by K. A. Tucker
“Not until tomorrow morning. Vince does days and Hawk does nights.”
“Can Vince drive me to school tomorrow?”
I smile, hearing the hopefulness in her voice. She’s been obsessed with the stony-faced security guy since he snuck in to use our bathroom earlier today. I don’t know how much experience Vince, who looks to be in his late twenties, has had with small children, but he didn’t seem to know how to deal with Brenna’s verbal assault as she trailed behind him to the door, firing off question after question. “I don’t know if you’re going to school tomorrow yet. We may have to wait until things calm down a bit.”
“What about Hawk? Don’t you think he might want one of these?” Keith asks, finally settling on a vanilla.
“Mommy won’t let me go outside, so I’m waiting until he has to pee.” She observes the night shift guard who took over for Vince at six P.M. and will be relieved by him at six A.M. I can’t imagine standing outside someone’s house for twelve hours through the night.
“Who do you think is cuter? Vince or Hawk?” Keith teases, wiping the cake crumbs from the corner of his mouth.
Brenna spears him with a glare, her nose wrinkling up in disgust, making us all laugh.
“Okay. Enough spying. Say your good nights and get ready for bed.”
Brenna does a lap around the room, doling out hugs that she reserves for family and close friends, and then trots toward her room.
Misty smiles after her. “So when do you think you’re going to come back to work?”
“Not anytime soon,” Keith answers at the same time that I say, “a few more days.”
He glares at me.
“What? I can’t just sit in here forever. I need to make money!”
Misty heaves herself off the La-Z-Boy and collects her purse. “Well, you’ll definitely make enough of that. The place is crawling with people. Lou is running ragged, trying to cover.”
Guilt hits me, that the older woman is having to wait tables on account of me. Lou is as loyal as they come, yet I can’t help but wonder what her breaking point might be, if she’s finally going to decide that enough is enough and replace me. This is business, after all.
Then what will I do for a job?
“I’ll definitely be back in a few days,” I reiterate.
“Good. I miss you being there.” Misty pauses at the door. “Hey, I noticed Hawk isn’t wearing a wedding ring. Do you think he’s dating anyone?”
Leave it to Misty to notice something like a wedding ring in the thirty seconds it took to confirm her identity and allow her up my stairs. Granted, Hawk is decent looking. “Don’t know. He’s not exactly big on conversation.”
“Why don’t you bring him one of these and find out.” Keith holds the box out for her.
She grins, snatching one up. “Good idea, Officer Singer. I’m sure he could use one, for the long night ahead.”
I shake my head, taking a silent bet with myself that, if he is single, she’ll be leaving here with his phone number. It doesn’t matter how many failed relationships she’s had, she’ll charge full steam ahead into a new one.
I wish I was fearless like her.
The sound of cards shuffling breaks my thoughts. “I picked up my cribbage board on the way. Have you ever played?” Keith asks.
I stifle my groan.
Chapter 12
“Why couldn’t Vince drive me to school?” Brenna whines from the backseat of Keith’s Ford F-150.
“Because I’m driving you.” Keith’s eyes scan for the newspeople as we coast down my driveway.
“But I wanted Vince to drive me.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Why would you be chopped liver?”
Keith heaves a sigh. “Never mind. Vince is waiting at your house for when I drive your mom back, which will be very soon.” To me, he says, “For the record, you’re an idiot and this is a bad idea.”
“If I don’t work, I won’t be able to pay bills next month. Plus, I can’t sit in that house playing cards anymore. I’ll go crazy!” It’s been five days since my name was released. The more reputable, bigger news stations have moved on. They can’t sit there forever. It’s now the smaller state stations and the freelance guys—the ones with long spy lenses, who sleep in their cars and who don’t get paid unless they deliver a candid photo—who linger. And there are enough of them to make my stomach tighten.
“And you really think you’re going to be able to work?”
“I have to try.”
“Why are they pointing cameras at us?” Brenna asks as we turn onto the street.
“Keep your head down, sweetie.” The windows are tinted, but I don’t trust that completely.
Brenna is tucked in behind me as we pull onto Main Street, on our way to drop her off at the day care attached to the school. The principal called. Apparently having a dozen reporters and photographers camped outside your house isn’t a good enough reason to keep your five-year-old home for more than two days. Seeing as I’m getting charged for before-school day care today anyway, we may as well drop her off now. Keith promised that even the most aggressive reporters know little kids at school are off-limits, but he also lined up the guys on shift to patrol the area for lurkers.
Even with my warning, Brenna cranes her neck. “Are those the people who stand in front of the camera and tell the news?”
“Get down!” I follow my anger with a frustrated sigh. I’ve yelled at her more these past few days than in her entire life, and I feel terrible. “Some of them, yes.”
“Have they been out here all night?”
“Some of them have.” To Keith I grumble, “It’s six A.M. You’d think they have somewhere else to be.” They’re causing quite the buzz around town from what Keith said. Business at Rawley’s and the sandwich shop across the street has doubled with all the coffee runs and sudden interest in playing pool.
“What do they want?” Brenna chirps.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, biting back the irritation that threatens to erupt. It’s been an endless stream of questions, and I’m at the end of my rope despite telling myself over and over again that she’s only five and can’t help herself.
“They want to talk to your mom, Squirt.”
“Because you helped that man with the broken leg?”
I heave a sigh. “Something like that.”
Keith peers into his rearview mirror, watching her, smiling. “Your mom did something super brave. Isn’t that cool?”
“Yeah. But what do they want?”
“They want your mom to tell them what happened that night.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s their job. They want her to go out there and say hi.”
“Can we go say hi after school?”
“No, baby. We can’t.” There’s no way I’m letting my kid’s face end up on national television. “Listen, Brenna, if anyone tries to talk to you about me or about the accident, I want you to go straight to the office and tell Mr. Archibald. Okay?” She has the same principal as I did when I was in elementary school. He was old even back then.
“Okay, Mommy.” She’s so easy, so agreeable, like none of this is really a big deal.
Maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m making things harder than I need to.
Heads begin to turn as I move through the main hallway before class, my backpack slung over my shoulder, shedding snowflakes with each step.
“That’s her,” I hear someone whisper as I pass.
I keep my head ducked until I make it to my locker. There’re only two minutes before the bell rings for homeroom—I intentionally waited outside as long as I could—and yet no one seems to be in any rush to get to class.
I hide within my winter jacket as I fumble with my lock, the shake in my hand making it extra hard to work the dial.
Another whisper carries, this one not so quiet. “I heard he turned her down. She’s making it all up to get back at him.”
I grit my teeth an
d ignore it. Finally, my lock pops free. When I open the door, a folded sheet of paper falls out, landing conveniently in my hand. My stomach churns as I open it up to read the female scrawl: As if Philips would touch a nasty ass like you. Stop lying, slut.
March 2010
“What did you expect? Even if that Mayberry asshat hadn’t told everyone that you work here, they would have figured it out by now.”
I stare out at Diamonds’ parking lot. There isn’t a single spot available. “It’s six thirty in the morning! I’ve never seen it so busy.”
“You’ve got every retired, unemployed, and shift worker within a twenty-mile radius here. Plus the star chasers. Plus them.” He nods toward the row of news vans parked and waiting, people leaning against the sides with phones against their ears, or cigarettes hanging from their mouths. In some cases, both.
I sigh. “Awesome. And this is how people will see me.” I throw my hands at my Diamonds uniform, a ’50s diner-style sherbet-orange-and-white dress. I clearly didn’t think this through.
“You know, for someone who likes to avoid chaos and attention, you sure picked a good time to go out of character.”
“I’m trying to avoid being homeless,” I remind him.
“I warned you . . . Lou warned you . . . Hell, even Misty warned you.”
He did. And they did. But . . . “They’ll figure out that I’m not going to talk to them and give up. They have to, eventually, but I can’t hide in my house until they do. I have to get back to my life.” Even with the money the regulars threw in, I’ll be dipping into my savings if I don’t get back, and soon.
“I can lend you some cash.”
“I’m not taking your money.”
“Your parents?”
I glare at him. “They just spent a small bundle on my SUV.” And I intend on paying every cent back. Brett’s text floats through my thoughts. I briefly concede that I must be an idiot for refusing his money so quickly. It’s followed by a wave of disappointment that I haven’t heard from him since Saturday.
Keith throws his hands up in the air in a sign of “I give up” and then, gunning the engine slightly, pulls his truck around to the back entrance. When he cuts the engine and unfastens his seat belt, I frown at him.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” He’s been cooped up in our house with us, sleeping in Brenna’s twin bed at night, running errands and helping me keep occupied while ensuring I stay away from the TV. Lucky for me, I’ve already used up my meager data plan so I can’t troll the Internet.
He starts his stretch of night shifts tonight, though. And he has court, so he won’t be around this afternoon, either. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous.
“What don’t I have to do? Eat breakfast?” He slides out and comes around to meet me in front of the truck. “No offense, but the fake Froot Loops won’t exactly sustain me until lunch.”
I give him a friendly elbow on our walk to the back door, side by side. “Thank you. For everything. You’re a good friend.” I punch in the security code—besides Lou and Leroy, I’m the only one who knows what it is—and lead Keith into the kitchen.
The familiarity of Diamonds hits me immediately—the low buzz of customers’ voices, the steady hum of TVs broadcasting news and sports, the printer churning out order after order, bacon sizzling on the grill, a smell that makes my mouth water. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve missed it.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” Leroy smiles wide at me over his shoulder as he flips a stack of pancakes onto a plate in one fluid motion. He could do that in his sleep, he’s been at Diamonds so long.
I stick my tongue out at him but follow it with a smile, realizing how much I’ve missed him, too. He’s easygoing, friendly, and has the biggest heart I’ve ever come across. I couldn’t imagine Lou married to anyone else, even though it hasn’t been easy for them.
No one would ever mistake Balsam or any of the surrounding towns as “multicultural,” so it goes without saying that mixed-race relationships are rare. Rumor has it that their romance caused quite the stir around these parts. It took a year for me to find the guts to ask Lou about it. She told me everything. They secretly started dating back when Lou was still in high school, when her father hired Leroy to help in the kitchen. That was forty-two years ago, and people were even less willing to accept it then. Plenty of the locals expressed their displeasure through nasty gossip. Some regulars stopped coming. Business at Diamonds, already a well-established diner, took a hit. But Lou’s father ignored the bigots and went about his business, loving his daughter and supporting her and the man she loved. Soon enough, the old generation of simple minds were replaced by more progressive ones—or at least people who didn’t care who married who as long as they got their Diamonds burger just how they liked it.
Once Lou’s dad was sure it was serious, he promoted Leroy to run the kitchen and taught him everything he knew. Though he also warned Lou more than once that life would be easier for her if she chose a different man.
Lou has never been one to take the easy way out.
A lot of people in this area never really warmed to Lou and Leroy. It didn’t help when their only son—she was too busy running the diner to think about having more than one child—grew up to be a less-than-stellar human being, robbing Diamonds with a mask and a gun because Leroy and Lou wouldn’t give him money. He’ll be in prison for a while longer for that one.
The day she hired me, I was convinced it was about wanting to help a pregnant eighteen-year-old. But the more I got to know her and about her, the more I started to see that it was about taking pity on someone who had been ostracized by the people around here, much like she had.
Leroy slides a plate under the hot lamp and slams his hand down on the server bell. “Mornin’, Officer Singer.”
“Mornin’, Chef Green.”
Leroy started calling Keith “Officer Singer” the day Keith got accepted to the police academy, and in turn Keith tacked on “Chef,” even though Leroy is technically nothing more than a seasoned line cook. I’d never say that out loud, though. He makes the best banquet burger in the state.
Leroy grabs a new order from the printer. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you again for a while, little lady.”
“Why wouldn’t you see me again? I still have bills to pay.”
He shrugs.
I wrap my apron around my waist and fasten it at my back. “How’s it been this morning?”
“Been a zoo all week. Great for business, but everyone’s bustin’ their asses.”
“Sounds like Lou needs me, then.”
Leroy starts chuckling in that deep-belly way of his.
“What? Why is that so funny?”
Whatever he’s thinking, he only answers with a headshake. “Does Lou know you’re comin’ in today?”
I tie my long blonde hair back into a ponytail. “I always work Wednesdays.”
“Thought so.”
“I tried to warn her, but she wants to learn the hard way.” Keith eyes the fresh batch of pancakes sizzling on the grill. He knows if he hovers long enough, Leroy will toss a plate his way.
“It’s going to be fine.” Taking a deep breath, I push through the door.
A dozen eyes are on me in an instant, and they quickly multiply, heads swiveling from booths and tables, mid-order to mid-bite, whispers of “that’s her” carrying over the clanging dishes and ringing bells to reach my ears.
And soon that familiar buzz of conversation has died down, and my face is burning bright as literally every single person in Diamonds has stopped what they’re doing to simply stare at me.
I don’t even notice the cameras pointing, snapping pictures of me standing there in my uniform, shell-shocked, until Keith hooks my arm and pulls me back with a quiet “Not a good idea.”
“You’ve got that right.” Lou appears out of nowhere, to both shield and herd me through the door. “Come on, now.”
I’m back in safety of the kitc
hen before I can breathe again.
It’s not like last time, I remind myself. It’s not like it was after Scott.
So then why am I feeling this same dread?
Leroy tosses another platter of pancakes onto the pickup counter, shooting me a sympathetic smile. “Told you. A zoo.”
“And you’re the white lion they all came to see,” Lou mutters, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her brow with her forearm. “What were you thinkin’ coming in here?”
I yank at the straps of my apron. I can’t tell what I feel like doing right now—crying or puking. It’s a toss-up, really. “That I need to work? That I want my life back?” My voice cracks with frustration as tears begin rolling down my cheeks. It’s not even a fantastic life, but it’s mine and I worked hard to carve it out of the mess I made for myself years ago. If this is what I’m going to face every time I step out, I won’t be able to work. And if I can’t make money . . .
She sighs, reaching up to pat my shoulder. “It’ll get better, Cath. Eventually it’ll all go back to normal.”
“When? Because I don’t have time for ‘eventually’!” I sob.
Her brow twists with concern. She opens her mouth to answer, but her words are cut off by a loud clatter. We turn in time to see Leroy pick up the fallen plate of pancakes from the floor and toss it in the trash.
“I’m sorry!” That’s my fault. Lou wasn’t exaggerating all those years ago—Leroy honestly can’t handle seeing women cry. Misty makes him drop a pan once a month because she’s always breaking into tears about something when she’s hormonal.
“Hush.” Lou grabs a napkin and wipes at my cheeks. “We’ll figure it all out.”
“I’ll tell you when it’ll go back to normal.” Keith yanks a slice of crispy bacon from a warming tray, earning Leroy’s disapproving frown. Very few things annoy him. Poaching bacon during the busy breakfast shift is one of those things. “After you do that interview Brett Madden offered to set up.”
“That means being on camera in front of millions of people.” Just the idea makes me nauseous. I don’t think they comprehend this.
