by Gail Sattler
He looked at Kevin, who was still waiting for his answer. “That’s okay. I know you’re on your way out. Have a good evening, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? I always pick my daughter up from school when I get off, but I have time to make a couple of trips up.”
Without waiting for Mark to agree or disagree, Kevin turned around and headed back upstairs, directly ahead of Mark.
Kevin made the predicted two trips down the stairs before he checked his watch and announced regretfully that he had to go. Mark thanked him, Kevin ran into the lunchroom to retrieve a book, and then scurried off, leaving Mark once again alone in the basement.
Mark stood without moving, his fists on his hips, and stared at the last spot he’d seen Kevin. Mark supposed he would find out when Kevin turned in his timesheet at the end of the week if the help was a favor or for fifteen minutes’ overtime. If Mark had been back at the office, without a doubt, he would have been asked to pay overtime. With Kevin, Mark honestly didn’t know, but he had a feeling Kevin was sacrificing his time simply as a favor. Such being the case, Mark didn’t know how to react, as none of his staff at the accounting office would have stayed to help him unless there were money involved. Unlike him, they all disappeared the split second they were off the clock.
Knowing now what he didn’t know then, Mark wondered if perhaps they had been the smart ones. He had allowed Sean to use him, and he’d received nothing in return for all his hard work except more work.
Mark shook his head to rid himself of his past mistakes and proceeded to unload the rest of the purchases himself. This was the time to move forward, once he figured out where forward was.
By the time he’d made a few more trips up and down the stairs and hoisted the last bag of pancake mix onto the shelf in the pantry, his back was screaming that he’d overdone it, making him even more grateful for Kevin’s earlier help. It was almost torture to retrieve the last box from the car, which was the heavy box of documents.
Before he settled in to continue where he’d left off on Saturday, Mark walked into the main dining area to inform Chantelle that he was back. Since she was busy with customers, he left her car keys on the counter beside the cash register and returned to the office.
He had barely sorted enough paperwork to start a few journal entries when Chantelle appeared in the doorway, jingling her car keys in the air before tucking them into her apron pocket.
“How are we going to work this, with one car between us? It’s been over eight hours, but I can’t leave. I think I’m going to be here until closing because I can’t have Brad or Sandra hosting. That would leave only one server for the supper rush. It was bad enough with the two of us for lunch. I wouldn’t want to do that again, and I certainly can’t do that to anyone for the supper break. I don’t mind giving you my car, but you’ll have to come back after closing to get me.”
Mark stopped typing and rested his palms on the edge of the keyboard. “I’m not going anywhere. I have too much to do. I’m also going to have to work in the kitchen during the supper break.” He turned to study the staff’s hours posted on the wall. “You’ve got Rick, who is full time, and then Allyson, who is a part-timer, in the kitchen for supper until closing. Two people would be okay for the evening, but not through the supper rush.”
Chantelle nodded. “I hear Uncle Joe opened, worked a full day between the hosting and supervising, and Jack arrived sometime in the afternoon. He worked between the bookkeeping and the kitchen and stayed till closing.”
“Are we going to do that?”
“I don’t know. This should be an even swap of bodies, me for Uncle Joe and you for Jack, but it doesn’t seem like we have enough people here. I even checked the week’s schedule, and we have the right number of people. Somehow, it feels like we’re always a person short. I don’t know how they did it.”
Mark nodded. Even though they had two different people, they were even with the body count on the schedule. Chantelle shouldn’t have been having difficulty, yet there was no denying that she was.
To be fair, Joe had been running the restaurant for two decades, and Chantelle had stepped in with no advance preparation or training. He probably should have prayed that she would be able to figure everything out on her own, but he didn’t dare.
He forced himself to smile politely. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, and you’ll do fine.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to hire someone because Jack and Uncle Joe already have to pay you and me, which they didn’t before. They’re still going to need an income from this place, even though they’re not here. But I really need another person serving or hosting. Can you tell if they pull in enough money to temporarily pay another extra salary?”
Mark fanned his arm over the mass of papers strewn all over the desktop, as well as a few stacks he didn’t have enough room for, which had overflowed onto the floor. “Does it look like I know anything yet?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t have to be that way. I was just asking. If you want to go home, don’t forget to get me at closing.”
Before he could respond, she tossed her car keys into the middle of the desk, turned on her toes, and stomped off.
Mark shook his head and settled back into the chair. He winced at the twinge in his back as he twisted, then pressed both fists into the small of his back in an attempt to give himself some relief. The result of today’s efforts made him grateful that he was, by profession, an accountant and not a truck driver.
He hadn’t meant to be curt with Chantelle, but he had other things on his mind when she’d interrupted him. Being a career accountant meant he had a daunting task ahead of him. After he caught up with the data entries, he also had to balance and reconcile everything. Then he had to make the system easy to maintain on a daily basis.
What had probably made him less than patient was that Chantelle hadn’t been the only one to wonder if the diner could support the extra salaries. From what he’d seen so far, he didn’t think it could. He hadn’t told Chantelle, but he’d given her a raise in pay to offset the difference between serving and hosting, because now she would no longer be in a position to collect tips, which would have been a substantial component of her income. Mark wanted to do the fair thing, which was also what his uncle would have done.
Knowing what he knew of the way his uncle and Joe conducted their business, Mark was almost afraid to continue. By experience, he’d seen that Ma-and-Pa–run proprietorships usually didn’t profit as well as ventures that were strictly “business.” The cold, hard facts of life proved over and over that most of the time, nice guys really did finish last.
Even if Uncle Jack and Joe could take a hard line with the business, he still didn’t know how the business would fare with the drain of two additional and unexpected salaries. Back in his college days, he’d thought the diner had done well, but that was through the eyes of inexperience. Besides, at the time, he hadn’t been given the opportunity to audit the financial records. All he’d seen was what his uncle had wanted him to see.
A few days ago, he had given everything only a cursory audit due to time constraints. Then, paying extra salaries hadn’t been an issue. Now he had to look at the paperwork in a different light, which was managing it rather than just entering and balancing. Having seen too much struggling by businesses when unexpected disasters happened, the real question in his mind was if paying himself and Chantelle fair salaries would be too much and drive the business under.
Another thing Chantelle hadn’t considered was medical expenses. If either or both of their uncles didn’t have good medical plans or enough saved, the money would have to come from somewhere. That somewhere could only be the restaurant, their only source of investment.
Mark sighed as he reached for the first stack of paper, which was the pile of purchase orders to be entered. Until he could get control of it, every second he wasn’t urgently needed in the kitchen would be spent searching for answers in the jumb
le before him.
Just as he touched the first order in the pile, Chantelle’s boisterous laughter echoed into the small office.
Mark gritted his teeth. Every so often, she irritated him to no end, and this was one of those times. While he was slaving away in the office all by himself, she was in the middle of the action, having fun. The woman had no concept of what it took to run a business successfully.
And, he vowed to himself, in spite of Chantelle, he was going to do everything he had to do to make this one successful.
Mark rose and closed the office door, just short of slamming it. As he sat down, a shot of pain seared through his abdomen. His head swam. Mark sucked in a deep breath and pressed his fist into his solar plexus until it subsided. He didn’t know which one would be the final touch to drive him over the edge to a full-fledged ulcer—the latest calamity that had been cast into his lap or Chantelle.
Nine
Chantelle seated a couple of people who had just made the most awful joke. She forced herself to smile as she bid her leave, even though it almost hurt.
She didn’t know if it was because she was so tired or if it was because of all the stress of the day. To the customers, she could be nice, but to Mark, she’d almost said something she surely would have regretted.
So far, she considered herself to have been patient and understanding with Mark. He had been thrust into a new situation very unexpectedly, even more so than she had. He’d been uprooted from his job and his home. The only bright side was, instead of living alone, he was staying with his parents, who fed him and probably didn’t expect him to do any of the housework while he was there—at least not yet.
Just as she reached the counter leading to the kitchen, she heard the office door close with an abrupt bang.
Chantelle gritted her teeth. She knew what he was thinking, and it hurt.
It was obvious that Mark didn’t think much of her abilities as a waitress. Despite the fact that he was right and that she didn’t particularly like waitressing, it still stung. He hadn’t said anything directly, but Chantelle wasn’t stupid. She could see the underlying thread of impatience in him. She certainly heard the sarcasm in his voice. She may not be very good, but she was doing the job to the best of her obviously limited abilities. All she wanted was to hear that there was hope. That they really could pull together and run the diner. . .and most of all, that tomorrow things would be easier.
He hadn’t given her the chance.
“Chantelle? Table twenty-two is asking if we have soy burgers. Do we?”
Chantelle spun around to face Sandra. Her first management question and she didn’t know the answer. But since she didn’t know, she had to assume the answer was no.
“Tell them we’re sorry, we don’t have anything not on the menu. If they don’t want beef, suggest a chicken burger; if they’re looking for a diet or meatless meal, suggest a fresh garden salad. I know that we do have some kind of fat-free dressing. I just don’t know what flavor it is.”
Sandra smiled and nodded. “Great. I’ll do that.”
Chantelle made a mental note to study the menu and options better.
She didn’t want to start doubting herself, but she wondered what Uncle Joe would have told her to say. Then, since she didn’t have Uncle Joe to ask, she wondered what Mark would have said.
Chantelle shook her head. Mark wasn’t here. He was in the office with the door closed, shut away from everything and everybody, having a stress attack all by himself.
All she wanted was a little bit of encouragement from him. She would readily have done the same for him if it looked like he needed it. Right now, she thought he did. However, instead of making himself accessible, he pushed everyone away, including her.
Last night, though, he certainly hadn’t pushed her away. She’d been the one to push him away. Now she realized that she’d made a mistake. If they were going to be partners, they had to at least be friends. Friends could indeed share a hug. However, friends shouldn’t be sharing a kiss.
Chantelle covered her face with her hands. They hadn’t exactly shared a kiss. All he’d done was kiss the top of her head. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe she’d imagined it. Today she was sure that kissing her was the furthest thing from his mind. His impatience with her had been more than clear. She had no idea what he’d been thinking last night; but today, she had a feeling that she didn’t want to know.
Chantelle straightened at the sound of the bell announcing the arrival of more customers. She pasted on a smile, showed them to a table, gave them menus, and returned to the front.
For her first day at hostessing, except for being so tired, she thought she might like the job. She liked dealing with a variety of people. Most of all, she found she much preferred taking their money than serving the food.
Mark, on the other hand, didn’t enjoy working with people, even though she knew he was a manager at his real job. He seemed to prefer to spend his day alone in the office with his computer or in the kitchen, working with only two or three other people.
Still, she had to be fair. For now, Mark did have to shoulder the bulk of responsibility for making the restaurant run smoothly. Until he finished entering all of his uncle’s data into the computer, they were operating blind—even down to the stock they needed from day to day. Without the schedule on the wall in the staff room, she wouldn’t have known who was working or what times they were supposed to show up. Until Mark finished inputting countless pieces of paper and doing whatever it was accountants did, they had to operate on pure grace, hoping and praying that all went as it was supposed to.
A grumble from Chantelle’s stomach hit her at the same time as a wave of nausea surged through her. Slowly, supporting herself by resting one hand on the edge of the empty table closest to the front counter, she lowered herself to sit down. For the first time that day, she checked her watch. She’d known when two-thirty had come because the two other full-time people had arrived, and the early starters had gone home. But she hadn’t thought about the time other than a marker in the day because of the change of staff. It was now four-thirty, and Chantelle just realized that she had not yet stopped for a break. That also meant she hadn’t eaten anything since five-thirty that morning, when she’d gobbled down a couple of pieces of toast and a glass of juice on her way out the door to pick up Mark.
She needed something to eat, and she probably needed to lie down for a minute.
But she couldn’t leave the front because that would leave Sandra alone.
What would Uncle Joe do?
Uncle Joe would check on Mark, because he probably hadn’t eaten or had a break, either.
But at least Mark had been sitting down for most of the day.
Chantelle sucked in a deep breath and stood. She walked in a very determined straight line to the kitchen, trying to ignore the spinning in her head.
“Excuse me, Rick? Can you give me a quick order of fries on the side? They’re for me. I need something to nibble on. Can you tell me if Mark has had anything to eat since you’ve come in?”
Rick nodded. “Yes, Mark took a number six back into Jack’s office about half an hour ago. I also saw him help himself to a muffin earlier.”
Chantelle sighed. Apparently, Mark was better able to take care of himself than she was. However, Mark didn’t have to worry about being unable to leave his post for longer than it took to make a quick run to the washroom. And, she certainly couldn’t be eating in front of customers as they walked in the door, where he was free to eat at the desk.
“Make that a number six for me, too, then. Call me when it’s ready. I’ll be right back.” She turned to Sandra, pointed to the office, then to her watch, and held up two fingers. “Two minutes.” When Sandra acknowledged her, Chantelle walked to the office.
She stood at the door, inhaled deeply, then gave the door a sharp knock. However, the door hadn’t been shut all the way. The door whooshed open, hitting the wall behind Mark as he worked. At the bang, Mark jumped, knocki
ng a few papers from beside his laptop onto the floor.
Chantelle didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I know you’re busy, but we need to talk.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, then bent to pick what he had dropped. “You could have knocked.”
“Sorry. I meant to. I need you to replace me at the front. I need a break.”
He glanced at his wristwatch. “Can’t it wait? The other two staff members will be arriving in about half an hour.”
“That’s because half an hour will be the start of the supper rush, and I haven’t even had lunch.”
Mark sprang to his feet. “No lunch? Are you telling me you haven’t had a break yet?” His brows knotted. “We’ve been here eleven hours. Are you crazy?”
Chantelle planted her fists on her hips. “Apparently.”
He leaned toward his laptop and hit save. “Go take your break. In fact, you should go home. Don’t worry about me at closing. I’ll take a cab. Just give me your key, and I’ll lock up.”
She waved one hand in the air. The motion of her own hand almost sent her off balance. Chantelle shuffled her feet to steady herself. “I’m not going home. Who is going to host at the front for the rest of the night? Certainly not you.”
“I beg your pardon? You just asked me to look after the front for you a few minutes ago.”
“That’s different. I’m fully prepared to work a few long days until we get everything figured out around here. All I need is for someone to watch things while I eat and take a short break, then I can go back to the front. And you shouldn’t talk about needing a break and going home. You’ve had your face buried in that computer most of the day. How are you able to concentrate?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve put in longer days than this many times. I’m doing just fine. You, on the other hand, look a bit pale.”
Chantelle wanted to assure him that she was fine, but the room started to spin, and suddenly she felt warm. She raised her fingers and pressed them to her temples. “I think maybe I should sit down.”
