him to open up. All he really wanted to do was stalk right into the kitchen back there and corner Farris with a hundred questions. He wanted to pick her brain, find out what it was that kept him tethered.
One second he was slouched in the corner of the booth, brooding, and the next he got blasted by splintering wood, shattered glass and heat so intense it felt like it singed his nose hair.
The explosion ripped from the kitchen of the diner, through the wall and halfway into the dining area. Fire snaked outward like the tongue of the devil, igniting the counter and several stools on fire.
Screaming, the girls ducked, then scrambled under the table. Theron coughed and shook glass off his shoulder. There were pin pricks of blood on his face, a few slivers of glass embedded in his cheek.
Emerson absorbed all that in seconds. His face was hot on one side and he felt the prick of glass in his skin.
“FARRIS!” He roared her name when clarity returned and he realized she'd gone into the kitchen moments before. Panic seized his chest, shortened his breath.
The fire and debris made it difficult to get out of the booth. Flames shot out of the kitchen and up to the ceiling where it started to spread.
Still screaming, Larissa and the girls scrambled for the front door, which had miraculously stayed intact.
Emerson yanked his coat up to protect his head. Beelah, who had been wiping down a table at the far end of the dining room, looked relatively unscathed and scared half to death.
“Beelah, this way! Run this way!” He helped guide her past the tongue of flame for the door. Crying, shaking, shoes crunching over glass, she brushed past him and out the door.
“Farris! She's in there, Emerson! Farris is in there!”
Beelah's wails were cut off by another, smaller explosion. Emerson ducked and dove out the front door after Bee. Running several yards away from the building, he turned to see flames start to consume the roof. One or two windows had blown out and smoke poured from vents and cracks in the siding.
Farris was in there, burning alive.
Agony unlike he'd ever experienced ripped through him. What were the chances that this would happen now, after the tornado and the fire at the loft?
The three girls were still screaming and crying, huddled together near the curb. Theron spat something onto the ground and walked toward Emerson.
“What in the world just happened, man,” he said.
“I don't know, I don't know. Everything seemed fine.” Emerson paced, looked for ways into the building. A way in where he wouldn't get burned. There was too much fire and it was spreading fast now that it had caught on.
“She's in there. Farris...she's--” Emerson couldn't finish.
“I'm sorry. Man, there's no way she survived that. She was in the back when it went off.” Theron spat another wad of blood tainted saliva onto the ground.
“No, nooooo.” Beelah, overhearing Theron, cried harder.
Emerson jogged away from the group, wary of more explosions, for the side of the building. There had to be a back door. Maybe Farris had gone into a walk in freezer. Maybe a load of boxes took the brunt of the explosion.
It was possible she was just badly hurt and unable to move.
Whatever it took, Emerson wasn't giving up even if it meant finding her dead.
. . .
The first thing Farris felt was a burning sensation all along her right side. Which was fantastic, since that was the side the rusty barrel had hit. Those aches were minor compared to the new aches she'd developed. Opening her eyes, she saw billows of smoke pass between her and the stars. Or were those clouds?
Why was she laying out here anyway, staring at the sky?
A crack-and-hiss drew her attention to the left.
Fire. There was fire ten feet away.
That was all she could hear, too. The crack and hiss. She couldn't hear cars or traffic or birds that usually nested in nearby trees.
Then there were hands on her. Tugging at her shoulder, cupping her head. A face loomed into view. She knew that face.
Emerson.
Farris suffered a bout of deja vu. This had happened before.
He was talking fast and urgent. Words she couldn't understand. Lifted off the ground, Farris hung onto his shoulder while he ran with her away from the fire. Away from the smoke.
Suddenly, she started coughing. Spasms shook her head to toe. Snippets of words filtered in.
How bad...hurt...where...expl...dine...
Someone searched her pockets. She thought she heard someone crying. Hands touched her, soothed her.
The next thing Farris knew, a bright light beamed down from heaven—or the ceiling—blinding her. She opened her eyes while two nurses rushed around.
“What happened--”
“Farris, can you hear me? You're all right, you just took a nasty hit to the head and have a few minor burns. Stitches in a couple places from some glass.”
A nurse fiddled with an IV going into her arm and blocked the blinding light when she leaned over to smile.
“Okay.” She wasn't sure what else to say. Or what, exactly, had happened.
“Do you remember anything?” the nurse asked.
“I...I'm not sure.”
“There was an explosion--”
That was all Farris needed to hear. Her mind replayed the instant the explosion had ripped through the diner, throwing her several feet through the air. Something hot had hit her side and splinters pricked her hands and her legs.
The coat, she thought, had helped protect her torso.
“Yes. Work. What happened?”
“Nasty thing. Explosion of some kind, maybe a gas leak. Fire chief and the police are out there now. Do you want to see your friends? Beelah's here.”
“Yes.”
The nurse pressed a button and raised the head of the bed another degree.
“I'll be right back.” With quick steps, the nurse departed.
Farris examined her hands. The right one had several scrapes and two tiny stitches. She felt more bruising on her legs and a hot burn on her cheek. Unsure what it was, she reached up to feel it.
All she could tell was that it seemed as if she'd scraped a bit of skin off.
Beelah stepped into the room followed by Emerson and Theron.
“Farris! I'm so glad you're awake. We thought you died in the diner.” Beelah came over and leaned in to kiss Farris' brow. She had scrapes and minor cuts of her own.
“Bee, hey. What happened?” Farris hugged her friend with one arm, careful not to knock the IV out.
She met Emerson's gaze past Bee's shoulder. He wore a troubled frown.
“I don't know. I was clearing a table and then boom! The kitchen went up. Pete didn't make it.” Beelah choked up a little.
Farris closed her eyes. Somewhere, down deep, a niggle of fear struck. Why so many close calls? Was her grandmother right? Were these all 'lead ins' to the big event? Was she really going to die on her birthday?
Paranoia was easy to nurture after an explosion like that. After the fire at the loft and the tornado they barely escaped.
“That's such a shame. Poor Pete. He didn't deserve it,” Farris said, genuinely remorseful that the cook had perished.
The Fate of Destiny (Fates #1) Page 10
