Running Away With You (Running #3)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  “Hey, if you two are done, how about grabbing us a couple of beers?” Derek bellows.

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” Evan clarifies.

  Jeremiah has some great ideas about tweaking my Bananas Foster dessert for our next menu change. He wants to add walnut ice cream and replace my bread pudding with a crêpe. I’m not convinced, so he’s whipping up a plate for my inspection.

  “Hey, Jette, could I talk to you?” I look up to find Derek standing in the doorway, holding a large envelope. “Privately?”

  I’m surprised to see him so early – his shift doesn’t start for another hour.

  I excuse myself from the kitchen and take Derek back into my small office. He shuts the door and sits on my tiny couch. “Shea found this yesterday,” he tells me. “It was in a stack of mail I never saw. Grant must have taken the mail in his room and left it there.” Derek hands me a manila envelope addressed to him, with the return address of a Princeton investment firm.

  “I don’t understand,” I tell him.

  “Open it up. Read it.”

  There’s a letter inside. It’s an annual dividend statement. I don’t understand much of what it says, but it’s addressed to Derek and it lists his deceased parents as the shareholders. From what I can gather, his parents had begun purchasing stock in 1984.

  “Let me get this straight. Your parents started buying stock in 1984, right?”

  He leans his elbows on his knees and looks up at me. “Yup. That’s the year they were married.”

  “Did they buy a lot?” I ask.

  He holds his hand out flat and tilts it from side to side. “Yes and no. They bought ten shares a month for most of their marriage. That’s where all their savings went. That was why when they died, we had a shitload of bills to pay and no money to pay them with.”

  “Are ten shares expensive?”

  “Not really. The cost of the stocks they bought ranged from $25 to $50. I figure it cost them on average about $400 a month. By today’s standards, that’s a car payment.”

  I hand him back his documents. “That’s great, Derek. So what are you going to do with all that stock?”

  “That’s why I want to talk to you. Do you think Evan could hook me up with a good attorney?” He gets up and starts pacing around the room.

  “I’m sure he could. Are you going to transfer the stocks to your name, or cash them in or something?”

  “I don’t know what to do. Evan is the only person I know who handles this kind of money. He has people he trusts to advise him. I need to talk to someone like that.” He sits back down, bending himself in half, practically putting his head between his knees.

  “Derek, I don’t understand. It’s just a few shares of stock. Why are you so freaked out?”

  He stands up, walks directly toward me, and puts the letter back on the desk in front of me. “Read it. All the way. To the end.”

  “It says here that the stock is traded on NASDAQ under the symbol AAPL and the type is listed as common. There’s a DRP listed as 585.54. I don’t really know what any of that means.”

  “Shea Googled the AAPL symbol. They were buying stock in Apple, and it looks like they purchased more than two thousand shares over the years.”

  I do a little math in my head. “Holy shit Derek, if the stock is still worth $50 a share, that’s like $100,000!” Now I’m standing up too.

  “No it’s not.”

  “Less? Did the stock prices go down?”

  “See that DRP? Do you know what it means?” I shake my head. “That means that instead of getting dividend payments, they reinvested it and used the profit to buy more stock. DRP stands for Dividend Reinvestment Plan.”

  “No way. Do you mean to tell me that you have more than two thousand shares of stock in Apple?” My heart is practically beating out of my chest.

  He nods and points to a line on the form letter. “This number here shows their capital investment. They bought a total of exactly 2,400 shares.”

  Then he traces his finger down the column. “This number is the accrued shares from reinvestment. They earned 7,004 additional shares since 1984.”

  “You’d better sit down for this.” He waits until I’m seated. “That figure of 585.54 is the cost of a single share of Apple stock today.”

  “Holy Mother of God, Derek, you’re a freaking millionaire!” I jump up out of my seat and run to him, throwing my arms around him and squeezing with all my might.

  “Jette, technically I’m a multi-millionaire.”

  Chapter Ten

  Cashing in the Chips

  The door swings open and Derek comes sauntering into the bar with a spring in his step, wearing a jaunty expression of triumph.

  “Hey, Derek, meeting go well?” Marcus asks as they shake hands and shoulder-bump.

  “Man, you have no fucking idea!” Derek proudly proclaims.

  He walks right up to me, picks me up, and spins me in the air. After placing my feet solidly on the ground, he dips me low and leans in to kiss me. I panic. Derek has never kissed me before. He puckers and slowly lowers his face until we’re nearly touching, then plants his lips squarely on my cheek. They linger there for much longer than I would like, but I can’t help but grin. He has every right to be jubilant.

  He releases me and eyes Emmy, who’s watching the show from behind the bar. This time it’s Derek who crooks his finger and calls Emmy out. She comes running to him and jumps into his arms. He catches her like she’s a sack of potatoes and she plants kisses all over his face. “Hey Mr. Moneybags!”

  Even Reese comes out to share in the joy. Derek places Emmy back on the ground, and he walks determinedly toward Reese. She locks her eyes onto his, and when they meet, they wrap their arms around each other and just hold on. Reese buries her face in his neck, and I see her raise a hand to wipe away a tear.

  She pulls away from his embrace, looks him dead in the face and tells him, “Derek Lattimer, I am so happy for you. Go make your dreams come true.” She turns away and runs back into the kitchen, tears freely flowing. This is what regret looks like, and it’s heartbreaking.

  The dinner crowd hasn’t arrived yet, so we pull Derek into a booth so we can hear all the juicy details. He can’t sit still. He barely gets his ass in the seat before he bounces up and heads to the bar. “Be right back. I’m getting us a pitcher. I need a beer. Or twelve.”

  He returns with a pitcher and a tray of glasses. He pours himself a glass and hands Emmy the pitcher to serve herself. Of course, she just passes the pitcher right along. Derek holds the glass up to his mouth and drains the glass with hardly a breath between gulps.

  “Jette, I wish Mac was here so I could thank him myself. His money guy is some kind of wizard. We’re cashing out some of my stock immediately and I should have the funds in my account in forty-eight hours.”

  “Do I even want to know how much that is?” I ask him.

  “Six figures?” Marcus asks.

  Derek shakes his head.

  “Seven?”

  He nods.

  “So what are you going to do first?” Emmy asks. “You’ve got to buy at least one thing you totally don’t need.”

  “First I’m going car shopping. I’ve always wanted a Jeep Wrangler, ever since I was a kid.”

  “Then you should definitely buy one. Get all the upgrades and modifications they have. Don’t say no to anything, even if you don’t think you need it,” Marcus tells him.

  “After I get a car, I want to buy a house. I haven’t lived in my own place since before my parents died. I’ve bounced around from rental to rental, and I’m tired of it. I want to own a home somewhere I can be proud of. I want to have a place where I can invite my girlfriend’s parents to come for dinner. I want them to think that I’m ... I dunno ... good enough, I guess, for their little girl.”

  “Well, if they need you to have some big fancy house just to date their daughter, then they’re not worth knowing,” Emmy tells him.

  “Emmy’s right
about that, Derek. But what’s going on with this house-shopping thing? What do you have in mind?” I ask.

  “I’m actually thinking about looking at some of the properties in your neighborhood, Jette. How would you feel about having a new neighbor?”

  “Are you shitting me?” I ask, completely thrilled by the idea. “Derek, there are houses on both sides of our property for sale. We could be next-door neighbors. How frigging cool would that be?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he agrees.

  “Someone’s got to talk about the pink elephant in the room,” Marcus breaks in. “Dude, you don’t need this job anymore. Millionaires don’t usually sling beer, you know. Are you getting ready to quit?”

  “Man, I’m not going to lie, I thought about it. But I have no idea what I want to do. I have to work, and I love bartending. I think I’m going to stick around for a while, at least until I figure out what I’m going to do next.”

  “If you’re going to do somebody, it’d better be me!” Shea announces as she joins our little group.

  Derek puts his arm around her and kisses her passionately as we all sit there watching. When they break apart, he looks deep into her eyes. “I missed you, beautiful.”

  “I missed you too, Slick. So did you tell them?” She rubs her hand intimately up and down his leg.

  “Yup. Did you clear your calendar for tomorrow?” he asks.

  Shea takes out her phone and checks her calendar. She assures him she’s cleared the whole day for him. “What’s the agent’s name, again?” she asks Derek.

  “Auggie. He’s got seven places for me to look at, but I won’t go unless you can come too.” He takes her hand in his and weaves their fingers together. “This is kinda big. I need my girl with me to help me decide.”

  All at once, Emmy and I let out a joint sigh. “Aww!” we moan in unison.

  Shea nods, then turns to me. “I brought something for you, Juliette. I have a few places I’d like to talk to you about for your reception. What do you say? Can we chat?”

  We talk for over an hour. She’s got some great ideas about venues. We narrow it down to several locations near Atlantic City. I’m starting to get excited. Shea will use the next week or two to visit them in person and find out more about their security and guest services.

  When we’re done, we move our little party over to the bar. Derek’s shift is just beginning, but mine and Emmy’s is ending, so we all join Shea and sit as guests at the bar. I rarely get to do this.

  In no time at all, the dinner crowd has arrived and the restaurant is filling up. It’s Friday night and hopefully we’ll be able to fill every table.

  Blaine is behind the bar today. He’s a music student studying at the New School in Manhattan, and the girls love him. I think it’s his accent. He’s from Australia. He comes from a military family that moved to the states a few years ago. It’s like having a younger version of Keith Urban right here in my very own bar.

  Evan sends a text that says he’s staying late at work and I should eat without him. He and Adam won’t be home for another hour or two, so Emmy, Shea, and I order sandwiches at the bar for dinner and prepare to hunker down while we wait for our men.

  Emmy volunteers to be our DD for the night, so Shea and I take full advantage and order a shot each of Patron Silver.

  Derek stops to talk to us whenever he has a free moment. Shea touches him when he’s near, squeezing his arm muscles and laughing at his jokes, no matter how distasteful they may be.

  When Derek turns to greet a new customer, I take advantage of the opportunity to ask Shea a direct question. “So what’s going on with you and Derek? Is it serious?”

  Emmy warns, “Yeah, he’s like my big brother and I have to make sure you’re not going to dick him over.”

  Shea laughs. “It’s not me you have to worry about, Emmy. My last relationship lasted two and a half years. Before that, I had the same boyfriend for over three years. I don’t do casual and I don’t waste my time.” She scans the bar looking for someone or something. “Can I ask you two a question?”

  “Shoot!” Emmy tells her.

  “I’ve been getting these weird vibes from Reese. Why does she keep looking at me like I just ate the last piece of cake?”

  I try to explain. “She and Derek had a complicated relationship. To continue your food analogy, he was her box of cookies she kept hidden away in her drawer. She only took one out when there was nothing else in the house to eat.”

  Shea nods her head. “Aha. I think I get it.”

  I clarify. “You have to understand how much Reese likes cookies. She doesn’t share her cookies with anyone else. But she doesn’t just like cookies. She likes to eat brownies and ice cream too. Sometimes she forgot that she had a perfectly good supply of cookies just waiting.”

  “Are you saying that Derek was her sugar cookie?” Emmy giggles.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Well, I happen to be very fond of sugar cookies too,” Shea tells us. “Is this going to become a problem?”

  I try to assuage her worries. “I had a long talk with Reese a couple of weeks ago, way before you showed up. She’s given up on sugar cookies. Permanently.”

  Derek refills our drinks. “Do you three want to order dessert? I heard someone say something about cookies,” Derek says. We’re laughing so hard we can’t answer him. Eventually he gives up and walks away.

  I get up and excuse myself to take a bathroom break. I turn around and there’s an adorable college-age frat boy standing at my side, eyeing me mischievously. “Pardon me, miss, but I seem to have lost my number. Could I borrow yours?” he asks with a straight face.

  Emmy and Shea burst out laughing.

  “You want my number?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Hold on. Don’t move.” I turn back to the bar and wave Blaine over, asking him to hand me a sharpie marker.

  Frat boy’s friends are doubled over laughing. They must think his line is working.

  “Give me your hand.” He holds out his hand and I turn it over, writing carefully on his palm.

  I release him, and when he turns his hand over, he raises an eyebrow and looks at me with a vacant expression. “16? I think you forgot a few numbers, beautiful.”

  “Nope. 16 is my fiancé’s jersey number. He plays for the Sentinels. But if you want more numbers, I could give you his salary, his stats, or even his cell phone number.”

  One of frat boy’s friends burst out laughing, “Holy shit, dude, that’s Big Mac’s fiancée.”

  Not to be deterred, frat boy turns to Emmy. “How about you? Are you religious by any chance? Because I’m the answer to all your prayers.”

  “Tonight is your lucky night,” Emmy tells him.

  “Oh, yeah!” he tells his buddies, high fiving him.

  “You get two for one,” she rubs her belly, “if you know what I mean.”

  He shakes off Emmy’s offer, walks past us, and takes Shea’s hand in his, checking for an engagement ring. Pleased with her bare finger, he says, “I have to ask, is there a mirror in your pocket? Because I keep seeing myself in your pants.”

  Holding his hand firmly, she pulls him in close and whispers in his ear, “Try that shit with me, and I’ll cut your fucking balls off.”

  Being shot down by all three of us seems to have put a bit of a damper on his mood. “Lesbians!” he calls to us as he walks away.

  I’m laughing so hard it actually hurts.

  This time, Blaine comes over and congratulates us on our well-played game. “I reckon you girls earned one of these.” He pours Shea and me another shot of tequila. “Sorry, mama, nothing for you.”

  Reese comes out of the kitchen looking exhausted with her beautiful red hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. She plops down on the empty seat beside me.

  “Hey, Reese, can I get you anything? A plate of cookies, maybe?” Emmy asks her.

  “Cookies, Emmy? Um, no. I think I’ll take a pass, but t
hanks anyway,” Reese answers, a little confused.

  Emmy laughs, “See, Shea? Jette was right. Reese doesn’t eat cookies anymore.”

  Reese looks at us and announces, “I don’t get it.”

  “Not anymore,” Shea quietly mumbles to Emmy.

  “Don’t worry about it, Reese. We were just having a little fun,” I tell her.

  “Whatever. Hey, Blaine, can I have a shot of SoCo? Straight up. I’m outta here.” Reese drinks her shot and heads straight for the door without another word.

  Marcus weaves his way through the crowd and tells me that one of the waitresses just got an emergency call from her babysitter and had to leave. We’re slammed. The restaurant is packed and now we’re short staffed.

  Marcus asks, “Do you think you could pitch in and help wait on a few tables? I called Lindsay, and she’ll be here in half an hour. Can you take over just until she gets here?”

  “I don’t know, Marcus. I’ve been doing shots for the past hour and a half. I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I tell him.

  “Jette, I realize that. I know everything that goes on here. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency. You’ll be fine.”

  I look at Emmy and Shea. “Sorry, ladies. Duty calls.”

  Marcus grabs me by the hand and takes me into the back and gets me an order pad and an apron. I can do this. No one knows the menu better than me. Besides, it’s only for thirty minutes. What’s the worst that could happen?

  The other waitresses take pity on me and shift their zones so I only have four small tables. There’s a family with two young children, two couples on a double-date, a small group of college-age girls, and a table of three businessmen. I’m certain I can handle them.

  I refill drinks, take orders, and deliver appetizers without mishap. I’m actually quite proud of my performance. Tables are full and there’s not much room to move without bumping into someone. I take orders from double-date table, and out of the blue I feel something or someone brushing up against me. A hand slides under my denim skirt and grabs hold of my thigh. I can feel fingers squeezing my flesh.