CHAPTER 11
I’ve gotten so used to feeling eyes on me whenever I’m away from my storage hidey hole I hardly bother trying to find the source anymore.
Matter of fact, it’s kinda comforting to feel as if someone’s looking out for me.
Again, my mind skips back to the stretch of luck I’ve had lately, and I hope I’m not jinxing myself by thinking about it so often.
In all my life, I’ve never been one to catch a break.
No clue what changed, but it’s amazing to walk down the street and not be scared.
The bell above the door jangles when I push my way into the kitchen entrance at Pete’s.
The bright light competes with the mixed scents of food being prepared for the morning and the sounds of pots and pans banging and clanging.
All of it creates a jarring explosion of stimulus after the near silent trek here in the pre-dawn gloom.
“Speed it up, girlie. Tons of prep to get through before opening time,” George barks.
A week ago, the way his words boom and echo through the kitchen made me jump with nervousness.
Today, I find myself smiling in the face of his harried anti-morning grouchiness.
George is big and loud, but he’s a proverbial teddy bear with a heart of gold.
He’s the kind of man who protects those smaller than him, and he’s taken me under his wing and been the kind of father figure I never had.
He’s also let me pick up extra hours helping in the kitchen, so I can save up for a place even faster.
I don’t say why I need to make money fast, and George doesn’t say anything about the P.O.
Box I listed as my address on my application.
There’s no way he doesn’t know how desperate I am, but I appreciate that he’s taking a chance on me and not prying too deeply into my life.
“Start on the potatoes after you get washed up. They need to be peeled and diced for the scramble skillets we’re featuring for brunch today.
Throw ‘em into the bucket with a couple gallons of warm water to soak out the starch. Got it?” He’s already heading into the cooler, and he misses the victory wiggle I give at the new chance to prove myself in the kitchen.
“Sir, yes, sir!” I chirp at his retreating back.
Waiting tables is fine, and it’s good for quick cash.
But time spent in the front of the restaurant is time spent being on display.
It makes me easier to locate if Jordan’s trying to find me.
Working in the kitchen adds a layer of protection, even if it means missing out on tips.
Hopefully, I’ll prove myself to George, and he’ll let me help in the kitchen when we’re open, too.
My fingers are cramping and the skin pruning up from being constantly wet by the time I’m done peeling all the potatoes necessary.
Jordan used to make me do all the cooking, but this is different.
The scale of prep work in a restaurant is light years more than I’d guessed, but there’s a rhythm to it I’m finding peace in.
Serving customers is a chaotic whirl of managing eleventy things at once, almost a dance of sorts.
“Can I use this knife, George, or is it one of your special ones?” I’ve watched enough television cooking shows to know how much chefs care about their blades.
“Use it. Just be sure you dice the potatoes into even cubes.” He’s busy cubing up pieces of ham, cooking bacon on the flat top, and there’s already a pile of sliced peppers, mushrooms and onions in a huge mound on the counter.
“You did all those already? I’m sorry I’m so slow.” It’s humbling how much he got done while all I was just peeling potatoes.
“It’s fine, girlie. You’ll pick up speed as you practice. Everybody starts somewhere,” he grunts.
“I’ll finish cutting these and then go get the chairs pulled down and ready for opening.
” This part goes much faster than the peeling, and soon, I’ve got a giant bowl filled with potato cubes ready to go.
George shoos me out of the kitchen and into the dining room where I make quick work of resetting every table, so they’re ready for customers.
The morning flies by with group after group coming in, eating, and leaving just to be replaced by more people.
Through it all, the feeling of being watched over persists.
Any time I peek through the plate glass windows lining the front of the restaurant though, no one around seems to be paying any attention.
Leaves tumble along the sidewalk in swirls of autumn hues as the sun makes its way from one horizon to the other.
October’s brought in fall with a fervor that can’t be denied.
The walk here this morning was so cold I saw my breath puffing out ahead of me, and I know the trek back tonight will likely be even colder.
“Hey, wanna swap sections with me so I can be cut early?” Kara, the afternoon waitress always wants to leave early.
She’s a student and claims she needs the extra time to study, and since I need every dollar I can make, I always say yes.
Still, it means I’ll be even later walking home, and the temp will drop even further.
“Um, yeah. I can stay,” I agree, already thinking of what I can do with the extra money.
Yeah, tonight’s gonna be cold, but George already told me I can’t work tomorrow morning because we’ll be opening late so the health inspector and the fire marshal can do an annual review.
Since I won’t need to be here ’til closer to lunchtime, I can swing through the thrift store and maybe find a coat with the tip money I make tonight.
By the end of the night, I’m bone weary and exhausted, but I’m another big day closer to my goals.
I lock the dining room door, pull the chain for the neon “Open” sign, and slowly shuffle to the backroom where we leave our belongings and spend our breaks.
There’s a gift bag perched on top of my ratty backpack.
I’m a thousand percent positive the bag wasn’t there when I took my dinner break a few hours ago.
“Mateo, did you put a bag on my backpack?” I shout so he hears me over the sound of the dishwasher and the music he likes to listen to softly while he closes the kitchen after George goes home for the evening.
“Nah, my stuff’s in my car. I didn’t have to loan to it Gia today because she’s home sick.
I just left everything in it, so I don’t have to carry it all around, you know?
” Mateo’s another stray George collected.
Seems as if he’s a magnet for down on their luck humans, and he always manages to hire folks who need a hand up. Like me.
“Okay, that’s weird then. There’s a present here on my bag, and if it’s not yours…” I say.
“Hmm, did you look at it?” he asks, coming up behind me and drying his wet hands on a dishtowel. He reaches over my shoulder and snags the bag, lifting it and turning it to dangle in my face.
“It says ‘Petal’ on it. Safe bet it’s for you. Dork.” He grabs my hand and places the strings of the bag over my fingers, letting the bag drop but not fall. “Is it your birthday?”
“Not yet. Not for a few more weeks.” I don’t advertise it, but my birthday’s the day before Halloween.
Growing up, I got to pretend all the Halloween classroom parties were actually parties to celebrate my birthday.
But we’re only a few days into the month and it’s not as if anyone here knows my birthday.
Except maybe George because he hired me.
I don’t think he’d do this, though. He might be a teddy bear who looks out for his collection of misfit employees, but he’s not the sweet gesture type.
Mateo shrugs and wanders back to the dish pit to finish cleaning for the night.
I peek inside the bag. There’s no tissue, no card, just a sharpie maker scrawl of my name on the outside of the pale green gift bag. Inside is a dark, thick winter coat.
I unfasten the zipper and shake out the folded coat.
It’s heavyweight and feels luxurious. The sort of parka athletes wear to adventure and compete in the snow.
When I wrap myself into it, I realize it’s exactly the perfect size for me to wear with a sweater underneath, but it’s warm enough I won’t need to layer the way I have been.
I zip it clear to my chin and shrug into my backpack as I push my way through the kitchen door into the alley beside Pete’s.
My hands go into the pockets only to pull out brand new gloves in the softest pale gray leather I’ve ever seen.
This coat and these gloves are the nicest things I’ve ever owned, and I’ll be damned if I question the luck that brought them to me.
Maybe, whoever’s been watching me really is looking out for me. The thought sends tingles of appreciation through me. Hope and gratitude warm my insides as much as the gift warms my body.
“Thanks for the coat and the gloves!” I call out into the darkness. Somehow, I’m sure I’m heard.