Chapter 38 Jay #2
"I'm not here for coffee actually." I walk up to the counter, trying to look confident even though my heart is pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. "I'm here to ask if you're hiring. If you need help."
Her eyebrows go up, surprise clear on her face. "Hiring? You looking for work?"
"For evening shifts specifically. Kitchen work, dishes, cleanup, whatever you need doing." I force myself to meet her eyes instead of staring at the counter. "I'm looking for a second job. Something to keep me busy at night, fill the empty hours."
Betty studies me for a long moment. I can see her taking me in—the grease still under my fingernails from the shop, the worn jacket that's seen better days, the dark circles under my eyes that no amount of sleep seems to fix.
I brace myself for the polite rejection, for her to say thanks but no thanks.
"You ever worked in a kitchen before?" she asks finally.
"No ma'am. Never. But I'm a fast learner, and I'm not afraid of hard work. I can follow instructions and I show up on time."
"I can see that. You've been coming in here for two years now, regular as clockwork.
Never late, never cause trouble." She taps her fingers on the counter, thinking.
"I've been needing someone for the evening shift, actually.
My dishwasher quit last week out of nowhere—said the hours were too late for him, he wanted to be home by eight.
You okay working until close? That's ten o'clock most nights, eleven on Friday and Saturday. "
"I'm only available weeknights right now. I have a standing commitment on weekends." I don't elaborate, don't explain that my weekends belong to Ivan.
Betty raises an eyebrow but doesn't pry, doesn't ask questions.
"Weeknights only, huh? Monday through Thursday?
" She pauses, thinking. "You know what, that actually works out perfect.
Weekends I've got my nephew helping out—high school kid saving for college.
It's the weekday evenings I'm really short-staffed on.
When people call out, I'm the one washing dishes. "
"Then it sounds like we both need each other."
"Looks that way, doesn't it?" She smiles, her face crinkling with warmth. "Pay's not great, I'll be honest with you. Minimum wage plus a share of tips if the waitresses feel generous that night. Some nights it's good, some nights it's not much."
"That's more than I'm making at my other job. Anything is more than cash under the table."
She laughs at that, the sound genuine. "Alright, Jay. You've got yourself a job if you want it. Can you start tomorrow? Wednesday?"
"Tomorrow's perfect. What time should I come in?"
"Come in at five. I'll show you around the kitchen, introduce you to the equipment and the other staff, show you where everything is." She reaches across the counter and shakes my hand firmly, her grip strong. "Welcome to Betty's. Don't make me regret this."
"Thank you. Really, Betty. You won't regret this. I'll work hard."
"I better not." But she's smiling warmly as she says it, her eyes kind.
I walk out of the diner feeling lighter than I have in weeks. Maybe months. Two jobs. A plan that's actually taking shape. Mick's card in my wallet if I need it. Betty's handshake still warm in my memory.
I pull out my phone as I walk and think about calling Ivan right now, telling him the news immediately. But I want to wait until our scheduled call tonight. I want to hear his voice when I tell him. The hours crawl by with agonizing slowness.
At exactly ten o'clock, my phone rings.
"Hey," Ivan says when I answer. "Are you okay to talk now?"
"Yeah, of course. I'm not doing anything except waiting for your call anyway." I settle back on the bed, getting comfortable. "I have news."
"Good news or bad news? Tell me which so I know how to brace myself."
"Good news. Really good news. I got a second job. At the diner. Betty's place. Evening shifts, five to ten, Monday through Thursday."
"Jay, that's amazing! When did this happen? When do you start?"
"I asked her today after I left Mick's shop. Just walked in and asked if she needed help. And I start tomorrow night. Wednesday."
"I'm so proud of you. This is great."
"It's just washing dishes and cleaning up. It's not anything special."
"It's not just anything. Don't diminish it. It's you making a plan and following through instead of just talking about it. That's everything."
"There's more. I talked to Mick today too. About drinking and about getting help."
"What did he say?"
"I asked him if he'd ever known anyone who had a serious drinking problem and was able to stop.
Actually quit, not just cut back." I take a breath.
"He said yeah, he knew someone. This guy lost his wife first—she walked out after years of putting up with his shit.
Almost lost his kids too, they stopped talking to him.
And he nearly bankrupted his business because he was too drunk to notice the bills piling up or the clients leaving. "
"Jesus. That's rough."
"Yeah. But the guy hit rock bottom eventually and realized he had exactly two choices.
Keep digging himself deeper, or start trying to climb out.
So, he started climbing. Went to AA meetings every single day at first, sometimes twice a day when it got really bad.
Found a sponsor, worked the twelve steps, the whole program. "
"Did it work? Is he still sober?"
"Mick said it's not magic. It's not easy.
It's hard as hell, especially at the beginning.
But it's free, and it works if you actually work it instead of just going through the motions.
" I pause, my heart racing. "I asked if it's possible to quit on your own, without the meetings.
He said sure, anything's possible. But it's a lot harder.
A lot lonelier. The meetings give you people who understand what you're going through.
People you can call at two in the morning when the cravings are eating you alive and you're about to lose it. "
"That makes a lot of sense. Having support. Not trying to do it alone."
"At the end of the day, when I was leaving, Mick called me over.
He told me that person he was talking about, the one who lost everything before getting sober—" I have to swallow hard.
"That was him. Twenty years ago. He said he sees me coming in some mornings looking like I haven't slept.
Sees my hands shaking when I think nobody's watching. He's been there."
"Wow. I wasn't expecting that."
"Me neither. He doesn't talk about personal stuff ever. But he told me. He gave me a card. For AA meetings at the community center on Fifth Street. Every night. He said I don't have to go, I don't have to do anything. Just know it's there if I need it."
"Are you going to go? To a meeting?"
"I don't know. Not yet. I'm not ready for that yet." I trace the edge of the card with my thumb. "But I have the card. Just in case. Just knowing it's an option helps somehow."
"That's good, Jay. You don't have to go if you're not ready. But it's good to know it's there. Good to have options." Ivan's quiet for a moment. "What did Mick say at the end? After he gave you the card?"
"He told me I've got real talent with motorcycles. And a good heart, even if I try to hide it. He said he doesn't want to see me throw that away because I'm too stubborn to ask for help when I need it."
"He's right. You do have those things. All of them."
"I'm trying to believe that. Trying to see myself the way you and Mick apparently see me."
"You will eventually. I'll keep telling you until it sticks. Until you believe it as much as I do."
There's a comfortable pause. I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line, can picture him lying on his bed in his room.
"With the new job at Betty's," Ivan says, "what does that do to our schedule? Our call times?"
"I'll be working until ten most nights. By the time I walk back to the motel and get settled, it'll be closer to ten-fifteen, maybe ten-twenty depending on how late we run."
"That's fine. I don't mind staying up a little later. I'll wait for you."
"You need your sleep. You've got to be at work at six-thirty in the morning."
"I'll survive on a little less sleep. Talking to you is more important than an extra fifteen or twenty minutes of sleep. Ten-fifteen it is. Every night. Or ten-thirty if you need more time. Whatever works for you."
"You sure? I don't want you exhausted all the time because of me."
"I'm positive. Completely sure. This is what I want." He pauses. "You're what I want. Everything else can adjust."
"Okay. Ten-fifteen then. Every night."
"Every night," he agrees. "No matter what."
When we finally hang up, when we've exhausted every topic and I can hear him yawning despite trying to hide it, it's almost midnight. Way later than either of us should be awake on a work night.
I should be exhausted, should barely be able to keep my eyes open. But I'm not tired. I'm wired, buzzing with something that feels almost like hope.
I'm finally doing something positive.
I'm moving forward.