Molly stepped off the city bus, amazed that she’d mastered the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority’s system so quickly. Florida had no public transportation system. If you needed to get from point A to point B, you either drove, walked, or hitched a ride. She’d decided it would be best to use the public transportation system. In the first place, she feared the police would be looking for her Mustang, and second, the parking situation in Boston and the surrounding towns was very tight, so that off-street parking was way too expensive. Finally, Mrs. Garner allowed free parking. She was immensely grateful that her parking space was located behind the giant old Victorian that, for a while, would be her home. For the past three mornings, she’d been stunned upon opening her eyes and realizing she was no longer in her tiny room in the trailer in Blossom City, Florida. Being surrounded by others somewhat like herself reassured her that she wasn’t the only girl to have suffered in a way that had brought them all together in the small attic room. They shared two large chests of drawers, where they stored their meager clothes and any personal belongings.
Molly used one drawer for clothing. In her second drawer, still inside the wastebasket liner from the hotel, was her prom dress. She had promised herself she would burn it. So far, she had yet to find an ideal place to do this, so she had been forced to hang on to the dress until she found a way to destroy it without attracting attention. There had been much talk on the news lately about something called DNA and how it could identify people and solve crimes. From what little she’d gathered between reading the newspapers and listening to the occasional bits of news, this stuff had helped O. J. Simpson get away with murder. She didn’t understand the science behind it but stored the information for another time.
As she hurried along Bayline Street, she rehearsed what she would say when she entered the diner. Molly had spent the past three days searching for a job. She scoured the Boston Globe, the Boston Herald, and USA Today searching for work. Having had no luck, she returned to Lou’s Diner for a quick bite and with a plan in mind. Secretly, she was hoping to see the doctor again, if only to see if he recognized her. She’d had an idea that she wanted to work at the diner, and if luck was on her side, she was about to do something so out of character, it truly scared her. She reminded herself she wasn’t Maddy anymore. She was Molly. Molly was smart, secure, and unafraid. Yeah, sure you are, she thought as she entered the diner.
The smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying wafted throughout the diner. Molly found a seat at the counter, her hands trembling as she picked up the plastic-covered menu. She’d calculated her money, and the figures weren’t very promising. If she didn’t find a job in the next few days, she was going to be in trouble. Hence her decision to make another visit to the diner. She’d waitressed at Tony’s BBQ Pit and had plenty of experience, so that shouldn’t be a problem.
An older woman—she guessed her to be in her mid-forties—placed a glass of water on the counter in front of her. “What’ll it be?” she asked in a thick Boston accent.
Should she order first, then ask for a job? Or wait until after? Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’ll have the number three, over easy with bacon.”
“You’s want the toast that comes with it?” the waitress asked. Beneath her long brown hair, Molly could see part of a name tag, but only the last few letters. Pastor Royer always said it was nice to be personable with his parishioners and, whenever possible, use their name. He said it made people feel comfortable. She wanted to take his advice now, but the waitress’s hair prevented her from seeing the rest of her name.
“Uh, sure. I need to ask you . . . ,” she stumbled over her next words. “Would it be possible to speak to the owner?” She paused, swallowed, then went on. “I am searching for a job, and”—she motioned to the crowd of diners behind her—“it looks like you all have a lot of customers.” There. She’d accomplished what she’d set out to do. Well, not really, she thought, as the waitress scribbled something on her pad.
“Call this number, ask for Louise. She’s out sick, but between me an’ you, girl, we need plenty of help here. School starts in August, and we ain’t prepared, if ya know what I mean.”
Molly shook her head. “Yes, I do.” She thought she sounded way too southern and made a mental note to practice speaking without her twang, just one more thing that would draw attention to herself. Maybe Sarah would help her. She’d offered the bath towel, and she hadn’t even asked for one. She would ask her tonight.
“Tell her Teresa told ya to call,” the waitress said before turning away to place her order on a round metal wheel with clips attached to it. Tony’s had used this simple but efficient system, so at least she knew how to use one. Simple is all she could handle now, she thought, as Teresa slammed a cup of black coffee in front of her. Molly took a sip, liking the hot, bitter taste. Three days spent drinking it at the Wilkins Motel, and she was already craving a cup of the stuff in the morning. It didn’t take long for habits to take root.
A few minutes later, she tucked into her breakfast, wishing she could have this every day, but until she secured a job, she’d settle for the one meal a day provided by Mrs. Garner and write this breakfast off as an investment. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t used to being short on food. She’d gone way longer than a day without food when she was younger, and her body had adjusted just fine as long as she had water.
Molly felt a presence come up behind her. Hesitant to turn around, fearing it could be the police or, God forbid, one of the guys who’d attacked her, she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice.
“Do you eat like this every day?”
Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, she kept her gaze on what was left of her breakfast. Feeling the desire to be hip and testy, she replied, “So what if I do?” She said the words slowly, forcing herself to speak as much as she could without her southern accent.
He slid onto the empty stool beside her. “You’ll get fat. Men don’t like fat women.”
Molly turned to stare at him, not caring if she appeared to be shocked. It took her a few seconds to gather her thoughts. When she did, her words were honest, something she hadn’t practiced the past four days. “That was an incredibly rude thing to say.” Just to prove herself, she took a piece of toast, slathered it with butter and jelly, then took a huge bite. She felt his eyes on her, watching her, and for some odd reason, she liked the idea that she had his full, undivided attention. She wasn’t used to feeling this way since she almost always tried to avoid being noticed. Maybe her newfound courage came from the name change, and the new city. The beginning of a new way of life.
“I’m being truthful. Men like women who take care of themselves.”
Was this true? Her mother certainly hadn’t taken care of herself, and men swarmed around her like flies on a sticky tape, but she certainly would not tell this to the doctor. For that matter, she would never tell this man, or anyone else, about her past. From this day forward, she was Molly Hall. Maddy Carmichael no longer existed. So she continued to eat, deciding not to reply to his comment. She buttered another slice of toast and took a bite, waiting for him to comment. When he didn’t, she raised her coffee cup in the air as she’d seen the other diners do, in hopes that Teresa would refill her cup. Anything to break up this uncomfortable silence between herself and the doctor.
“Patience, kiddo,” Teresa yelled from the opposite end of the counter.
Molly felt like crawling into a dark hole. Kiddo? That certainly wasn’t the impression she’d hoped to make. Maybe Teresa thought she was a student. She could live with that. Yes, being called kiddo, someone who appeared to be, at the very least, old enough for college was okay. It didn’t hurt that Harvard was right around the corner.
Teresa appeared with a coffeepot in her hand. “Hey, why don’t you stick around for a while? We’re super short-handed today. I’ll call Lou myself. You seem like a decent enough kid.”
Did this mean what she thought it meant?
She must
’ve had a strange look on her face. Teresa’s next words, “Yeah, I think we can give ya a test run today. I’ll show ya the ropes, then you can help out with the lunch crowd. Whatever tips ya make are yours.” She spoke fast, and Molly had to strain to understand, as Teresa’s Boston accent was extremely strong.
All she could say was, “Today?”
“Yep, if ya can. I’ll go call Lou now while I have a minute.” She poured coffee for the doctor and immediately disappeared through the swinging doors behind the counter.
“You’re really looking for a job? Here?” the doctor asked, incredulously.
The new Molly spoke. “Yes and yes.”
“Ah-ha, I see you are a woman of few words. Just what I like,” he said, then took a sip of coffee.
Molly felt her face turn red again. Did this mean he thought she was attractive, that he liked her? She had no experience with older men. Or any man, other than her perverted brother’s friends, the ones who’d sent her running.
“I might have a job for you,” he said.
She looked over at him. “What?”
“A job. You’re looking for a job, right? I might have something for you. It’s much better than serving greasy diner food.”
“Why do you come here if you don’t like the food?” Molly asked, curious as to why the doctor would frequent a place if he didn’t like the food.
“It’s convenient to my office,” he replied. “And really, the food isn’t bad. I wouldn’t be here if it were.”
“Oh,” she said, at a loss for a witty and clever reply.
“Don’t you want to know what the job is?” he questioned her.
She placed her fork across the top of her plate, wiped her mouth with the paper napkin, then turned to look at him. “Not really.” She couldn’t work for a doctor! She didn’t even have a high school diploma! He must think she was older than Teresa had. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“Are you joking with me?” he asked her.
“No. Why would I do that?” she replied.
He smiled and shook his head. “You are an original, I’ll give you that much.”
Molly tilted her head and stared at him. “What do you want from me? I don’t even know you. Do you always speak this way to strangers?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I don’t normally speak so bluntly to strangers. Please accept my apology. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Now she felt guilty. “It’s okay. You didn’t offend me. I’m just not used to . . .”
“What?” he quickly asked.
Men. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “I . . . I’m new in town. I guess what I meant to say is most of the people I’ve met aren’t quite as outspoken as you are.”
“Wait a while. You’ll find that most Bostonians are quite friendly and mean you no harm.”
Teresa pushed through the double doors. “I talked to Lou. She says if I think you’re waitress material, then she says, welcome aboard.”
Molly’s heart raced. For once, something was going her way. “Thank you so much. I . . . where do I start?” She stood, picked up her clutch purse and tucked it under her arm, and raked a hand through her hair. She was glad she’d shampooed her hair last night. At least it wasn’t hanging in greasy strands, and her clothes were new and clean.
“Come with me,” Teresa said. “I’ll find you a uniform.” She glanced down at Molly’s feet. “Those shoes will work for now. Long hours on your feet, you’ll need a good shoe. Trust me on this, kiddo. First time I spent twelve hours on my feet, I went home and cried. Sharps has the best shoes in town. Tell ’em you work for Lou, they’ll give you a ten percent discount. Isn’t much, but it beats nothing.”
Molly nodded. A new pair of shoes was the last thing she needed, but maybe later, when she settled in and had put aside extra money. For now, her sneakers would have to do.
Without saying another word to the doctor, whose name she couldn’t recall, Molly followed Teresa through the swinging doors, leaving the doctor sitting at the counter.
Lou’s kitchen was huge, ten times the size of Tony’s. It had a prep area where three people chopped, diced, and sliced. There was a huge grill next to a stove top that had at least eight gas burners, all with pans of various sizes and shapes sitting on them. It was attended to by a short woman with a long black braid hanging down her back and a man who was at least a foot and a half taller than the woman. Two sets of fryers were attended to by a middle-aged man. Activity buzzed throughout the kitchen as she followed Teresa. A giant dishwasher hummed in the background, and a young girl around her age quickly stacked thick white dinner plates beside the grill.
“In here,” Teresa said, opening a door at the very back of the kitchen.
Molly stepped inside what appeared to be an employee break room. A shabby brown sofa shoved against the wall held scattered newspapers, and three card tables with chairs sat in the center of the room. On the right side was a long counter with cabinets above it. A microwave, a sink, and two coffeemakers were placed on top of the counter. A variety of cups were upside down in a dish drainer, along with several spoons. “This is where we live when we’re not running our butts off,” Teresa said. “Lou lets us take a break whenever we can. In here,” she opened a closet, not much bigger than the one Molly had had at the trailer. Several boxes were stacked on top of one another. Molly stepped forward for a closer look.
“I’d say you’re a size small,” Teresa informed her as she removed a box with a bold black S on its end. “These uniforms tend to run large, so don’t worry if it hangs on ya now. After a few washes, it’ll shrink up.” She removed a starchy white dress from the box. Crease marks from the folds were clearly visible. “Lou insists on clean, ironed uniforms. Today you can get away with it because it’s your first day.” She held the uniform out to her. “There’s a restroom.” She pointed to another small door Molly hadn’t seen when she had first entered the break room. “It’s for the women only. The guys have to use the restroom in the kitchen; you know how that is.”
She didn’t, but she took the white uniform anyway. “I’ll be right back.”
She emerged from the restroom a few minutes later, her jeans and blouse carefully folded in one hand, her purse in the other. The white dress was at least two sizes too big. The hemline hung well below her knees, the shoulders were too wide, and the waist would’ve fit someone three times her size. She waited for Teresa to notice.
“Looks pretty bad,” she said. “But I can fix ya right up.”
She rummaged through the back of the closet, then pulled out a small shoe box. “Lou’s always prepared.” Teresa removed a handful of white cloth belts from the box. “Try this.”
Molly tied the belt around herself, cinching it in at her small waist. “This will work,” she said. “Thanks.” She didn’t want Teresa to think she worried about her appearance. Truly, she was glad for the long, baggy-fitting uniform. She did not want to attract attention. This would ensure that no one gave her a second look.
“Okay, it’s a bit ugly, but wash it tonight, toss it in the dryer, run an iron over it, and you’ll look good as new. Now”—Teresa rubbed the palms of her hands together—“you’ve waited tables before, right?”
Molly nodded. “Tony’s—” She caught herself. The last thing she needed to do was to reveal her former place of employment. “Tony’s” would have to suffice. She doubted Lou would check references.
“Don’t matter where, just as long as you have. Now, we use the spindle method. Orders are placed clockwise, and Houston, our head cook, hits the bell, then calls the waitress’s name when the order is ready. We don’t have a set formula for abbreviations. So long as Houston can read your handwriting, you’ll be fine. No curlicues or smiley faces dotting your i’s, either. Just print normally, and keep your eye on the customers and your ears on the kitchen. We’ll have a lunch rush; we always do from noon till around two-thirty. You follow me. You can help with drinks and refills, removing plates
when the customer finishes. Once I think you have a feel for it, you’re on your own. As I said, whatever tips you earn are yours. We don’t split tips. We don’t take credit cards or checks; we’re cash only. Lou pays us two bucks an hour, and we make up the rest to cover minimum wage, and not one penny extra. You familiar with this method?”
“Yes,” she said, even though she wasn’t. Her jobs had all been cash under the table, but she didn’t feel the need to share this with Teresa.
“Lou’ll have ya fill out a W-2 form when she comes back. You got a copy of your social security card? ’Cause she don’t hire illegals.”
Thankfully, her social security card was stuck to the back of her driver’s license. “Yes, and I have a driver’s license, too.”
“That might come in handy, in case Lou needs something delivered. Once in a while we deliver lunch to a few of the doctors and professors at one of the colleges, MIT or Harvard. The restaurant has a car for deliveries, so having a license will make Lou happy. I personally don’t drive. Never had to, living here.”
Molly couldn’t imagine not driving but didn’t say this to Teresa. For now, she, too, would use the public transit system.
She had to focus on remaining as anonymous as humanly possible.
Her life could very well depend on it.
Chapter Seven
Sally removed the last dinner plate, and Molly breathed an inward sigh of relief. She couldn’t wait for the evening to end. She’d had a difficult time remembering all the names of all the doctors and their wives and had to devise a mental plan in order to do so.
Dr. Wolf was there with his fiancée, Liz, whom she would never forget because she chewed with her mouth open and wouldn’t stop talking long enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise, so Molly mentally deleted her from her future guest list, of course with Tanner’s approval. Then there was Dr. Marsden, along with his wife, Carolina, who owned three day-care centers in the city. She, too, talked nonstop about how important her work was, and after an hour of listening to the ins and outs of running a day-care center, Molly had visions of cramming the centers and the children down Ms. Marsden’s throat. She’d smiled and complimented her on her choice of careers. Something about Dr. Marsden bothered her, but she didn’t know what it was, or why the thought even entered her head.
No Safe Secret Page 7
