by S. M. Soto
“Ms. Anderson!”
I curse under my breath and berate myself for choosing to live in a place that’s surrounded by other people. I toss off the blanket in a huff and drag my sleepy form to the front door not caring about my appearance in the least.
I open it without checking the blinds or the peep hole. The morning sun blinds my eyes so I lift my hand to block the beams of light and squint keeping the brightness at a minimum. My eyes quickly adjust and Mr. Walker’s smiling face comes into view. He’s standing on my doorstep with a Ziploc baggie of what looks like cookies, two cups of coffee and a huge smile. My eyes train on the cup of coffee in his hands, and deprivation immediately floods me. Caffeine. Damn he’s good.
“You look like you could use a cup of this,” he rasps jokingly. My eyes are still glued on the cups of coffee and the aroma makes my mouth water instantly.
“Well, aren’t you gonna invite an old man inside, or do you plan on making me stand out here all day?” His voice drips with contempt, and I snap out of my coffee induced coma and quickly recover with a small embarrassed smile.
“Please, come inside Mr. Walker.” I gesture inside the condominium, bowing for show. He chuckles lightly at me and walks past me into the ‘living room’ and looks around at the bare looking condominium.
“Very homey. It’s got a, what do ya kids call it now-a-days? Ah, yes. Feng shui.”
He gestures haphazardly to my bare space, and I choke on a laugh. Okay, so the old man has some jokes.
Still chuckling I guide us to the counter for our coffee. We sit there sipping the warm liquid together quietly for some time. He pushes the bag of chocolate chip cookies toward me and raises one of his bushy eyebrows.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say with zero modesty before popping the whole cookie in my mouth. I nearly groan aloud at how delicious the cookie is. It’s then I realize I haven’t had a full meal in I don’t know how many days. We continue to sit in comfortable silence for a beat until Mr. Walker goes and breaks it, ruining my cookie induced heaven.
“Why the sad eyes, angel face?”
I stop mid chew for a few seconds before gathering myself and wiping the excess crumbs off my face.
“My grandma used to call me that.”
His eyes light up with something and he smiles almost knowingly.
“Of course she did. So c’mon, spill it. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He coaxes me. “My Patty used to have that same look when she was real upset about something.” He recalls in reverie.
I see the longing on his face and I have a small idea of who Patty could be.
“Who was she?” I bravely ask, trying to steer the conversation away from me. I sip the still warm coffee and feel my sluggish body warm up and slowly come to life. He smiles whole-heartedly and his green eyes twinkle brightly like lights on a Christmas tree. My parents had that same look in their eyes; they were so in love it was almost disgusting to watch as a child.
“Knock it off with the Mr. Walker stuff, it’s Arthur.” He corrects before going on. “As for Patty, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on, besides you of course,” he side-notes chuckling. I roll my eyes and nudge him lightly in the arm as he goes on. “She was also my wife of sixty years,” he says wistfully. My heart clenches at the lost look on his face.
“You must’ve really loved her.” I observe quietly before taking another sip of coffee. Mr. Walker turns serious.
“I still do, angel face. A love like that just doesn’t go away after years of being apart. It grows stronger and stronger, believe it or not. With her gone, it makes me realize now, how much we really did love each other. I know I’ll see my Patty again, she told me she’d wait for me. Everything will be right when that day comes.”
His voice is filled with so much affection and appreciation it brings a sad smile to my lips. What would it be like to one moment have the love of your life, and then lose them? Still, I smile to myself at the declaration of love for his deceased wife. I can’t imagine how he manages to stay so positive. Like he honestly knows once his time is up, they’ll be together again. I’d say its wishful thinking, but it’s also remarkably beautiful.
“You know,” he goes on, “you remind me a lot of my Patty. You two could’ve given each other a run for each other’s money with those blue eyes and blonde hair.” He gestures to me. I smile pacifyingly at his nostalgic expression and snort.
“How can I possibly remind you of your wife when you just met me?” I raise a brow in challenge. Mr. Walker scoffs and gives me that old knowledgeable look only grandparents can manage to pull off.
“Please child, I’ve always been good at reading people. And let me tell you something, Sweets, you’re an open book.” He scratches his chin as he goes on. “Heck, I may be an old man, but I’m not blind. Yet,” he quickly adds, and chuckles to himself.
I take a drink of my coffee, finishing it off while contemplating what he just said. An open book huh?
“Well, if you’re as good as you say, what do my pages say?” I prop my hands under my chin and smirk. Arthur laughs to himself and shakes his head.
“Sassy little thing. That’s good though, don’t lose that.” He drums his fingers on the countertop for a few seconds gathering his thoughts before he begins.
“I can obviously tell you’re a long way from home. You seem…lost.”
My smug look quickly dwindles because, he’s right, I am lost.
“You have this light air about you. You’re bright—like a beacon in a dull setting. Although, it may be a little opaque to you right now, but it’s there, beneath everything you’re hiding under, it’s still there. I ain’t one of those aura readers or none of that weird stuff but you remind me of sunshine.” His face turns a little sad and my stomach churns. “I can also tell you’ve lost something important to you, and it’s shaken you to your core, hell, maybe even changed you. A young woman your age shouldn’t even know that kind of pain, and yet you do. I see it when I look at you, and when you talk, I can literally feel it in the air. It’s not very hard to miss.”
I swallow the large lump now lodged in my throat.
“I can also tell you’re looking for something here. Your place? A sense of peace maybe? Whatever it is, I know you’re lost–almost past the point of being found.”
Wearing a painful grimace, I close my eyes and take a deep breath before facing him.
“So, my pages say all that, huh?” I try to joke playfully, but fail miserably. Mr. Walker stares at me sympathetically keeping quiet, looking just as sad as I feel.
It’s in this moment with this strange old man that I feel a sense of understanding and an overwhelming wave of emotion. How is it that this man can sense all of this within only a few shared conversations between us?
“Well,” I clear my throat, “you’d be right.” I say quietly. “There’s no point in being found when you have no one left to find you.”
I rapidly blink my misty eyes to keep the tears at bay. My eyes find their way toward a saddened green pair. The pain there is unmistakable, mirroring the pain in my own.
“I have no one left,” I whisper thickly trying to reign in my emotions. My lips quiver with the need to release these overwhelming emotions, but I bite down on my bottom lip as hard as I can, refusing to let the tears fall. Mr. Walker places his shaky hand on top of mine and pats it gently in a soothing manner.
“I know,” he whispers. “That’s why I’m here.” He smiles sadly.
Almost as if this sad conversation never took place, he quickly changes the subject and we steer clear of any emotional topics. We finish the whole bag of cookies and spend the rest of the morning talking about everything, and nothing. In these last three years, I don’t think I’ve ever spoken so much to anyone. Not even my Aunt Jenny. I honestly don’t even think I’ve ever felt as comfortable talking to someone as I do Mr. Walker. He feels like a safety net. I can’t explain it, but his presence and our conversations just make
my existence that much more bearable. After I told him a little bit about losing my job and my sudden decision to leave town, he told me about a bar and grille in town that’s hiring.
“CJ’s Bar and Grille downtown is your best bet, angel face. Not sure if they’ve found their fill of people, but I do know the owner has been looking for a new hire. It wouldn’t hurt to have a pretty face working in there either to brighten someone’s day.” I just scoffed and decided Monday I’d go in with no expectations and hope I leave with a job.
After I walked Mr. Walker back to his house I spent the rest of the day doing nothing but staring blankly at the ceiling, mewling over his words to me. My hair fans out around me on the pillows beneath my head as I count the spots on the ceiling. Why did I come here?
What am I looking for?
Is it peace, or something more?
Why can’t I get those blue eyes out of my head?
Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. I toss and turn hoping for some answers soon. To what? I’m not even sure.
Chapter Eleven
CJ’s Bar and Grill was only about a fifteen-minute drive from my condominium, which was a plus considering that I don’t have a car. I can’t always take a taxi to work; it can get expensive; so I’m hoping I can figure out another solution soon. If not, it looks like I’ll be getting one hell of a work out every day. Mr. Walker informed me they open every day at eleven a.m., so I made sure I got here a little early to look like I meant business. A burly looking man with curly brown hair and beer belly walks through the entrance carrying an apron in his hand and a bag slung over his shoulder. I force my body to move, taking his apron as my cue that he’s an employee.
You can do this, Aliza.
I take a deep breath, hoping to settle my nerves, and step out of the cab. The exterior of the Bar and Grille isn’t fancy, it looks homey and inviting. It’s an average sized light blue building with large wrap around windows. The outside has an old vibe to it, making it look like it’s been here for a while. It reminds me of a beach shack.
The beginning strains of Hotel California by the Eagles starts to play and my feet falter as I walk through the threshold. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips at the song playing. Hotel California was one of my dad’s favorite songs. He would play it on our way to school, while doing yard work around the house; he would even sing it to us before we went to bed sometimes. Hearing his all-time favorite song eases my nerves a bit. I can only hope he’s here with me.
My eyes scan the restaurant floor plan taking in every detail of my surroundings while I simultaneously look for the owner or a manager of the place. The lighting inside is dim—comfortable, with small fixtures above each table, and lights connected to the ceiling overhead. The light from the sun outside casts a bright glow throughout the floor plan. The windows wrap around most of the restaurant giving you a kickass view of the city life surrounding the restaurant. It does a great job of brightening up the place.
The decor is a dark mahogany infused with beach fixtures–perfect for a restaurant near the beach. There’s a small section of tables to my left in front of a small stage for live performances. To my right and along the wall that wraps around to the back of the restaurant, is the biggest bar; fully stocked with every bottle of alcohol you can think of. I’m not even kidding. There’s at least ten shelves filled with alcohol backlit by fluorescent lights.
Hearing a lot of clattering and banging coming from the corner of where the bar wraps around, I timidly walk to the source of the noise by following the wraparound of the bar. Turning the corner, I notice there’s even more tables here with a fantastic view of the beach up ahead. My eyes immediately land on the burly man with the curly hair I’d seen earlier. He’s now stacking bottles and replacing others, tossing the empty glasses in a black garbage bag. I stop a few feet away and clear my throat hoping it’s loud enough he’ll hear me.
He whirls around and grunts. He eyes me up and down. “Can I help you?”
I smooth my hands down my shorts self-consciously. I’m wearing a flowy white summer blouse and my favorite pair of distressed Levi shorts and my white converse. Probably should have chosen something else for a job interview. Too late now.
“Hi, I uh, I wanted to speak with the owner or the manager if possible?” I ask nervously shifting from foot to foot. The burly man looks me up and down for another minute assessing me. For what? I’m not totally sure. Finally, he rolls his eyes and mumbles to himself. “Of course you do.”
I frown in confusion, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow. He cocks his head up at the ceiling and I follow his line of sight. What’s up there?
“You better be serious about this,” he scolds. “Boss man is gonna lose his shit if you’re another one.”
I cock my head at him in question. Another what? I shift on my feet and he chuckles pointing a chubby finger up at the ceiling.
“Boss’s office is upstairs, follow me and I’ll show you the way.”
I follow the burly man up a small flight of stairs to talk to the owner.
The wall of the staircase is lined with picture after picture of local beach photos, a family fishing outing and a couple of black and white photos of an older couple. I twist my sweaty hands around nervously and try to calm my breathing. All I need is to go in there a heaving, sweating mess. I’ve never been good at talking to people, let alone making a good impression on them. I’m not a people person, never have been, and never will be. That’s probably why you’re horrible at customer service, I find myself thinking. The owner doesn’t need to know that though.
I have always hated interviews. I think I’d honestly rather live in a box on the street than deal with this anxiety. The dry mouth, sweaty palms, and armpits; it’s just too much. When we reach the top level, my eyes continue to glance everywhere in awe. I love this place already. The top level is decorated the same as the bottom only with a larger table and seating area. I continue following burly. We make a slight left and a single door has been left slightly ajar.
Burly man raps on the door lightly before yelling out, “Hey CJ, looks like you got another one, need me to get rid of her?” Burly chuckles and I glare at the back of his head unable to comprehend why he would need to get rid of me and why he thinks it’s so damn funny. There’s movement on the other side of the door followed by a masculine chuckle. Suddenly the door swings open and Burly moves his large frame out of the way. My mouth falls open when I get a clear view of the owner. Every muscle tenses, and I stop breathing.
Holy shit balls.
Well, there goes my chance of landing a job here.
Chapter Twelve
My feet are rooted to the floor and my mouth is still hanging wide open in shock. I can’t seem to shake off my disbelief. In my defense, I never in a million years thought I’d see the man who saved my life again. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve wondered what it would be like, but I never thought it would happen. Ever since that night I’ve felt like a complete and total asshole for how I acted. For Christ’s sake, he saved my life, and I practically bit his head off for it. And to top it off, I didn’t even give the guy a proper thank you. Nope, I just took off at a full sprint and left him standing there like a soaked puppy.
He’s just as good looking as I remember, if not more so this close. He’s wearing a white v neck that hugs his muscles and biceps to perfection, along with a pair of cargo shorts. I hate to admit it, but I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since Saturday, not just because he’s good looking, but because he deserved so much more than a croaky ‘thanks’. I can’t express to him how thankful I am for what he did for me. He clears his throat and I snap my gaping mouth shut darting my eyes back to his so I’m no longer ogling him.
Great, just freaking great. It probably looks like I was just eye fucking the owner.
Without breaking our gaze, he tells burly whose name is actually Evan, that he can take it from here, effectively dismissing him.
“What can I help you with...?”
He trails off waiting for me to fill in with my name. My nerves from earlier have quadrupled wreaking-havoc upon the sane part of my brain leaving me a nervous wreck.
“Aliza. Aliza Anderson,” I squeak.
His blue eyes glint and he looks amused. He gestures to the seat in front of his desk and I force my limbs to bend, folding into the chair casually without making a fool out of myself.
“It’s nice to properly meet you, I’m Chase,” he says with a smirk. “What can I help you with, Ms. Aliza Anderson?” He asks as he rounds his desk to sit in his rolling leather chair. I glance around his office before answering, trying to get a grip on myself and how I should proceed. I’m hoping like hell my nerves will stay in check.
His office is big by restaurant standards, with a few frames on the wall behind his head, a large calendar and a few awards. His desk is long and a dark mahogany wood color, the same color scheme as everything else in the restaurant. His desk is sparse with only a computer, a few stacks of papers, and a jar of…are those almond joys?
I inhale a deep breath before speaking.
“I heard you were hiring, so I uh, I wanted to speak to the owner about an employment opportunity...I didn’t realize,” I finally manage to say, nerves evident in my voice as well as my discomfort.
He frowns for a split second, quickly cooling his features into a stone-faced mask.
“Do you have a resume I can look over?”
His eyes travel down to my empty hands that are now fidgeting in my lap. He’s probably noticing I’m more than unprepared for this ‘interview’. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly berating myself for not thinking of a resume. So stupid.
When I open them, Chase is staring at me intently. His gaze causes a shiver to wrack through my body. It’s the same intense look he gave me at the beach that night. I feel it straight down at the base of spine, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
