CHAPTER 3
Petal
Everyone says waiting tables is killer on the feet, but I never expected how precisely accurate the claim is.
My feet hurt. Like, seriously hurt. And if the squishy, wet feeling in the cheap canvas sneakers I’m wearing is any indicator, the blisters from yesterday have popped and seeped who knows how much blood into the barely padded soles of the knock-off Chucks.
As soon as this last table finishes their eleventieth cup of coffee and actually take themselves home, I can clean up their table and leave, too.
The other servers have already gone, cut from the floor long ago and leaving after finishing their side work.
It’s only me and George running the diner, and he’s done everything he needs to do to shut down the kitchen down for the night.
“We’ll just take the check, miss,” the older woman says primly.
I’m so grateful my knees tremble with the effort to stay on my feet.
I’ve been on the clock since six this morning, in motion since four.
Buses don’t run that early, so it was a three-mile walk just to get here in time for opening.
It’s gone eleven at night now, the sun long set and darkness chasing away the heat of the day.
The buses have stopped their routes for the night, so it’ll be another eternity before I make it back to the storage facility I’m calling home for now.
There’s no avoiding that now, but the sooner I get this table out the door, the sooner I can get through the night.
I run the woman’s card at the register, stand by the door, then turn the locks to the door behind them as they leave. George finds me there a few minutes later, leaned against the cool glass, trying to rally the energy to finish my cleaning duties for the night.
“You look done in, girlie,” he grouses. He’s not one for chitchat or friendliness, but I still note the to-go container tied up in a plastic bag dangling from his meaty fist. He shoves it out in front of him as if just having to carry it is irritating, and he gestures at the offering with his other giant hand.
“Didn’t see you eat a damn thing all day. You’re no good to me passed out from hunger. Take this.” The plastic crinkles as he swings it my way. “You get a meal every shift. You stuck around tonight when Matty went home sick. There’s food in there. You eat it all before you get here tomorrow.”
I take the bag from him and watch as he spins to stomp back through the double doors into the kitchen.
My brain catches up slowly as the scent of fried food and meat hits my nostrils.
The bag feels heavy, and I can see there’s more than one container under the knot keeping it closed.
Tears sting my eyes, the unexpected kindness weighing heavier on me than the apron filled with fourteen hours worth of tips.
“Thanks, George. I really—” I call my thanks to his retreating back, only for him to throw a hand in the air, waving me off in response.
“Just clean up that table, and take the trash from the host stand with you on the way out. Be back tomorrow. Six a.m. No later,” he grumps.
I wipe the table and upend the chairs, so I can sweep underneath, knowing the busboy will be in first thing tomorrow morning to mop the floor.
The trashcan at the host stand has nothing but ticket copies from paid bills and random napkins in it, so it’s nothing to grab it on my way out the kitchen door.
I hear George rattling around in the walk-in, likely grabbing meat that needs to thaw before dinner tomorrow, and I call out my goodnight as I pull the kitchen door shut behind me.
The dumpster is tall enough I have to heave the trash bag under the lid before it crashes back down, my short stature barely able to pop it open enough to fling the paper-filled bag in.
My stomach gurgles and clenches on itself, the emptiness strangling me with the temptation to sit down, right on the dirty pavement, to tear into whatever food George made me.
I look around for someplace less dumpster-y where I might be able to rest and eat for a few minutes before walking home.
Then I see it. A glint of silver in the amber glow of a streetlight nearby.
Half hidden by garbage that people couldn’t be bothered to walk a few feet to toss in the restaurant’s dumpster, near the mouth of the alley, is a cell phone that looks nearly brand new.
Minus a few scuffs on the silver back and a single long crack on the screen, I’d swear this is the latest model available.
I look around the alley for a possible owner.
There’s no one around at all, definitely no one lingering who could possibly own a phone as fancy as this one.
Guilt pricks at me, but I slip the found phone into my apron pocket before untying it from my waist and shoving the whole thing into my backpack.
I’ll investigate the phone later. For now, I need to hide my apron with its telltale “rob me” look and get moving.
It was a stupid idea to hang around a dark alley in the industrial area of town, in the middle of the night, even if I’m half-starved.
The long walk home on my bloodied feet feels lighter tonight.
More food than I’ve had in weeks waits in the bag dangling from my hand, and an apron filled with tips to help me get on my feet is in the backpack over my shoulders.
And now, luckiest of all, I’ve got a phone with no owner that could be mine.
I’ll have to find a way to turn it on and see if the owner is trying to find it, but maybe, they’ve already replaced it with a new, undamaged one.
I could get a charging cord and use the cell at places where the Wi-Fi is free.
A phone of my own would make it so much easier to find an apartment to rent. It would also be good for security and helpful for looking up basic stuff like the weather ahead.
My feet are raw and swollen by the time I slip into bay C-17 for the night, but I’m in such good spirits I can’t bring myself to care.
I’ve learned the hard way not to take off my shoes when my feet are already swollen, because I’ll never get them back on in the morning.
Instead, I prop them against the wall and lie back on my small pile of blankets, the bag of food balanced on my stomach and my backpack beside me.
I’ve a feast to enjoy, money to count, and a phone to figure out. Tonight feels like proof Petal St. Clare not only survives, she thrives.