Maxine propped her feet on the chair Robin had just vacated and grinned. "I am taking the rest of the day off and treating myself to a mini-spa day. I have a hot date."
"You always have a hot date." Sarah grabbed a fork and sat down. "I don't see how you ever made it through college."
"It was definitely a juggling act." She stood and grabbed a glass out of the drainer on the side of the sink, flicking the faucet handle up, letting cool water fill the glass. "I had to work for this one, though. This guy ignored signals for months. I thought I was going to have to get a neon sign." She took a long pull of water as she sat back down.
Robin laughed on her way out of the room. "What? You don't have one?"
Maxine leaned the chair back and stuck her head through the doorway. "You're lucky I already took my shoes off, or I'd be throwing one at you."
The sound of Robin's laughter was muffled as she shut her door. Maxine sighed and looked at Sarah. "I'm getting worried about her."
Sarah reached behind her, opened the refrigerator door from her seat, and pulled out a bottle of water. "I don't think you have to worry about her. She's strong. Stronger than I could ever hope to be."
Maxine frowned. "I don't know. Every month that passes, she's losing something."
"What are you talking about?"
She shrugged, not really knowing how to word it. She thought about her conversation with Robin the night before. "Her spark for life, maybe."
Sarah stared at her while she chewed. She finally swallowed and slowly licked her lips. "Did she ever have one?"
Maxine looked at a spot above Sarah's shoulder and slowly nodded. "Yeah. It used to be there. It only showed when she wasn't paying attention, but it was definitely there."
"I think she just works too hard. I wish she'd let me take out a student loan or get a job or something. Anything that would help her out."
Maxine snorted. "Good luck trying. But, I think it's more than that. I can't quite put my finger on it. When I do, I'll figure out what to do."
Sarah pushed her bowl away and leaned forward. "Can I ask you something?"
Maxine shrugged. "Sure."
"Do you remember that night?"
A chill skirted up her spine, and the memory assaulted her. Suddenly, she was back in the dark closet, listening to the footsteps of the man coming closer. She shook it off and focused back on Sarah's face. "Yeah. Why?"
She looked behind her, then back at Maxine. "I don't remember any of it. Not even her. Sometimes, I get little flashes. Why is that? I was nine years old. How can I forget it?"
Memories crammed into the front of Maxine's mind. Normally, she kept them pushed so far back that she could go for days without remembering any of it. But like a slide show, they popped in front of her vision, one at a time. The dingy apartments, the smell of burning drugs, the rotten food, the odorous men. Ugh! So many men constantly coming and going.
She pushed it all away and realized that her hands had started to shake. "Trust me, honey, you don't want to remember."
ROBIN entered the lobby of Hotel Viscolli Boston. Green marble, elegant brass, high ceilings, starched uniforms, overstated elegance – it all formed together to one impression in her mind. Wealthy power. She swallowed hard, knowing that her black pants and white shirt, her old ugly clunky shoes and her worn canvas backpack made her look like a waif compared to the coifed, tucked, heeled women gracing the lobby. Steeling her shoulders against the aura of intimidation, she crossed the expanse of the marble foyer and found a smiling, uniformed brunette behind the counter.
"May I help you?" She singsonged.
On the wall above her head, scrolling brass read: Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men. Colossians 3:23
Robin kept from fidgeting. "I'd like to see Mr. Antonio Viscolli, please."
The woman gestured with her hand. "Mr. Viscolli's offices are on the twentieth floor. The elevators are right around that corner there."
Robin looked to where she pointed, saw the elevator sign, and looked back to her and said, "Thank you."
"You're very welcome," she said with an impossibly large smile. "Have a wonderful day."
Robin lost a little of the confidence she'd stored up to step into the lobby during the elevator ride up. She had almost changed her mind about it when the doors opened. Because a receptionist sitting behind a large half-mooned desk saw her and smiled, Robin felt obligated to step off of the elevator and into the lobby of the office floor. Her feet sank into the lush carpet and her eyes skimmed the leather furniture and black granite tables. While the lobby screamed wealth and power, this floor seemed to radiate it like an actual energy source. Robin's stomach clenched.
"Good afternoon. May I help you?" The receptionist asked.
"Yes." It came out a little hoarse, so Robin cleared her dry throat. Her eyes caught the scrolling brass on the wall behind the desk that said: He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8. What was this place? A church or something?
"I'd like to see Mr. Viscolli, please."
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Viscolli is not in right now." She pulled a pink pad close to her and picked up a pen. "May I take your name?"
What was she going to do now? "Never mind. I'll –"
The woman looked over Robin's shoulder. "Mr. Viscolli!" She said, her voice a surprised gasp.
"Maggie." Robin felt her shoulders tense so tightly that it hurt. She would have recognized that rich, baritone voice without the receptionist's confirmation. "I stopped in the lobby and grabbed a smoothie, so I decided to take the front elevator." Robin turned. He wore shorts and a golf shirt, his tanned legs and muscled arms somehow not looking out of place in the elegant business reception area. "Please hold any –" As their eyes met, his sentence faltered. His forward motion ceased so quickly that some of the drink in his hand threatened to slosh over the side of his cup. He stared at her and his mouth opened and closed once. "I –"
Not waiting for him to demand a reason for her presence there or, worse yet, not recognize her at all, Robin pulled the envelope full of money out of her pocket and slapped it against his chest. "I can't stay. I just wanted to return this."
She let go of it and the envelope fell to the carpet. He still hadn't moved. She ignored it and rushed past him to the elevators, frantically pushing the button and hoping that the car was still on this floor.
"I'm not what you think I am," she said. She looked back at him. He had moved enough to turn and continue staring at her, but the money still lay at his feet. "I never have been and I never will be." Wanting to cry with relief as the door slid open immediately, she stepped into the car and hit the button to take her to the lobby. As the doors closed on his astounded expression, she said, "Never."
While the elevator glided its downward decent, Robin leaned against the mahogany walls and put her hands against her chest. Her heart pounded in her ears. Goodness, but he was a handsome man. Infuriating, but handsome. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, willing her heart to resume its normal rhythm so that she could catch her breath.
CHAPTER 4
ROBIN cornered Hank in the dry storage room. "What is this?" she asked, waving the schedule for next week in one hand. The corners were torn from where she ripped it off of the bulletin board.
He looked up from his inventory clipboard and peered at the paper. "It would appear to be the schedule for the week beginning tomorrow." He dipped his head down and looked at her over his half-eyes. "Why do you have it all balled up in your hand?"
"Because, once again, I'm not bartending. Last week, you had me waitress, food prep, hostess. This week I'm doing food ordering and hostessing? I need the tips from bartending, Hank. You know that. What's going on?"
Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "I, ah…" He cleared his throat. "Listen. I need an assistant manager. Marjorie is wanting to be down in Florida more an
d more, with the kids. The work here, our work here, is really getting in her way of enjoying her grandchildren."
Robin smiled at the thought of Hank's wife, doting on her 'grandbabies' as she called them. "I bet."
He took off his reading glasses and slipped them into his front pocket. "I thought I'd schedule you around the restaurant, give you a feel of all of the other jobs, then offer it to you."
"Offer what to me?"
"The position."
For a moment, she had nothing to say. "Me?"
Hank inhaled deeply then huffed out the air. "I don't really know how to tell you this. Okay. I'll just spit it out." He moved quickly, put a large hand on her small shoulder. "I love you like one of my own, Robin. You and your sisters. Helping you out, making sure you got custody of Maxi was one of the things I know I did good in my life. You're one of the reasons this restaurant has flourished the way it has, one of the reasons that I can retire and know I made a success out of two careers."
She licked her lips and fought panic. "Retire?"
He nodded. "Retire. We're selling out, heading south to be with the kids."
"Selling out?" Her hand trembled in his, so she pulled it away. "You're leaving me?"
He sighed and sat down on a pallet of flour. "The new owner, he's going to close down the bar. I wanted to get you into the assistant manager position before the transition was final so that you'd be locked in."
Robin paced the small room. "What will happen to us? All of us? We just get dumped?"
Color was coming back to her face, so he relaxed and shook his head. "No. It's a condition of the contract. You all stay, benefits and everything."
She whirled around. "Contract? You've already done this?"
"Yesterday."
"Yesterday, as in Friday?" The hurt in her voice was like a tangible thing. She could hear it dripping over every word. She hated showing that weakness. "You didn't even think to tell me?" Robin quickly turned her back and buried her face in her hands. As surreptitiously as possible, dug her fists into her burning eyes. She felt so tired, so very tired. She turned and stared at him. "Sorry. I have to go."
He was off of his perch and in front of the door before she had even turned all the way around. "We'll finish this."
"You've already finished it. You're leaving. You're abandoning me." Her voice trembled.
He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "No, Robin, I'm not. You're almost done. Two more years, right? You have this job guaranteed for at least that long." He gave her a small shake. "I didn't think you could do it. I never told you that. You've held out though, and you've made me proud. As proud as a dad can be for his daughter. But, this is something me and the wife need to do. And I'm leaving you in good hands."
Weary now that the short burst of adrenaline left her, she rested her face on his chest and let his strong arms envelop her. "I'll miss you so much."
He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tight. "I'll just be waiting for you to take a vacation, come down and visit once Sarah's done."
Her words were muffled against his flannel shirt. "Deal."
SUNDAY was her day off. It was always her day off, and everyone knew it. She knew she had to have at least one day to completely recoup.
She rarely got in from Hank's before one in the morning, and she would fall onto her bed and sleep until at least noon. Eventually she would make it out of bed, drink a cup of coffee, eat a really big breakfast that Maxine usually prepared, then fall back asleep for a few hours.
Sunday nights she reserved for lounging on the couch, watching television or reading a book. Sometimes, her sisters persuaded her to go with them to see a movie, but those times were few and far between. It was the one day she was able to be home, and she rarely liked to leave.
She woke up this Sunday with a horrible headache. It didn't surprise her, considering the fact that sleep evaded her that morning. The last time she'd looked at the clock, the blurry numbers of 6:27 stared back at her. When she rolled back over, 11:13 signaled the end of trying to sleep. Sadness overwhelmed her. Loss of an important part of her life threatened what tiny bit of security she'd managed to build around her over the last seven years.
Hank had never been just her employer. He'd hired her just days after his youngest daughter moved from home, and Robin had easily slid right into her place. Hank's wife, Marjorie, suffering under some severe empty nest syndrome took her under her wing in her own gentle way.
Hank found her in the back alley the day that she received the rejection on her petition to be Maxine's guardian. An eighteen-year-old bartender wasn't a viable candidate for guardianship of an impressionable young fifteen-year-old. That was what the case worker had said. Of course, Robin had retorted back on the phone to her that the foster father who'd raped her couldn't be considered better, but the case worker had turned deaf ears on her pleas, and had given her a flat no.
He'd found her with the letter crumpled in her fist, shaking with rage in the back alley. No tears fell from her eyes, but it was a struggle to contain them when he'd pulled her into his arms and listened to her story. She told him the whole sordid tale. For the first time, she laid her entire life out. It sounded tragic to her own ears, and after he silently listened to every word, his large hands curled into fists and a muscle ticked in his jaw where he clenched his teeth.
So Hank had pulled strings. Retiring so high up in the chain of command in the Navy gave him high strings to pull. He wrote letters to the social services, ensuring that Robin would only work shifts that correlated with school hours as long as Maxine was a minor, and ensured that his own wife would watch over her in the summer months. He made telephone calls, took people to lunch, and – Robin was sure – issued a few veiled threats, until the day Maxine sat in her apartment, finally in a safe, permanent home.
Hank made it happen. Without him, Robin didn't know where her fragile family would be. She loved him only second to her sisters, and knew that she would lose a part of herself when he left.
She'd never really cried in her adult life, couldn't remember the last time a genuine tear had fallen from her eyes. So much had happened in her life that she feared if she started crying about it all, she would never stop. Still, the back of her throat ached as she lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling.
Silence hung over the apartment like a cloak. Sarah was likely at church and Maxine must be off somewhere. She didn't even have anyone to complain to or whine to, and that seemed to make it worse.
She groaned and rolled out of bed. Hank's didn't open until four on Sundays, but he would be there. That was his quiet time, to catch up on paperwork and do whatever he needed to do. Maybe she could talk him into making her lunch, let them have an afternoon like they used to have before she started putting sisters through college.
If the chill last night was any indication, the Indian summer was over and Fall was definitely in the air, so she dressed to suit the weather. She noticed as she buttoned her jeans that she'd lost some more weight, but simply shrugged it off and secured the pants with a leather belt. She added a white T-shirt, a green and blue flannel shirt, and a pair of hiking boots, and was out of the apartment within fifteen minutes.
She lived close enough to Hank's to walk it. The early afternoon air crisply stung her cheeks, but her eyes watered against the bright sun shining against the deep blue sky. As she inhaled the cool air and slipped a pair of sunglasses on her nose, she decided that just being outside in the daylight without deadlines or appointments was enough to lift her spirits.
There were a few cars in the parking lot, one of which was Hank's, but she didn't pay attention to the others. They could have belonged to patrons who'd been too intoxicated to make their way home the night before. They could have belonged to people from the city who had headed to their little corner for antique shopping. Either way, she was unprepared for anyone else to be in the building when she walked inside.
She stepped through the entrance and stood just inside, sl
ipping off her sunglasses so that her eyes could pan the room. She stood near the hostess stand, and looked around. Marjorie had done an amazing job decorating the interior of Hank's. The Spanish tile floor created a stunning terra cotta and beige pattern through the rooms. Black tablecloths covered square tables, and charcoal drawings of turn-of-the-century Boston covered the beige walls. Off to her right and through double frosted glass doors was her former territory. The bar acted as its own entity and was only opened up to the main restaurant when the wait for a table was long enough to justify sending patrons to the bar for a drink. The doors stood closed now, and Robin went in that direction, wanting to take a long look before the new owners took it away.
Twenty black leather barstools surrounded the large circular bar. Ten small circular tables were placed around the rest of the room, providing a place for two or three people to perch on high chairs or stand while waiting for a table. Two large flat screen televisions adorned the small room, one always turned to a sports station and the other always on a 24 hour news station but on mute with closed captioning enabled. The opposite side of the room had access to the patio area, and on warm summer days, half of the wall would slide out and a tiki-bar could be set up to serve drinks and appetizers.
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