Call Me Ana
By Scarlet Rose Bonnet
To those who’ve rescued me.
Copyright © 2016 by Scarlet Rose Bonnet
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
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Chapter 1
I balanced a tray on one shoulder and had a coffee pot in the other hand, making my way around the tables. I made a living off the old townies’ spare change and I knew everyone in the room. Those with enough fight left to leave town for a meal drove fifteen minutes further to where the chain restaurants finally picked up along the barren stretch of highway. The three-room motel next door occasionally brought in some fresh blood, but it didn’t happen often.
The bells on the door chimed as I stepped past Pam into the back with a loaded tray. She stared out over the crowd with glazed eyes, her cigarette smoked to a stump. She held a spatula in one hand and her other was free to keep that cigarette in line.
I set down the tray of dishes in the back and took stock of the food cooking on the grill. Pam was on cooking duty and I gingerly filled in the gaps. The woman was territorial of the kitchen, even though she couldn’t cook a damn thing without drowning it in old grease. It totally skeeved me out. Throughout the day, she scraped off the charred bits of food from the surface, pushing it over to the sides. Instead of adding fresh oil, her spatula would clang down over a pile of mush, swiping a streak of sizzling sludge across the stove. She used to leave it on the grill all night and add a tiny bit of new grease to the stale, stinking mess from the night before, but I put an end to that when I started. I wiped down the grill every night before I closed. Her customers may have been old with no taste buds left, but they didn’t deserve to be poisoned.
I scooped some eggs, sausage, and hash browns off the grill and carefully laid them around on a plate. Then I stuck that on a tray and grabbed a water pitcher, heading back out to the front. Pam’s huge frame blocked the sunlight pouring in through the glass at the front of the diner as she ushered a tall man to a small table just to the right of the door. The dim excitement at seeing someone new waned at the fact that Pam only braved hostess duties when she was feeling particularly grumpy about it being busy.
I hurried to drop off the order and set down the water pitcher after doing a quick sweep of the room to make sure no one had an empty glass. I was clear. I grabbed the rag and tub off the counter and headed over to the new guy.
“Sorry,” I said to him in a rush, focused on the table in front of me. I swiped the table with the rag before giving him my attention. His soft, gray eyes lightened his whole face. If it weren’t for his eyes, he might be intimidating. He had a square jaw and crisply cut hair a forgettable shade of dark blond.
“It’s okay,” he said, stammering like he was embarrassed that I’d even apologized.
I liked his smooth, rich voice. I could hear the kindness there. I changed my mind. He wasn’t intimidating.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I looked at his face again and saw him stare at my eyes a bit too long. I knew they caught peoples’ attention. My Grandma Ro used to say they were the only thing bluer than her favorite sapphire broach. When I was younger, I liked the attention.
“We have coffee and water. I’d recommend the water.”
A shadow of a dimple appeared on his cheek and something in my chest fluttered, the feeling almost a foreign one.
“I’ll take my chances with the coffee,” he answered, his eyes holding mine.
“Okay. I’m Rachel, by the way.” I grabbed him a menu before he could respond and then I hopped off to get the dishes to the back. I felt his gaze on me as I walked away. Strangely, I didn’t mind.
On my way back, I noticed Al and his pal Harry had come in. Al was one of my favorites. “Harry. Hey, Al.”
Al gave me his usual quirky grin, his eyes twinkling. His face was a sheet of wrinkles, but they fell in all the right places. You could tell he’d spent most of his life smiling and when he gave me that grin, I could see him as he was in his heart. I snagged some more dishes off a table before walking by Pam.
Her dull brown eyes flicked to mine as I approached her, a low spark lit behind their usual glassy surface that meant she was looking for a little dig.
“You know that coffee pays for the clothes on your ass,” she said around her cigarette.
Silent, I set all the dishes down and picking up the coffee pot and two cups.
“And you’re the one who makes it.”
I carried the cups over to Harry and Al. “I can’t work miracles, Pam. I add the water to the grounds you give me, and I sure as hell don’t get wine.”
A few people snorted and chuckled.
“Wine?” Al barked. “I didn’t figure you for a wino.”
I winked at him.
“You sure do have a lot of sass for such a little body. One day I’m going to fire your smart ass, and we’ll see what you think of my coffee then.”
Pam and I enjoyed putting on a show. The locals expected it. I had come to love that subtle hush of anticipation from everyone after Pam set me up. I could picture her mouth twitching around her cigarette, even though my back was to her as I set down Al and Harry’s coffee cups. My brain was piecing together a comeback, but Al beat me to it.
“You fire Rachel,” Al said as he glanced up at me, “and you won’t have anyone to drink your coffee.”
A round of chuckles sounded again, and Harry lifted his cup to Al. I barely kept in a quip about how Al was right, that given enough time without my presence, Pam was sure to kill them all off with food poisoning. That was too far though, even for Pam’s thick hide.
“Aw, Al. Thank you.” I kissed his bald head as I moved on to Harry’s coffee cup.
Al raised his coffee cup to me, and I noticed with amusement that he was blushing. I moved on to the out-of-towner.
His gray eyes sparkled at me when mine caught his. I felt a dip in my chest, like I’d gone over a hill too fast. That was definitely foreign.
“Did you know what you wanted?” I filled up his mug.
“Full plate,” he responded.
“Comin’ up.”
The door flung open and I looked up to see Debbie, nearly pulled over from the exertion of opening the front door. She wore a little white dress like mine, her apron tied crooked, her hair disheveled. She distinctly avoided looking in Pam’s direction. She was fifteen minutes late.
“Rachel’s been bussing tables just fine,” Pam said, her voice level, a bad sound because it was terribly unnatural for her.
“Come on, Deb. I need help on dishes in the back.” I switched the coffee pot to my other hand and looped my arm in hers. I tugged her forward before she could dig her heels in and sprint for safety. She knew it was a bad sign if Pam was acknowledging her presence. She was young and new. Fresh meat for Pam to torture.
We edged past Pam, me on the dangerous side, and I secured Debbie in the back, watching as she shot me a grateful look over the mountain of dirty dishes. I smiled at her as I washed my hands and started up some food. I knew Al and Harry’s orders by heart and I had the out-of-towner’s to do, too. My hands moved fast over the grill, honed from practice. I could’ve done it blind.
Then I headed for the front, armed with a water pitcher and empty glass, leaving Pam the responsibility of the cooking food.
“You didn’t leave your darlin’ alone, did you?” Pam asked, her voice back to its usual gruffness.
I kept a straight face as I continued on with what I was doing. “Course not. She’s got a can of bear mace and a bat.”
The room came alive with laughter. Pam even reached out and tried to swat at me with her spatula, her lip spasming. I gave a playful shriek and dodged it, some of the water from the pitcher sloshing out onto the floor. That caused more excited titters from everyone. She took a long drag from her cigarette, her eyes actually warm as she gazed back out over the diner like she hadn’t seen me.
“She’s in a good mood today,” Harry murmured to Al.
The affection in his voice for Pam warmed my heart. Filling glasses as I went, I made my way back to the man with the soft gray eyes as things quieted down again.
I set the empty cup down in front of him and filled it. “Just in case.”
His eyes held mine a beat longer than necessary. “Thanks.”
My cheeks flushed and I turned, hiding the inward embarrassment my easily pinked cheeks caused. My insecurity evaporated into a quick rush of nerves as a rusted-out Berretta tore into the parking lot, spraying gravel as it skidded sideways. The playful energy of the morning snuffed right out of me. I had been in a bad mood this morning, but it had been lightened by the distraction of everyone at the diner.
And now here was the source of my bad mood. Roy’s car screeched to a stop, bumping up against a cement parking marker. I hated it when he showed up at the diner, and he knew that. He rarely risked it, so he must have been feeling particularly cocky. He got out of his car like it was a limousine, his greasy mechanic uniform hanging from his lean body. His eyes found mine through the window. Mine narrowed before I turned to head to the back.
I took in the changed mood of the diner. It was quiet, a different kind of pressure hung in the air. People were suddenly occupied with their food. It bothered me some. Roy wasn’t well liked in town. While he made me madder than hell, he had a good heart. Most people thought we were together because Roy advertised that fact and I let him, despite the fact that it did make me self-conscious. I always hid it though, and felt a touch of shame that I let other people influence how I thought of him.
Pam lit another cigarette as I walked by her to get a mop to clean up the spilled water. The bells on the door chimed and then Roy said, “Well, hi, Pam, don’t you look ravishin’ this morning?”
A flame of anger licked up through me. He was already walking the line.
“Shut up, Roy,” Pam deadpanned.
I smirked as I grabbed the mop, then erased the smile before heading out to the front. Roy sat at a table in the middle of the room, leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up, hands behind his head. He gave me a slick smile that I wanted to smack off his face. “Well, hey, baby.”
The man with the gray eyes stiffened in his chair. I kept my face neutral and flipped the mop over the spilled water, ignoring Roy.
“Come on, baby, you going to treat your man like that?” He knew I hated it when he called me baby, too.
I gripped the handle of the mop, wondering what it would feel like to knock him over the head with it. Probably delightful. My face burned with embarrassment. “Go home, Roy. I’m working.” Lord help me, I was about to throttle him in public. I’d be the talk of the town for weeks if that happened.
He held his arms out wide. “I’m a paying customer just like everybody else.”
The diner was deathly quiet as I grit my teeth.
“Food’s up,” Pam mumbled.
I put the mop up and washed my hands then gathered up a tray of food. The tension in the diner was a physical sensation now. I had to walk past Roy on my way to deliver food. I could feel his eyes on me and I wanted to… just grab him by the hair and shake him. Why did he do this to me? He loved to annoy me. Or anyone. But especially me. And then he made a huge mistake. As I walked by him, he leaned back just a bit more and flicked at my skirt, like he was trying to look up it. I darted to the side, nearly spilling my tray. When I righted myself, I stared at Roy, my chest and brain so hot I felt like I could melt him with my eyes. Everyone’s attention focused on me somehow, even though their faces were buried in their food. Roy just grinned. My eyes flashed to the two legs of the chair he precariously balanced on. Without another thought, I kicked the leg with my heel and Roy toppled backward.
“Woo! Ha Ha!” Pam gut laughed.
I set the tray down carefully as Roy cursed and scrambled to get to his feet. “Now just what the hell do you think—”
Before he could properly right himself, I pinched his ear between my fingernails, right where the skin met his scalp. His weight crumpled at my touch.
“Shit, Rachel, that hurts!”
I pulled him by his ear, opened the door, and yanked. He yelped and jumped over the threshold, then scurried off to a safe distance, rubbing his ear.
“All I wanted was some pancakes! Why the hell do you gotta make scene?” he yelled.
I stared at him as I ground my teeth. I stalked back to the tray of food, grabbed the biggest fistful of pancakes I could hold onto while I poured syrup all over it. The diner was deathly silent. I walked back toward the door. Roy stood there slack jawed, his eyes wide.
He held up a finger, the whites of his eyes showing. “Baby, don’t you—”
“Here’s your damn pancakes!” I answered, hurling them at him.
He pulled his hand over his face and flinched hard as they hit him in the side, leaving syrup marks before they flopped to the ground.
“Ah ha. Ha. Ha,” came more of Pam’s stunted grunting laughter. Cautious chuckles from some of the customers followed. I ignored it.
“And how’s this for a scene? Stay the hell out of this diner and away from me, Roy Harper!” I let the door shut, the bells chiming cheerfully as I calmly walked over to the tray of food. I’d really done it now. I’d given them all a story they’d be talking about for weeks. Maybe longer. I picked the tray up with my sticky hand so I could dole out the food with my clean one. I decided to serve Gray Eyes first, since it’d been his pancakes I’d used as a weapon. The door of Roy’s car slammed shut.
“Sorry about your pancakes,” I said to the man with the kind eyes.
He smiled up at me, his eyes light. “If I’d have known what you were going to use them for, I would have ordered more.”
I heard someone chuckle, and his words made me giddy. My nose crinkled as I tried to keep a straight face. Not knowing what to say for the first time in a long time, I turned to go wash up and make some more pancakes.
Chapter 2
I was in the back, elbow deep in dirty dishwater. It was my night to close. Pam stopped in, and I noticed she was leaving thirty minutes early. Sometimes she did that on slow nights. Tonight was downright dead.
“You want me to lock up?” It was her usual goodbye.
“No, I’ll do it. See you in the morning.”
She grunted something and disappeared. As soon as I heard the bell chime on the door, I lifted my hands from the water and went to the front. It was a clear night, and I knew the rock station might come in if I was lucky. I loved everything music, but I heard country non-stop all damned day. I spun the dial to the exact spot and, like magic, a solo filled the room. I recognized the sweet wails of Hendrix right away. He sure could work over a guitar. My fingers itched for the neck of one. Not expecting anyone else to show up for the night, I cranked it, transforming the little diner into my own space to let my hair down.
I got back to rinsing dishes, feeling the music get in under my skin. I rolled my head around, hoping to speed up the process of getting my neck muscles uncoiled. I only had a few more plates to rinse and then I had to drain the water and fill it with hot suds. After worrying all day about the next Roy confrontation I knew was coming, I had to fight the urge to climb in. I would take a hot bath the second I got home tonight.
Listening to Hendrix brought back memories of Sam and Brooklyn. Sam was my best friend, and I’d lived with him for a little over three years before running away from the city when
I was fifteen. I’d fled from a forced stint in foster care, terrified that the social workers who pulled me from the world Sam and I had created would find me again. That was the reason why everyone here knew me as Rachel instead of my real name, Ana Marie. I’d decided to disappear completely, leaving my skel of a mother, who roamed the streets of New York hell-bent on finding her next fix, and even Sam, in the dark about where I’d gone. That’s a long story for another time, but there were still days when I missed him so much my chest felt heavy with ache. I longed to hear him call me Anabelle, one of many nicknames he had for me. Hell, I’d love to just hear anyone call me Ana Marie.
Music had always been my escape, the piece of the world that made sense to me, but Sam had blown the top off what I thought I knew. He was a genius. I knew some rock when I met him, but Sam broke it down and explained song after song. We went back and forth, him giving names to the patterns in music I’d discovered and showing me how to twist them into something fresh, and me doing my damndest to impress him, copying the sound of whoever we were playing. He respected rock for its painful beauty; it fed a fire in me that I’d been born with deep in my soul. If Sam and I had to be apart, I played until my fingers ached or until he came home. Sometimes we’d play guitar solos back and forth, seeing how quickly the other person could name the musician who’d played it and what song it was in. But my favorite nights were when Sam was in a giddy mood. That was when he was the best at making up songs with me. That feeling of joining our minds and hearts together and making something brand new that no one else had thought of before… that feeling just thrilled my soul. I knew Sam felt the same way. That’s why we were besties. That and because we were Aqua twins. We have the same birthday; Valentine’s day of all days.
I’d finished the last of the dishes and had to wait for the water to drain out of the big metal sink. I wiped my hands on my apron and went to go clean off a few chairs and put them up. I got a rag and some cleaner and went to work, swiping the same spots on the same chairs that I did every night I closed. The music gave me a break from my life. I loved my little apartment I’d fixed up as best as I could, I enjoyed doing a job I was good at, and the people were comforting, but I was starting to feel an itch to get out. It was becoming harder not to justify leaving and going to Brooklyn to find Sam, especially with the drama from Roy. Leaving would fix that once and for all. And I was old enough now that I’d be safe going back home without fear of being thrown back in the foster system. I’d intended to go home as soon as I turned eighteen. But I was young and scared to embark on the return trip of what was a hellish journey to Rayburne when I escaped Brooklyn. Rayburne was a long way from New York: Georgia to be exact. And then there was Pam. She relied on me to run the diner and that made it harder to just walk away. She was the one who’d given me a job when I needed it so badly.
Call Me Ana: A Novel Page 1
