22 #2
“It looks, uhm… good,” I continue, trying to make conversation. “I’ve never read her before. What’s it about?”
At last she lifts her eyes from the book, looking at me with undisguised annoyance. “D’ya want something?”
“Uhm, yes.” I’m pretty flustered as I feel her eyes on me.
I really hate my sudden self-consciousness.
I was once the most popular girl in school.
Now, after two years of being stuck inside a house and only occasionally seeing some of Carmelo’s faceless goons, I’ve practically forgotten how to carry out a normal, human conversation.
“I saw you were hiring,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Is that still the case?”
She studies me for a beat. “Haven’t seen you around. You’re new in town?”
“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to hold her gaze.
“Fine.” She stands up abruptly, rummages in a small cupboard, then brings up a folded paper which she smooths out. “Here’s the application.”
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “Do you… have a pen?”
Clicking her tongue in impatience, she goes back to rummaging in the drawer before emerging with a plastic one.
I stare down at the application as she goes back to her book, looking at the numerous fields and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to fill them out.
“Drawing, mama? Draw!”
Aurora reaches out for the pen, and I quickly lift it out of reach.
“Hold on, baby. Mama has to write. It’s very important. Drink your milk, sweetie.”
“Hungry, mama. Want to eat!”
At that, the woman—Debbie—looks up again. “What does she want? We have eggs, bacon, sausage links, pancakes—”
I hesitate, thinking of the two twenty-dollar bills in my pocket, which are everything I own in this world. Why the hell did I not take the rest of the money?
I could kick myself for being so proud.
“Pancakes!” cries out Aurora, before I’ve had time to say a word.
“Pancakes,” I agree feebly.
Shutting the book with a sigh, Debbie stands up and stalks over to the kitchen. I hear a not entirely pleasant smell as she turns on the griddle, and a few minutes later, she comes back with a stack of hot pancakes and some syrup.
“Careful, hon,” she says, giving Aurora a begrudging smile. “It’s piping hot.”
But that doesn’t scare Aurora, who throws herself at the pancakes with gusto, getting the sticky syrup all over herself as I turn my attention back to the application.
How the hell do I fill this out?
I don’t have an address. I don’t have a bank account. I have no idea what my social security number is. All I have is my name, and I’m not sure writing that down is a good idea.
Finally, I scribble, “Piper O’Shay.”
Maybe writing O’Shay was a bad idea, seeing as it’s my mother’s maiden name, but I doubt Moretti and his goons know that. And Piper is a pure invention, that I came up with after hearing the waitress warn Aurora about the piping hot pancakes.
“All done?” asks Debbie when she sees me set down my pen.
“Kind of,” I hedge. “I actually… don’t have an address yet. That’s why I’m hoping to get a job.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Oh, honey. What kind of a place are you planning to get with a waitress salary?”
“Right.” I chew my lower lip, realizing just how unaware I am of how the world works. Here I was hoping to save up enough to go to Ireland, when I won’t even have enough money to live.
“But I guess you’re here with your husband,” she adds, looking at me quizzically. “He’s gonna be keeping the kid while you work?”
“Uhm…” Shit.
“Never mind,” I say hastily, pushing the form back to her. “I’ll figure something else out. How much do I owe you?”
I take out my two twenties, and her gaze falls down to them, before settling once more on me.
Her book lies forgotten beside her as she leans over the counter. “Don’t tell me that’s all you have in the world.”
A sense of wounded pride rising up in my throat, I sit up straight, grabbing Aurora. She squeaks out her protest as the pancake she’s currently nibbling on falls from her hands. “Please just tell me what I owe you,” I answer stiffly.
She ignores my question.
“You running from someone?” she asks, her eyes still studying me in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable.
“No,” I answer, more harshly than I intend in my effort to push away the fear that’s crawling up my throat.
“Your husband?” She frowns. “You running from your husband?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Squeezing Aurora to my chest, I stand up. “Thank you for the milk and the pancakes. Can I have the check?”
“Listen, hon,” she drawls. “I was once in an abusive relationship. I know what that’s like. Sit your butt back down. We women got to help each other, don’t we?”
“Oh.” I let myself exhale slowly as my suspicions leave me. “Right. Yeah, he was abusive.”
It makes sense that she assumes I’m leaving some run-of-the-mill abusive asshole. That’s a lot more likely than somehow being aware of the mobster who’s currently hunting me down so that he can feed me to his dogs, with the help of a guy who probably wants me dead for his own reasons.
If she’s showing me sympathy, I should probably lean into the abusive asshole story.
“It was a very bad relationship,” I say, nodding. “I left with nothing, and I’m not sure what to do now.”
“Poor girl,” says Debbie, sniffing hard like she’s affected by my story. And I guess she is, if she’s been through that too.
“I’m really struggling,” I agree, doing my best to squeeze out a tear.
Selfish. Manipulative. Logan’s words rip through my brain. I really am both of those things, playing on this woman’s feelings so she’ll help me.
But what else am I supposed to do? How else can I look out for Aurora?
“Tell you what,” says Debbie. “This is my restaurant, and I need help. The place looks kind of dead now, but there’s often a crowd later in the day.
It’s the only place to eat in town. I’ll let you work here, and we can set up a little something in the back so your daughter can play.
And you two can sleep on my couch. I don’t mind, I live alone. ”
“Oh,” I gasp, “thank you!”
The wall I usually shield myself behind has very suddenly crumpled to the ground, and I’m two steps away from hugging her.
Then I remember Ireland.
“And, uhm… what’s the pay?”
“Well, 2.17 an hour, plus tips,” she says, once more studying me sharply. “But of course, you’ll need to contribute for the apartment, and the daycare situation. And the food. I’ll feed you.”
“Right.” I nod slowly. “So what would that leave me with?”
“The truth is, it shouldn’t leave you with anything. What you’d pay for rent and daycare would be far more than what you earn in wages. Minimum wage doesn’t get you far, in this country.”
“Right,” I say again, licking my dry lips. “And tips?”
“That’s the wages,” she explains. “That’s what you’ll need to hand over to me. The two dollars is just the base pay. That’s how it works in waitressing.”
“I see.” I glance at Aurora, who’s currently licking her plate clean. “And… how would we live?”
“Well, you’ll have a place to sleep, and food. What do you need more than that?” She stares at me shrewdly. “Unless you’re saving up for something?”
I hesitate. “Well, yes. I’m trying to go home. To my mother. She lives overseas. I need money for the plane tickets.”
“Hmm.” Debbie turns back to her book, opening to the page she’s earmarked. “If you work here for six months, I could probably help you buy those tickets. How does that sound?”
Six months. My eyes widen as I realize it means being stuck in this tiny, hopeless town for that long, with Logan and Carmelo hot on my tracks.
And yet, survival is the priority right now. Survival, and that’s what this woman is offering us.
The rest is just going to have to wait.
“Fine,” I say at last. “That sounds… fine.”