Chapter Three
Truett
“T hat’s a fifty-dollar bill,” I said, sleep still thick in my voice. Holding my phone up in front of me to keep it in view, I poured a cup of coffee.
“What about this one?” the seeing-impaired gentleman on the other end of the app asked, holding up more cash in front of his camera.
“That’s a five and the two on the counter are ones,” I replied, padding down the hall to my office.
“Perfect.” He set the money down. “Can I ask you one last thing?”
I sank down into my rolling chair and clicked the mouse to open my computer. My baby was already there waiting on me, her smiling face filling the screen. I lifted a finger for her to hold on a minute and then turned my attention back to my phone. “That’s what I’m here for, sir.”
His voice smiled. “And I appreciate that. You have no idea how nice it is to have volunteers like you.”
I hated the praise. Loathed it. I wasn’t a hero for helping people. If anything, it was a debt I owed society. One of many I’d never be able to repay.
“What was your other question?” I asked to refocus him—and myself.
A bag of coffee filled the screen on my phone. “Is this decaf? I won’t be able to function by noon if I don’t get some caffeine in me.”
Boy, did I relate to that. I was going to need an entire pot to get through my day.
It was Wednesday again. My favorite dreaded day of the week. The last seven days had been… Oh, who was I kidding? It was always the same. Wake up. Eat. Work. Wait for Wednesday. Sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. But this week, I had the near-impossible task of avoiding all thoughts of Gwen added to my list.
Nothing had ever been more exhausting.
“That is regular coffee, sir. You should be good,” I answered.
“Great. Thanks again for your time.”
“No problem. Have a good one.” I ended the call and immediately clicked back to Kaitlyn. “Good morning, my love.”
“Daddy, look!” She lifted a dead weed that could only barely be classified as a flower.
“Wow. That’s gorgeous.”
She giggled. “Mommy took me to the park yesterday and there were a bunch of white flowers but only one pink one. And I got it!”
I smiled, trying to fight back my disappointment. Damn. I wanted to take her to the park. When she had been younger, we had spent every Saturday morning there. Kaitlyn loved the swings. Though I was more partial to the slides. She was scared of how tall they were, so she would crawl into my lap and we’d go down together, laughing in harmony.
I longed for those days. Back when we had shared a roof and she was in the room next door, where I could tell her bedtime stories every night.
I should have been the one with her at the park that day.
I should have been there every day.
Instead, I whispered a sad, “That’s great, baby. I’m glad Mommy took you.”
Staring at her prize, she twirled the bent stem between her fingers. “Do you think if I planted this in the backyard it would grow into a huge pink flower?”
“No.” I chuckled. “Even if it would, Jazzy would dig it up.”
She let out an adorable sigh. “Ugh, Jazzy would totally dig it up. Oh! Oh! Guess what else we saw at the park?” She waited exactly zero seconds before blurting out, “A kitten! It was soooo widdle and cutie cute, cute, cute. It was hiding in the bushes and meowed at me and everything.”
“Oh, yeah? Did you meow back?”
She laughed loudly and the camera shook as she put her elbows on the table. Closing her eyes, she let out a sound that was more of a chirp. “Meow. Meow. Meow.” Her eyes popped open wide, all bright and sparkling, filled with untamed curiosity. “But then the mommy cat was rude and kept grr’ing at me like this.” She blew a dramatic hiss through her teeth. “So I couldn’t pet it.”
“That was probably wise. Can’t have you bringing home rabies.”
She looked off screen and shouted, “What? Why?”
Her mother’s muffled voice came through my speaker. “Come on. Tell Daddy bye. We need to go. I have to be at work early today and I still have to stop and get gas.”
My stomach sank. God, I hated when our chats were cut short. I looked forward to time with her all damn week; a few minutes just wasn’t enough.
One could say her mother and I didn’t have the best relationship, but immeasurable amounts of love had once existed between us. It would have been easy for me to be mad about her stealing Kaitlyn away early. But I’d been raised by a single mother. I knew firsthand that solo parenting could be a difficult balancing act. Especially since I couldn’t be there to help.
I think that was always the hardest part. Every day, I wished like hell things could be different. Maybe if I was a better man. Maybe if I’d chosen a different profession. A different city. A different, well, any-fucking-thing and maybe I would be hugging her goodbye before school rather than saying it to a damn screen.
I silently chastised myself. Coulda, shoulda, woulda never actually changed anything. Yet night after night, I went to sleep hoping it would.
My smile was skillfully locked in place as my daughter looked back at the camera and said, “I gotta go, Daddy. I love you lots and lots.” Using both hands, she blew kisses.
I caught every single one before replying, “I love you too, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Byyyyyyeeeee.” She waved, and then she was gone all over again.
I didn’t move for several minutes. The day was all downhill from there and I was nowhere near ready to tackle any of it. For a while, I seriously debated crawling back into bed. Then I decided against it when I realized that it would only give me time to think—the most dangerous pastime of all.
Besides, I couldn’t risk my thoughts inevitably drifting to Gwen.
Gwen.
Fucking Gwen of all people.
I’d been so rattled after seeing her I couldn’t focus. Even after she’d left, my mind had been a hurricane of empty thoughts. What the hell had she been doing at The Grille in the first place? I’d spent an exorbitant amount of time and money there over the years and had never once run into her. Something I was profoundly and overwhelmingly grateful for.
But there she was.
Time changed people. A fact I knew better than most. It was still surprising how different she looked. Sure, she was beautiful. I was crazy, not blind. But I couldn’t fathom why she’d cut her hair and added those bits of blond. They suited her nicely, but back in the day, we couldn’t go anywhere without women stopping her to gush over her long chestnut waves. And that nose ring? What the hell was that about? The woman I’d met in high school wasn’t edgy in any shape or fashion. I could still feel the sting of the tongue lashing she’d given me when I’d gotten my first tattoo.
I hadn’t recognized the women she was with at the restaurant or how many of the three kids were hers, but there was no denying that little boy with the dark hair. He looked so much like her it had rendered me speechless.
Not that I had anything to say.
When it came to Gwen, the chasms of the past were far wider than the English language could ever bridge. Hell, even trying would have been downright disrespectful.
Suddenly, work and all the distractions that came with it sounded more enticing than ever.
Without another thought, I got busy.
Phone calls.
Virtual meetings.
Pretending I cared when a colleague called to bitch about our boss.
There was a turkey sandwich and a midday cup of coffee in there somewhere, but for the most part, it was a pretty standard day.
And then it was six o’clock.
My therapist had once told me that the hardest part about leaving my house was putting on my shoes, but that was a Mount Everest–sized load of bullshit.
The hardest part was spending every single second of the week dreading it.
And then coming home, knowing I had to do it all over again.
I was Sisyphus, and going to that diner every Wednesday was my rock to push up the hill.
Until suddenly my hill disappeared.
I could barely breathe as I stood under the tattered awning in front of The Grille and read the note taped to the door.
Dear Valued Customers,
Our family has been honored to serve you over the last three decades, but it is with a heavy heart that we must close our doors. Life has taken us in a different direction, but we will never forget the memories made at The Grille. Thank you for being a part of our story.
All our best,
The Branning Family
“No,” I whispered, panic hitting me like a tidal wave.
My throat closed and my mind spiraled as I tried to make sense of what was clearly written out in black and white directly in front of me.
There must have been a mistake. I peered through the window and saw all the tables pushed into the corners with the chairs stacked on top. The lights were on. That had to mean something.
I pounded my fist against the glass door.
The Grille couldn’t close.
The Grille could not fucking close.
Frantic, I tugged on the handle.
It was Wednesday at six o’clock. And the door was locked.
Lightheaded, I desperately shook the door, trying and failing to force it open. “No, no, no, no, no,” I chanted. “You can’t be closed. Come on, come on, come on.”
Every muscle in my body strained as I considered ripping the whole damn door off the hinges.
It would probably set off an alarm.
The cops would show. More than likely arrest me.
But I’d be sitting in that booth when they did.
Worth it. So fucking worth it.
I backed up, prepared to put my foot through the glass—consequences be damned—when a pair of brown eyes suddenly saved me.
Again.