Reviving Jules

by Peggy Trotter

  “Well, you’ll look in vain. There’s nothing.” Jules steadied her gaze.

  “Vain?” A brow rose again. “Fancy talk.”

  Why had she used that word? Jules swallowed. “I’ll work hard. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

  Suddenly, having this job meant everything. It was a way to get back. Back to a life.

  The yellow cotton candy head dipped a bit as she reached in behind the counter and brought out an apron. A white one, minus the grease marks.

  “Fine. Put it on and get to work.” She spun and hurried off.

  “Wait. You mean now?” Jules tasted vomit.

  The woman returned and stopped in front on her. “Hon, there’s customers waitin’ even as I talk. You wanted a job, you got one. Go back to Hattie, and she’ll brief ya. She’ll give ya a pad, pencil and basic instructions. She’s in the kitchen.” The woman slung her arm toward the rear of the building, stepped to the window, and tore down the sign. Off she went.

  Jules closed her mouth and glanced at the people staring at her. Her stomach did the wave as she rose. She clutched her apron and walked between the nosy customers to the steamy, greasy kitchen. Saloon doors separated the dining area from the work area. Jules didn’t even have the strength to think how ironically passé it was. She bellied up to the window.

  Hattie turned out to be the cook, a short grouchy one, set to retire some twenty years back. Wrinkles etched deep in her stiff face and her mouth pulled low in a permanent scowl. Her hair resembled rusted gray iron, probably reflecting her will. She handed Jules a menu covered with their own brand of lard, plus a pad and pencil. While flipping about twenty burgers, grease settling on everything in a haze, she explained the tax system.

  “You gotta memorize this chart. We don’t got no newfangled computery thing here. Ya punch in the taxes into the register by hand. You listening to me?”

  Reality fuzzed. Jules’s mouth grew dry. She felt her head nod.

  Hattie turned and barked orders to her chop assistant behind her. “Get me more cheese slices. Can’t you see I need more cheese?”

  She swung back to Jules and muttered. “Hard to find good help these days. Lazy girls just wanta jab on their fancy phones and don’t pay no bit of attention to working.”

  Jules glanced at the young mousy assistant with big owl glasses heading for the dirty white refrigerator at the far end of the kitchen.

  Hattie pointed her dripping spatula at her. “You hear me about learning that there chart?”

  “Yes.” Heat suffused her face.

  The cook turned to the grill and flipped several burgers. Fat and moisture hissed anew and more steam rose. “Well, don’t just stand there. Put on your apron and get to it, missy. I ain’t got no time for lollygaggers.”

  Panic gripped her. “I need to use the restroom first.”

  Hattie’s face puckered with displeasure. “Oh, for Pete sake. Back there.”

  Jules pushed through the squeaky batwings and stumbled across the kitchen to the unpainted door on the left. Once inside, the noises faded to the background, and Jules leaned on the chipped porcelain sink. No vanity, just rusty pipes and mildew. What a pleasant place.

  Anxiety gnawed at her midriff, and her skin flashed hot, then cold. She stared in the mirror. Why, she looked positively ill. Her eyes were wild and flyaways haloed her face. Not a drop of makeup hid the dark circles or the splotches. On her flushed cheeks, sweat glistened. My, how thin she’d become.

  At one time, the scary witch in the reflective glass had possessed a few appealing features, though that thought skittered from her mind at this point. Several deep breaths helped calm her nerves. No going back on her word now. It was all she had.

  She turned on the water, moistened her hands, and laid her cool fingers against her fevered face. Quickly, she pulled a paper towel from a bent rusty hanger and dabbed her face.

  She slid the ponytail holder from her hair, collected the strays, and wrapped the band with an extra turn to pull the thickness into a ballet bun. It was going to be hot. Within, she boiled. She pulled the door open and stepped into the drab kitchen. Her stomach lurched at the nauseating smell of searing raw meat. She would get her life back. Somehow.

  And it was going to start now.

  * * *

  Jules trudged down the three steps of Marsha’s Snack Shop. Her head whirled and wooziness caused her to stagger. She hadn’t eaten today. But her first day at the rodent’s lunch counter had ended. In her hand, she clutched a tax table telling how much to add to each customer’s check. Marsha had a fetish for things old, so the cash register was an antique push button monstrosity with a pull handle. The waitresses manually punched in the tax at the end of the tab. It was insane. What business operated in such a way? Jules growled aloud. Obviously, Marsha’s Snack Shop.

  She barely took three steps when she stumbled. Those sidewalks. She inhaled a good sharp breath and gritted her teeth against the tears forming in her eyes. Her first day was finished and she’d survived, mainly bussing tables during the lunch rush as her cluelessness made it impossible to wait on people.

  Then Marsha trained her, as it were.

  “Memorize the menu. Smile. Get the customers their food and drinks. Orange-handled pitcher of coffee is de-caf and black is regular. Don’t take guff from Homer and punch in the taxes on each lunch at the end of the order. Tab sheets go on a nail hammered through a small piece of one by four by the register.”

  A one by four? Yeesh. And it all sounded so simplistic. Yet Jules knew until she had a few weeks under her belt, it wouldn’t be. Oh, and to sweeten the bowl of cherry pits, her pay was a dollar below minimum wage. Her massive tips made up the rest.

  Jules jingled the three dollars and fifty-six cents in her pocket―her tips. Yes, that certainly made up for lost wages. She shook her head. It didn’t matter. This job represented more than money. It’d pass time and allow her space to heal. As soon as her house sold, she’d be fine. She scrunched her face and chewed her lip. Dizziness descended, and she gasped more oxygen into her lungs. At least the small town air smelled fresh and smog free.

  That’s it. Count my blessings and all that jazz. Jules sniffed as obnoxious tears bit her eyes. She couldn’t think beyond generic assistance. And she wouldn’t delve from where those blessings came. It was one small step.

  Once home, Jules found her keys and burst through the door. She locked it behind her and collapsed on the air mattress, still unmade and covered with mounds of blankets and pillows. The clock showed only 8:00 p.m. She sighed and snuggled deeper, allowing pent-up tears to wash her face. Her stomach clenched in hunger. And while weariness hung on her, it was a good tired. Not a sick exhaustion brought on from too much sadness and misery. In five minutes, she fell fast asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Well, hi there, Rhett Carson.” Melanie Cannon tilted her head and lifted her makeup-encrusted eyebrows. Her eyes widened in pleasure as she smiled.

  Rhett, engrossed with organizing the paperwork in his hands, failed to notice Melanie as one of the tellers. Why hadn’t he let the lady behind him go first?

  “Come on, step on up. I won’t bite.” She scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. “At least not very hard.”

  Her titillating laugh reverberated throughout the bank. Several heads swung their way. When had Melanie’s southern accent thickened? He sighed and stepped to the counter, eyeing the solitude of the drive-through customers at the large glass window behind her with envy.

  “My, you look nice today.” She parked her chin on her hand.

  He hadn’t shaved and wore his oldest Indiana University sweatshirt, so, yeah he was a real lady-killer. He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I need to open a savings account for Andi.”

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet. You’re already planning her future. What a great dad. You could give a good lesson to my ex. Are you starting a college fund for the little sweetheart?”

  Rhett flicked his eyes to the staring customer next to him, hopi
ng Melanie would get the hint of how loud her voice was.

  She had the decency to put her hand to her mouth and lower her tone a fraction. “Sorry. I just think it’s so thoughtful of you. My son, Nadar, could use an account, but frankly, I can’t afford it since I divorced Carl. I can’t even pay to send him to the Christian school, so we’re making do with the public one. But he’s made straight A’s.”

  Rhett nodded politely. “That’s great. Could we hurry? I dropped Andi off at the game early, and I want to be back before it starts.”

  She threw her hands up and went into professional mode. “Oh, sure. Let me pull up your account. She’ll have a relationship one that transfers to her own private account once she turns eighteen. I’ll need you to sign a signature card for her since she’s not of age. How much would you like to deposit?”

  He handed over his signed bonus check from the last project he’d done, and her eyebrows elevated. “My, this is generous. Andi’s a lucky kid.”

  Rhett stepped away from the tall marble counter and crossed his arms as Melanie’s fingernails clicked across the computer keys for a few minutes. He studied the lighter shade of skin at her neck where the makeup ended. She fluttered her eyes back on him, blushed, and flashed her brightest smile. “I mean, so many kids aren’t provided for and such. Nader and I just get by.”

  Rhett set his face into an expressionless mask.

  She giggled. “Well, anyway. Just sign this. And here’s your verification and number of the account. You need to keep a balance of one hundred or more, or you’re charged a fee.”

  Rhett picked up the chained pen and scrawled his John Hancock on the line before handing the paper back. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, you’re most welcome. You have a very masculine signature.” She flaunted another smile and fanned herself with his form. “Soccer, huh? Nader never went for sports. He’s into video games. Brainy children are like that.”

  Rhett nodded and stepped away.

  “Now, don’t be a stranger, you.” The syllables filled the large lofty room, and she punctuated her words with another giggle.

  Thankful the lobby had emptied, Rhett gathered his paperwork. He caught Gary Dicen’s glance through the glass of the loan office window. Great. Gary would pounce at the next soccer match.

  Melanie pointed at him. “You tell that girl of yours good luck on her first game. And thanks for the business, Rhett.” She winked.

  He nodded, spun, fixed his eyes on the double glass exit doors, and bulldogged through. Once out in the sunlight, he took a deep breath. That was unpleasant. Why didn’t the woman just throw herself at his ankles and grovel for a marriage proposal? Shaking it off, he jumped in his truck. He needed to return Andi’s video and head back to the game.

  The soccer match waxed long and the weather chilly, but Rhett enjoyed every moment watching his little aggressor attack the ball. Final score, zero to zero. But Andi’s good attitude made it worthwhile as she chattered afterwards at the ice cream shop. He allowed his brain to meander. With rain forecast for tomorrow and the first couple days of next week, he mentally planned his day as Andi prattled.

  “Daddy?”

  Rhett lowered the spoon filled with ice cream. “What?”

  “Are we or not?”

  He’d been caught. “I’m not sure of the question.”

  Andi stiffened and glared at him. “Are we gonna ever go on vacation?”

  “Oh.” He took a mouthful of ice cream to give himself a chance to think. “Not now, Andi. Work’s so busy.”

  Her brows pressed together. “Everyone takes vacations in summer.”

  His lips twitched at another of her all inclusive statements. “Is that right?”

  She nodded, licking at the wide circle of cream around her mouth. Her long ponytail bobbed. “Uh-huh. Goldie says they might go to the beach.”

  “That sounds fun.”

  She tilted her head and nailed him with intense eyes. “I’ve never been to the beach, remember?”

  Rhett collected the trash and laid it on the tray. “Yes, Peaches. I know.”

  Soft pleading entered her gaze. “Dontcha think we oughta?”

  He took a deep breath and crossed his arms. “No. Not right now. And that’s final.”

  Her head hung. “Okey-dokey. But I really wanta go.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Rhett elevated one eyebrow and gave her a pointed stare.

  She blinked and bobbed her head, her face registering her near step out of bounds. “You won’t forget will ya? ’Cause if you do, I’ll remember for you.”

  “Good to know.” He grabbed the tray, rose, and helped his daughter down from her chair.

  “Are you gonna play in the dirt again today, Daddy?”

  He dumped the trash and placed the plastic tray on the trashcan. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Well, I wanna help. I gotta change my shirt first, though, ’cause I can’t get my big eight dirty.” She stuck out her chest and brushed the burgundy shirt with her hands then fingered the large digit. “’Kay?”

  He grinned and held the door for his little bundle of determination. “Sure.”

  * * *

  The day turned warm and sunny for late March. Rhett worked in the garden and tilled until the soil appeared light and fluffy. He raked up mounds as beds for his future plants and scattered straw in the pathways to cut down on weeds. Andi played on her swing set, walked around talking to imaginary friends, and “helped” in the garden. By day’s end, they were both spent and grungy.

  “Time for a bath.” Rhett announced as his daughter approached him on the patio in the near dark.

  “I’m cold, Daddy.”

  “Filthy is what you are. Come on, Peaches. Let’s get you in the tub and then make a little supper.”

  Andi leaped through the doorway of the house as he held it open. “Pizza, Daddy. Cheese pizza.”

  “I don’t think we have one in the freezer.”

  She clapped her hands. “No, no. From Mi Amor. Their pizza is super-dooper yummy.”

  He chuckled. “We just had ice cream today.”

  “Please, Daddy, please.”

  No sense making more work for himself, so he let his resolve melt. “All right. Pizza it is. But first, a bath. Run fetch your pajamas, and I’ll start your water.”

  “Order first Daddy, so it’ll be ready.”

  The child had too clear a bead on take-out, which reflected the frequency of their pizza meals. “Done. Now get. Do what I said.”

  “Yes, sir.” She bowed and giggled before running to her room.

  After calling in the order, he eased his sore body down to the side of the tub and flicked on the water. The temperature duck floated as the tub filled, and he turned to his daughter when she arrived.

  “’Scuse me, Daddy.”

  Rhett rose, stepped back and settled himself on the closed toilet lid. Andi stood there with her hands on her hips. “Daddy, I said, ’scuse me.”

  He laughed. “And I moved.”

  Her brow puckered. “No. You gotta leave. I have private parts.”

  Startled he jerked back a bit. “What? Where in the world did you hear that?”

  “Lucy’s little brother had surgeries on his private parts. We prayed about it at school.”

  Learn something new every day. He nodded. “I see. How’d that come out?”

  “He’s all better. And Lucy says girls have different private parts than boys.”

  Wow, there was more. He stretched his answer out in long syllables. “That’s true.”

  “And boys can’t look at girls, and girls can’t look at boys. And you’re a boy, Daddy.”

  He took a deep breath and eased himself to a standing position. “That’s true. But I am your father, and I’ve been changing your diapers since you were little. So it’s different.”

  She shook her head and pleaded. “Daddy. I’m big now.”

  Maybe she was right. Sadness shot through him as he realized this one small
step catapulted her toward total independence. “You know what? I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you wash, but I better come back and help with your hair. Then, if you want to dress yourself, you may. How’s that sound?”

  Her face scrunched up and her lips twisted to one side as she gave serious thought to the idea. “Okay. I guess that’ll work.”

  “Good. Now you get started, and I’ll head to the kitchen so a big girl can eat her pizza.”

  Andi shot forward and hugged her father’s legs. “You’re the bestest dad ever.”

  He grunted. Yeah, tell me again in a few years when I won’t let you have the car keys.

  * * *

  “And God bless Grammy and Gramps, Nona and Nono, Daddy, Julie, Lucy, Goldie and Mrs. Steeler, and all my friends at school. And please send a sister for me ’cause I really need one. Amen.” Andi stood up from her prayer position on the floor beside her bed and climbed under the comforter.

  Rhett clenched his jaw. For two weeks straight, the child had begged for a sister. When would she forget this silly notion? He brought the fuzzy pink blanket up and tucked it under her chin. “Listen, Peaches. You know God doesn’t give us everything we ask for, don’t you?”

  She gave a sleepy sigh and blinked at him. “What do you mean, Daddy? Mrs. Steeler says Jesus give us good gifts. And we can’t quit praying. We have to keep asking until we get an answer.”

  That Mrs. Steeler was certainly doing her job. He shrugged off his irrational irritation at this thought. “Yes, that’s true. But we must pray according to God’s will.”

  Andi yawned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means God knows what’s best for us. And sometimes, it’s not what we’re praying for.” He settled on the bed in the shadowed room and stroked her dark hair from her face. “You see, Andi, to have a little sister, Daddy would need to be married. And I’m not.”

  Andi nodded, her lids drooping. “So I need to pray for a mommy first?”

  Holy cow. Now what had he gotten himself into? Andi swung the blanket off and slipped once more to the floor on her knees, her little hands clasped in prayer.

  “And, dear Jesus. We need a mommy first. Amen.” Andi clambered back in bed and covered up. “It’s okay, Daddy. God will take care of it.”