30. Tickets to the Struggle Bus Ain’t Cheap
CELESTE
Ten years later
“Order up!”Jesse called through the window, slamming his meaty hand down on the bell.
“Heard!” I hollered back over my shoulder. Continuing to pour the coffee into Mr. McInworthe’s mug, I flashed him a smile. “Will that be your usual, sir?”
Lines crinkled around his eyes as he smiled back at me. “Gosh, you’re as pretty as your mama.”
It was a sentiment most of our older crowd felt the need to deliver weekly. Each and every time made my heart skip a beat. Ten years had passed since my daddy died, thirteen years since Mama’s passing, and any reminder of them still ripped the wounds fresh and raw. Working at The Comfy Cushion had become my penance, an endless criminal sentence for which there was no parole.
The best thing I could do in these circumstances was focus on my work…and there was a lot of it. Over the past decade, The Comfy Cushion had slowly crumbled around us. All the other staff left until there was just me and Jesse, with Marla occasionally helping when I needed to go to an appointment. Desiree had successfully managed to alienate most of the food vendors to where we no longer had fresh, locally sourced produce and the quality of our food had gone downhill. No matter how many ways I tried to cut back on expenses or find better alternatives, the red line hung precariously over our profit margin. The patrons we had most days were regulars who remembered my parents and wanted to honor them, but made no secret of their disdain for Desiree.
The bell tinkled over the door as another customer entered. Without looking up, I called for them to go ahead and sit anywhere.
“Girl, you better get over here and give me frickin’ hug!” squealed a voice I recognized.
“MAGGIE!” I raced around the corner and threw my arms around her. She jumped like a giddy little girl as she tightened her hold on my waist. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back into town?”
When we were nineteen Maggie and I had gone to a party near the Army base a half hour away as a joke and Maggie met Sergeant Ezekiel Hayes. As a third party bystander, the chemistry between her and Zeke was palpable the moment they locked eyes. However, even I wasn’t prepared for her to tell me a week later that they had gotten married. Nor could I fake a smile when she immediately followed her announcement with the news that he received orders to South Korea and she was going with him. Yet here we were going on seven years later and somehow she seemed just as happy and in love as I could ever hope for.
Since then, they had moved back Stateside to his current duty station in Fort Lewis, Washington, where he had risen in rank to Sergeant First Class. Maggie and I video chatted daily, but it had never come up that she planned on visiting.
“Since Zeke is deployed, I figured why not come home and visit for a spell?” Maggie laughed. “It’s better than rattling around the house by myself for no good reason.” Only I could have detected the undercurrent of sorrow in her laugh. She was scared.
“He’s gonna be okay,” I whispered.
She nodded, refusing to meet my eyes. “I know. He’s good at what he does. It’ll be fine.”
We both migrated over to the counter. Maggie slid onto one of the vinyl barstools as I rounded the counter, grabbing a glass to fill with Coke for her. She was still one of the only women I knew who could have a diet consisting of sugar and anything deep fried, yet remain the same weight as high school.
Meanwhile, I had become every woman’s worst fear. If I so much as looked at anything with butter or flavor, I gained five pounds. Curves rounded out my shape in a way they never had a decade ago, but with how much I worked, I was far too tired at the end of the day to care much about it.
“How’s Iris?” Maggie asked.
“We’ll know in a few minutes. She should be here soon,” I replied tightly.
Maggie spun around on the stool. “At least this place is still open.” It was an olive branch, meant to lighten the mood, but it only served to deflate my spirits even further.
“Barely,” I hissed between clenched teeth. “She’s gotten worse lately.”
“Honey, tickets to the struggle bus ain’t cheap. It’s gonna get worse before it can get better.”
The bell over the door tinkled again before I could respond. Desiree walked in, her hair curled into an elaborate bun and large sunglasses obscuring her face. Her head did a sweep of the patrons before a deep frown settled on her face.
“I see you’re not doing anything to improve business like we discussed, Celeste,” Desiree chided. She clucked her tongue, lifting her sunglasses onto her head. “It would be a shame to see your mama’s pride and joy close down because you didn’t make enough of an effort.”
Storm clouds were forming in Maggie’s eyes, which never promised anything good.
“I’ll come up with some new marketing ideas to run by you,” I offered.
My stepmother smirked. “Be sure and do that.”
Ever since I graduated high school, I spent all of my time at The Comfy Cushion. Desiree loved to remind me that it was her restaurant, and that I was lucky to be allowed to work there. Slowly, more and more of the responsibilities fell on my shoulders. As the other few waitresses quit and Marla opened her bakery down the street, I was left to run the place by myself. Desiree had never even learned where things were located. She rarely came in other than to berate me for the profits being down. There was never enough money to fix any of the equipment that was quickly falling into disrepair, nor would she invest money into digitizing our systems. The Comfy Cushion lagged further and further behind, and our reputation for great food had long since died out.
Desiree stepped around the counter to the cash register, pressing the button to open the drawer. She grabbed all of the paper bills that were inside and stuffed them into her wallet.
“What are you doing?” I asked incredulously.
“We’re gonna do some shopping in Savannah after class is over.” She glared at me for daring to question her.
It took sincere effort on my part not to roll my eyes. “And how am I supposed to make change for customers?”
“Go to the bank like a normal person!” snapped Desiree. She threw up her hands in impatience as if the answer was obvious.
“Desiree, I don’t have anyone to watch the restaurant so I can go down to the bank.” Talking to her often felt like talking to a toddler. She could rarely understand anything that didn’t directly impact her.
Like now. Shrugging, her curt response was, “Then put up a sign and close down for twenty minutes.”
Maggie sniggered at my facial expression, which had to indicate the murderous direction my thoughts were taking, but thankfully my stepmother was too distracted by counting the money to notice.
And so it had gone for eight long years. The moment I graduated high school, Desiree told me I had to start earning my keep by working at the restaurant. Everything I earned went right back into her pocket as “rent” for living in Nana’s cottage. She said it wasn’t right for me to live there for free any longer if I was legally an adult. A stipulation that wasn’t passed along to her two children. Marla had to help me out to pay Jesse’s salary more than once when there just wasn’t enough profit from the restaurant to cover it.
Somehow Desiree continued to have money to burn. Credit cards came to the house by the dozen, and she was constantly shopping. While the bills piled up, repairs or updates down at The Comfy Cushion were ignored, and the house my mama and daddy worked so hard to fix up fell by the wayside. The whole thing made me sick to my stomach. Most nights lately I stayed up, tossing and turning until the wee hours of the morning, trying to get the math right to keep something afloat. It was like watching a slow motion train wreck of my parents’ legacies going up in smoke.
Having Hillary back at home made it far worse. She took a gap year after high school. In her case, that meant she moved to Las Vegas and tried to live a champagne lifestyle on a drug store beer budget. She came home with her tail between her legs, wallowing in self-pity, before Desiree convinced her to go away to college. Hillary was accepted at Georgia State and then immediately pledged to a sorority to live in their house. She spent five years there, attending all kinds of parties and pageants, but never completed enough credits for a degree.
My stepmother was far more concerned with Hillary getting her M-R-S degree, however, and foamed at the mouth when her daughter started dating William Thornton-Bellemere IV, the son of a Georgia congressman. After a year, they were engaged, and Desiree took out a second mortgage on the house and the restaurant, then sold two acres of land that had been in Daddy’s family for generations to pay for an extravagant wedding at the Thornton-Bellemeres’ country club. On the night of the rehearsal dinner, William was found with his dick in one of the bus boys at the restaurant. It caused a scandal that sent shockwaves through Atlanta society, and he fled town.
The scandal really hadn’t impacted Hillary at all, other than a few people questioning how she didn’t notice William was gay, but she had come back to our house carrying on as though life was over. Desiree’s solution had been more shopping and a fancy new car. Like anyone in River’s Run would be impressed that Hillary drove a Mercedes.
I knew Daddy would want me to help them and treat them like family, so that was what I continued to do. Hillary’s sorrow might have been ridiculous to me, but to her it was very real, and I empathized with her for that. She had always been decent to Iris, too, which made it easier to keep my opinions to myself as far as she was concerned.
Right on cue, the bell chimed over the door for the third time and my daughter walked in. With her bright blue eyes and long, blonde hair, she was the spitting image of her father. So much so that when she asked at four years old why we didn’t “match” like other mamas and daughters, I dyed my hair blonde and had maintained it ever since. Iris was the rainbow at the end of the storm, my light and only source of pride. Getting pregnant at sixteen should have been a nightmare, but instead became my saving grace. It was that tiny, squalling baby looking up at me with all the trust and love in the world that pushed the dark clouds away. And while I remained heartbroken at every milestone that I couldn’t share with either my parents or her daddy, Iris made my life worth every tired morning and sleepless night.
“Hey, pipsqueak!” Maggie cried, crouching down to scoop Iris into a hug.
“Aunt Maggie, you’re here!” Iris screamed. Her delightful laugh was a balm to my soul, pushing my irritation with Desiree out of my mind.
“Come along, Iris, and get changed,” my stepmother instructed. “We need to leave soon for your class.”
Our family dynamics were strange, and honestly varied depending on Desiree’s mood. Taking it one day at a time was best.
It still surprised the hell out of me that Desiree took my pregnancy in stride. We had all met with Mr. Hildebrandt, the superintendent, and agreed for me to be fully enrolled in distance learning after the doctor confirmed how far along I was. As soon as I completed all the necessary credits, I would have my diploma. Never once did Desiree pressure me towards adoption, something I never could have considered, but she did maintain strict rules about eating a balanced diet, practicing prenatal yoga, and attending all my doctor’s appointments. Her rules about Wesley never wavered; he was not informed of my pregnancy. Desiree and Hillary showed me a magazine article when I was six months along that had a photograph of Wesley attending a London movie premiere with a model on his arm. I cried every day until Iris was born over that betrayal.
On the day my daughter came into this world, Desiree and Marla both took me to the hospital. They each held my hand and coached me through childbirth. Desiree told the doctors I was not allowed to have any pain medication, that women had been giving birth naturally for thousands of years, but I was so delirious with pain and fear that I didn’t voice an argument. Shortly after they placed Iris in my arms, Desiree sent Marla away to get me some food, then gently took the baby from me. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, gazing softly at Iris’s tiny pink bundle, before leveling me with a cold stare.
“You know, because you are a minor and in my charge, that means Iris is technically my daughter, not yours,” Desiree stated.
Ice filled my lungs. What was she talking about?
“As long as you continue to do as I say, minding your manners and remembering where a hussy like you stands in society, I will let Iris know you’re her mother,” Desiree went on. “But the moment you become defiant will be the last time you ever see your daughter. D’you hear me, Celeste? If I ever catch you trying to contact that Madden boy again, Iris will disappear. That’s not what you want, is it?”
How could a voice so honeyed drip nothing but venom? Fear settled into my heart like a dead weight.
“I won’t do anything, Desiree, I promise.” It was an easy promise to make, given the alternative. Iris had been alive for all of thirty minutes and was now the axis upon which my world spun. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
“Good, then we have an understanding,” Desiree had agreed.
While she never helped with Iris as an infant, the more independent Iris became, the more Desiree threw her weight around. If I dared to disagree or question anything, Desiree would nonchalantly ask if I was being defiant. The gleam in her eye always told me that she remembered the threat; there was nothing nonchalant about her question.
Thankfully, Iris never caught on or seemed confused, and I knew better than anyone that a child could never hurt by having more people love them. Desiree and my stepsiblings all doted on Iris, constantly praising her and showering her with gifts and attention. When Iris was a toddler, Hillary and Desiree forced her into tons of beauty pageants. I was vehemently opposed, but bit my tongue. However, when Iris started dance lessons as her beauty pageant talent, we all discovered she had an incredible gift for ballet.
Hearing all the praise from dance instructors turned Desiree’s head, and pageants were dropped in favor of more dance instruction. Now, at only 10-years-old, Iris was the youngest ballerina ever to dance with the Savannah Ballet Company. Having her daddy’s height and lithe figure certainly helped. She attended dance classes five days a week in Savannah as well as private lessons twice a week that I knew firsthand cost a fortune. Desiree included their fees in my “rent.” It was all worth it, however, to watch my baby girl shine.
Right now at The Comfy Cushion, Iris nodded. “I’ll go change.” Instead of heading back to the office, however, Iris came over and wrapped her arms around me. “I love you, Mama,” she whispered.
No one had prepared me for how much those four words would knock the wind out of me. The first time I heard them, I burst into tears, scaring poor Iris in the process. All the stress from the diner and the house melted away every time she said it.
“Hi, Rainbow,” I murmured back, smoothing her blonde hair away from her face. “You have a good dance class, m’kay? I love you.”
“Come on, we don’t have all day!” Desiree snapped. She waved impatiently towards the door. “Go get your leotard on this instant!”
Iris flashed me an apologetic smile as she pulled away. “I’ll show you my report later, okay? You’re gonna be proud of me.”
It was Maggie who chimed in. “We’re always proud of you, pipsqueak. Now go break a leg!”
Waving, Iris dashed back towards the office to change into her dance clothes. Desiree huffed impatiently again. “I’ll be waiting in the car,” she informed us. “Make sure you get this place cleaned up, Celeste. It looks more like a barn than a restaurant.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped. “That woman is the devil incarnate. How you still put up with it is beyond me.”
I shrugged. “She does right by Iris. That’s all that matters.”
My best friend bit her lip, a tell that she was holding back on saying more. It was a topic of conversation we had exhausted too many times.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” I reached across the counter to clasp her hands in mine. “How long are you planning on staying?”
She shrugged. “We’ll see how things go with my mom. She’s between boyfriends again, so she’s back to being Mom of the Year. I can only handle that for so long.” We both chuckled. Her mom was constantly cycling through relationships.
Just then, Bob from the garage down the street burst through the front door. “Poor Miss Shirley died!” he announced to The Comfy Cushion patrons.
As the few people in the dining room tittered over the new gossip, I tried to mask the pain creeping up my spine. I hadn’t seen Wesley’s great aunt since Iris was born. Her health took a turn and she was confined to bed most days, with a live in nurse caring for her round the clock. Most of the town had forgotten all about her. I felt instantly guilty that I hadn’t checked on her in all these years. I was too afraid she would see Iris and make the connection to Wesley.
Because one thing was certain. Not a day had passed in over ten years where my dreams weren’t filled with shaggy haired, blonde boys and megawatt smiles.