Chapter 5 Annalise
Annalise
“Everybody, stay calm!” Famous last words, of course. In fact, I’m apt to believe that phrase was intended to trigger the exact opposite reaction in people. “I’ve got it taken care of!”
I say this, knowing I certainly do not have it taken care of.
A spray of blood lands on my teased hair and patterned bow.
A woman ducks underneath a dining table, taking her plate of pancakes and homemade maple syrup with her.
Two little girls bounce in the cherry-red booth, one giggling and pointing, the other banshee-screaming into her chocolate milk with her hands over her eyes.
The goldfinch arches overhead, swerving left and right, another trickling of blood from her injured wing dappling the black-and-white checkered floor.
Kenna hides in the corner, covertly recording the chaos for social media clout.
She sends me a toothy grin and a thumbs-up as I lift my pleated skirt and hightail it over to where the bird has landed on an older gentleman’s table while he casually sips his coffee and reads the newspaper.
“So sorry,” I say, out of breath, inching toward the bird. “Can I just…?”
He nods, perusing the sports column. “Mind if I get a refill, darling?”
Blinking, I attempt to hold the smile as my attention shifts between the man and the bird. “Absolutely. It’s on the house.”
“You’re a gem.”
“Just give me…one…second—” My hands extend, successfully cupping around the tiny creature until she’s nestled between my palms. “Got you!”
A few cheers echo throughout the restaurant.
I beam brightly, moving across the floor in my chunky heels. “Everyone’s meal will be comped today! So sorry for the inconvenience.”
Barreling toward the front door, I hold the bird close to my chest, grazing the pad of my thumb over her silken body.
The sky is gray and colorless today, the air colder than our freezer-burned calamari.
A gust of icy wind steals my breath as I land on the front stoop, the door slamming closed behind me.
The bird startles, burrowing into my hands.
“It’s okay, little one. You’re safe now. ”
I take a moment to inspect her wing. It’s bent at an odd angle, and a thin line of blood stains the delicate feathers. Not a lot, but enough to make my stomach twist.
“You’re tougher than you look, aren’t you?” I murmur, shielding her from the wind. She trembles against my palms, her frail chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven beats.
I scan the street, but there’s nowhere safe to take her. No vet nearby, no time to find a wildlife rescue. My options are limited, so I go with the best one I have.
I rip off my apron and create a makeshift nest, tucking her inside to keep her warm.
“I know this isn’t ideal. But you’re gonna have to trust me for a little while.” Thinking quickly, I march over to Alex’s car in the parking lot and place her on the floor of the passenger seat, hoping she’ll hang on until my shift is up in an hour. Then I’ll need a better plan.
A sweet, songful chirp sees me off, wrapping my heart in a tender hug.
As I jog back over to the restaurant, my brain conjures up poetic words, as it often does. It’s always spinning with rhymes, haikus, and makeshift lyrics. I’ve never been great at math, but give me adjectives, adverbs, and alliteration, and I’ll spin it into something meaningful.
I rush back through the diner, my eyes meeting with Kenna’s as she refills the newspaper man’s mug of coffee.
“What the hell?” she mouths to me, her box-dyed blond hair reflecting off the ceiling lights, a contrast to her warm, golden skin.
I stretch a strained smile and wave her off, my anxiety spiking as I approach the kitchen. Alex is going to be pissed.
The double-swing door pushes open, and sure enough—
“Annalise, what the fuck? Where’ve you been?” Alex is tenser than a coiled spring as he looms over the industrial stove, sweating bullets, his hair pulled back into a small bun at the nape of his neck. “All these orders are backing up and getting cold. You’re pissing me the fuck off.”
“One minute!” I reach for a square napkin and scribble down the new words brewing in my mind before they leave me. Fetching a fresh apron, I tuck the scrap of paper into my front pocket, eager to add it to my growing mountain of random napkin poems.
Bleak skies and shattered wings
And still she sings
Hope shines brightest in fragile things
“Sorry,” I call out, returning to the expo window that’s already filled with orders waiting to be expedited. “We had a situation.”
“What situation?” He hollers over at Maurice tending to the deep fryer. “I need that fried chicken five minutes ago. Jesus.”
“On it, Chef!”
I read through the tickets, my chest constricting, knowing how behind we are after the ten-plus minute bird fiasco. “There was a bird bleeding all over the dining room. I took care of it.”
“Took care of it? Why didn’t you ask the maintenance guy, whatever-the-fuck his name is?”
“Bradley.” My lips purse. “I was already there. I panicked.”
He grumbles under his breath. “All American, table seven.”
Another order of hot food slides onto the metal shelf. Panic grips me for a beat as I stare at the array of plates and drinks, feeling overwhelmed, too clogged up to get back on track.
I’m twenty-one years old, and this isn’t how I envisioned my life: pulling double shifts at my boyfriend’s restaurant, getting screamed at on the daily, going home with sore feet, greasy skin, a bruised ego, and a dying sense of self-worth.
I just want to write. Breathe music, words, and experiences.
Live.
A spatula clatters to the countertop, making me flinch.
“What the actual fuck?” Alex shoots me a death glare from the kitchen, his back rippling, shoulders drawn tight. “Why are you just standing there? Move!”
Hot tears lance my eyes as I scramble to catch up. “Sorry. I’m moving.”
Plastering on a fake smile, I grab a tray and pivot back to the dining area.
There is frustrated, mean Alex, and there is kind, attentive Alex.
As the days press on and the hours at the restaurant grow longer and more tiresome, the man I love with all my heart—since the day we played in the sand together at the neighborhood park—becomes a man I don’t even know anymore.
The good and bad days bleed together, the bad outshining the sweeter moments, eclipsing the late-night cuddle fests and long talks over cheap Moscato, and erasing all the glorious, defining moments along the way.
I’m in a constant state of grieving, and grief on its own is hard enough. But when grief masquerades as guilt, there is no telling the damage it will do.
That’s why I stay.
That’s why I’ll always stay.
***
Alex is on break behind the restaurant, puffing on a cigarette as he leans back against the timeworn, ruddy brick. When he spots me, he lets out a long sigh and flicks ashes to the cement. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I reply, zipping up my puffer coat. “Are you okay?”
“Another day, another dollar.” He blows out a smoky breath. “Sorry I lost my shit on you. It’s been a morning.”
“I understand.”
“You good?”
Nodding, I cross my arms to counter the chill in the air. “Yeah. My shift is up. I’ll be back for tonight’s dinner service.”
“Need a ride?”
“Uber is on the way.”
“Cool.” Alex studies me under the overcast sky, his pale-green irises gleaming with suppressed emotion. Then he swallows, glances down at his gray performance sneakers. “You did good today. Caught back up like a champ.”
My lips pucker as I peer up at the overhead signage: Charlie Barker’s.
The name is a nod to his old family dog, a lanky labrador retriever who lived till he was sixteen years old.
Alex always had big dreams of owning a restaurant—one he took over from his father after his parents moved out of the country—but now I don’t think he loves it like he used to.
The culmination of stress, debt, and dwindling free time is swallowing his already fractured soul, adding enormous strain to our relationship.
It’s a burden. A headache with no relief in sight.
And when dreams become a curse, they lose their luster, turning into something he’s stuck with rather than something honorable he’s worked for.
“Thanks,” I murmur, gnawing on my lip. “Maybe we can start that new show after we close up tonight. The thriller one.”
“Yeah, sounds good. The freezer is stocked with your favorite ice cream.”
“It’s a date.” I smile a little sadly. “Well, I’m taking off. I’ll see you later.”
“Are you headed home?”
“In a bit. I’m pet-sitting for one of my old neighbors.” Not technically a lie. “I’ll probably get a nap in before I circle back here at four.”
His eyes narrow with a trace of suspicion before he shakes it off. “All right. Have fun.”
I pivot to leave, but his voice pulls me back.
“Annalise.”
Pausing, I tilt my head over my shoulder, glancing at him. “Yeah?”
“Remember when you ate that entire carton of Amaretto cherry ice cream because you didn’t want the night to end?
You figured if you just kept eating it, we’d have no choice but to stay up, fighting sleep, talking about pointless bullshit, laughing until we couldn’t breathe.
” The corner of his mouth ticks up, and a tired laugh slips free. “I miss that.”
I spin all the way around, gripping the handle of my purse, staring at him like I haven’t seen his face in years. “I puked in your lap,” I choke out, nostalgia glittering in my eyes.
He inhales deeply and lifts his chin, drinking in the muddy sky. “Worth it.”
My heart squeezes. A thorny fist around the tattered valves.
“Thailand, huh?” he says.
Warmth slithers through my chest, knowing he remembers my ridiculous text-a-thon that night. “Oh…yeah. Sorry, I was a little drunk. But it would be fun, right?”
“Yeah. It would be.” He tosses the half-smoked cigarette to the concrete and kicks at a loose rock. “We’ll talk. I gotta get back to work. I love you.”
“Love you too.” Our eyes meet for a fleeting moment before I turn away, stride to Alex’s car to fetch the bird, and wait for the Uber to pull up.
It’s a quick drive to Silverleaf.
As the sedan winds through the neighborhood, I glance at the tiny creature nestled in my coffee-stained apron. The heater is on full blast, blowing warm air against her frame.
“What should I name you?” My hands hold her steady on my lap, my attention panning from the bird to the blue house approaching on the right.
Names and titles are the hardest for me. I could probably write a dissertation on everything under the sun, but force me to give it a name, and I’ll freeze up.
They are permanent. Forever.
But one name coasts across my mind like it’s meant to be. “Haiku,” I murmur.
The driver puts the car in Park. “This the place?”
Haiku lets out a sharp chirp, pulling a twitch from my lips. I don’t know how long I’ll get to keep her.
But first there’s another living being who needs me.
“Yep. Thanks so much for making a pit stop. I’ll only be a few minutes.” I take a calming breath, setting the little bundle on the floor. “Can you, um…keep an eye on my bird?”
“Yeah, sure.” The twenty-something guy shrugs and starts playing on his phone.
After hopping out of the car, I wander up the now-familiar driveway, pluck the house key from the stoop, and step inside. The lingering scent of coffee wafts around me, wrinkling my nose. Someone must have been by recently.
A neighbor?
“Hello?” I call out, just in case. The lights are off, the house in similar condition to how it was forty-eight hours ago. I wasn’t sure if I could make it over here yesterday, so I left out a giant pot of water, extra food, and pee pads strewn across the kitchen floor.
No one answers me, but a sable-and-white ball of fur on four legs races out from the primary bedroom, tail wagging, ears jutted toward the ceiling.
A giant smile spreads across my face as I bend down, allowing the dog to crash into me and topple me backward. I laugh, my hands roaming over Toaster’s body, my fingers scratching, massaging. “You look like you’re plumping up already. Must be all those Frosty Paws.”
His wet tongue bathes my hands and arms in kisses.
Rising to my feet, I march into the kitchen, my heels clicking against the tile. I survey the small space for the plastic container of kibble, but someone must have moved it.
Hmm.
I think about Chase. Where he is, how he’s doing, and if he had friends and family after all. Surely there’s someone.
Maybe he’s self-isolated to the point of thinking he’s alone in the world, when in reality, somebody is out there, just waiting for him to let them in again.
The police haven’t reached out since Tag swore it was all a mistake, that I willingly drove the gunshot victim. And even if they knew anything, why would they tell me? I’m nobody to him. Just a stranger on the periphery, waiting for news that won’t come.
A chill burrows in my bones. I haven’t discussed getting a dog with Alex, but I’ve already made up my mind: if Chase doesn’t come home, Toaster will be mine.
I promised.
“Okay, let’s see where someone put your—” When I twist back to face the living room, I let out a terrified shriek. “Holy shit!”
Chase.
He’s standing at the edge of the hallway in a pair of pajama shorts, his hair sticking up in all directions, and his eyes wide with shock.
I cup a hand around my mouth and breathe out, “Oh my God. You’re alive.”