JOSIE
Eight in the morning at the diner is the calm after the storm. The tables are cleaned up. The dishwasher swishes water relentlessly, fighting hundreds of dishes after the breakfast crowd surge.
“Phew!” Givens whistles, winking at me when I come in. This guy is happy-go-lucky no matter the day or time. Ten years out of probation, two kids, the most hardworking man I know and the happiest one.
“Busy?” I ask, tossing my purse and parka into the office and going to the dishwasher to unload the dishes. Not my job, but physical work is more distracting than paperwork, and I sure do need a distraction from my obsessive thoughts about the stranger and his messages.
“As always. How are you, love? You’re early again. How’s Mrs. Boots?”
“Same old,” I say. “I mean same.”
He laughs that contagious low laughter, tosses the towel over his shoulder, and starts scrubbing the grill, whistling under his breath.
Sue runs in and dumps more dishes by the dishwasher. I look through the serving window and see only a few people at several booths, including Rika, the blue-haired bartender, who occupies a seat at the counter. That’s two days in a row.
“Want a little break?” I ask Sue. “I’ll go check on the customers.”
“God, I need a cigarette,” she exhales loudly.
“Go. I got this.”
Givens crinkles a brow at me over his shoulder. “Look who’s become an early bird lately.”
I smile to myself and go through the swinging doors to the counter area.
“Hey,” I say to Rika, getting a nod in response as she lazily flips through the newspaper. “Anything exciting?” I nod toward the paper.
“No,” she says without looking at me. “But there sure is enough crap going on in this small town.”
“That’s Burnville. Anything that flies under one’s radar in a city is on full display in a town like this.”
“Especially shitty relationships.”
“People here have a flair for screwed-up relationships.”
“It’s called boredom.” Rika pushes the newspaper away and taps her finger on the menu. “I’ll get the lox bagel.”
“No dippy eggs and scrapple for you?”
Rika gives me a warning glare, and her chest shakes like she just gagged.
I chuckle and put in the request at the order window, then wipe the counter and the laminated menus.
Something about Rika draws me in. She watches me, too, her chin propped on her palm. I’d say it’s boredom, but I also know I’m wrong. I don’t think this girl gets bored.
“You staying in town for a while?” I ask.
She shrugs. “We’ll see.”
Usually, it’s either a job at the hospital, relatives, or a love interest that brings people here. She obviously has nothing to do with the hospital. I haven’t heard her mention any relatives.
“So, are you seeing anyone?” I ask.
Rika raises her eyes at me, making me cringe at the question.
“Like dating? Or a therapist?” she asks.
A quick laugh escapes me. “Dating.”
“Here? God, no.” She rolls her eyes. “You?”
“God, no,” I repeat, even though I dated several local guys back in high school.
“But you like that Andy guy from the bar, huh?”
I raise my brows. “And how would you know that?”
I never actually made it to Andy’s table the other night at Carrigan’s. He left without saying goodbye. I chatted with him several times at the bar. Not an interest, per se, but men with good looks and ambition are slim pickings here.
Except, Rika wasn’t working the bar when I met Andy.
“He told me you two had a thing going on,” she says. “But you shut him down.”
Obviously, he has a big mouth. “We didn’t have a thing going on.”
“Well, he's a lousy lay."
I almost choke on my breath. “Ex-cuse me?"
"You heard me."
I frown. “I wasn’t interested, not that it’s any of anyone’s business.”
“Yeah, okay. Why the attitude then?”
That is really none of her business. And no, I’m not going to admit to her that I already stalked his social media, zooming in on the girls in his pictures and his stupid abs.
Rika gives me a once-over. “I get it. He’s a good-looking guy. For this town, at least.”
“And you think you are cooler than everyone here?” I ask, unintentionally bitter.
“That’s kind of a low bar.”
Suddenly, my “local girl” pride flares up. This is insider immunity—we can trash any local we want, but we don’t like outsiders bashing our small town. I’m not even sure why I’m suddenly offended for Burnville, but I am. It’s not a fancy place, but I grew up here. "You know what—"
"He's dumb, too,” Rika cuts me off. “Boring, unless you are into his race car stories.”
"You seem to know a lot."
“I’m a bartender. It doesn’t take long to know a person. Especially when someone is wasted and hits on everything that moves. Amber, you probably know her, said she hooked up with him.”
I know Amber. I went to school with her. Low bar, indeed.
“She tapped that,” Rika continues in her indifferent voice. “One-star review. So, I saved you from the bad experience. You are welcome.”
Ew.
I rub the counter with a rag so hard that I might rub holes in it. I’m angry. Not because Rika just trashed someone I actually considered taking home a month ago. I was feeling low, sad, and needed company. Not happening now.
But it bugs the hell out of me that this girl just rubbed it in my face. And she is right. Why would she even care?
“You seem very judgmental,” I say. “Yet, you are in Burnville.”
“Yep. That’s me. An underachiever in the armpit of Pennsylvania,” she says with sarcasm well covered up by her indifferent expression.
Hey, I love people who can make fun of themselves, but I’m still angry, although the diner is empty, and Rika is a freaking magnet. More than anything, I want to know why she’s really here, of all places, and not in one of hundreds of other former coal towns in Pennsylvania.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, changing the topic.
“A couple of years.”
I stall in surprise. “I haven’t seen you here before. Or at Carrigan’s.”
“No. I managed the Sheetz by the truck stop. Then waited at the Italian place downtown. Plus, you just moved back. How would you know?”
I’m caught by surprise. Has she been asking around about me or something?
I lean on the counter to bring my eyes to her level. “Seriously, though. Why are you in this town?”
She must have some baggage—that’s the only reason people from the cities hide in small towns. Could be something bad, trauma. I normally have zero interest in others’ trauma when mine is overflowing the bucket.
Then, again, curiosity.
“Regrouping,” Rika says with a sneaky glint in her eyes. “Running away, getting myself together—whatever you wanna call it. Why are you?” she challenges me.
Jeez, this isn’t a competition of sad life stories. “My grandma is ill.”
“Karen Boots?”
I flinch. She knows the last name, probably knows the history. Of course she does. Which means she’s heard about my mom, too. She’d better not bring it up.
Mom trauma, that’s what they call it. “Aw, it was bad for you growing up.” “That's horrible.” “That sucks.” That was such a long time ago, but often, those sharp pieces of your past stay in you, cutting from the inside like the Pear of Anguish torture tool. I don’t remember my mom, but what happened to her is a badge I have to carry.
Decades after she’s gone, the ghost of her is still next to me, almost every day, through stories, but more importantly, in my grandmother and her story, reminding me of where I come from.
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound too defensive. “Karen Boots.”
“Yeah,” Rika mimics me.
“She raised me. So, I came to take care of her.”
“So you being here has nothing to do with that viral video that got you canceled?”
Aargh! I knew it!
And just like that, my scandal has made it to the small diner in Burnville.