Chapter 12 #2
“She understands it.” Oliver's hand on my back startled me, making me flinch. “I assure you.”
The stranger just nodded.
Oliver immediately dragged me toward the kitchen, pulling me into a secluded corner the moment we stepped in. The worried look on his face told me we were in trouble, or could be.
“Daisy Doll, I need you to listen very carefully.” He whispered, looking around as if someone might be lurking. “Everything you've heard or will hear, you didn't. Okay?”
I leaned toward him. “Who's the man, Oli?” I whispered, curiosity getting the better of me.
“None of your business,” he growled, pinching my arm.
“Keep your mouth shut. Especially with Olivia.” I pressed my lips together and looked away from him.
He pinched me again, this time at the waist, making me jump and curse under my breath.
“Daisy Peonia Mary Parker, if you open your mouth, I guarantee you that me snapping your neck will be the nicest thing that will happen to you.”
“So, is this guy dangerous-dangerous?” I insisted, softly.
Oliver sighed and scratched his bald head, nodding. “Keep your mouth shut. Understood?”
I didn't like the idea of not being able to tell Olivia about the stranger, but I also had no intention of finding out if Oliver was right. Because he usually was.
“Okay.” I agreed.
“Go on, go outside and take something to our client.”
I blinked, not understanding what he was asking of me.
“What do you mean by ‘something’? Do I look like a fortune teller, able to guess what the fella wants?”
“Daisy Doll, make something up! Okay? Now, get out of here or I'll kick your ass.”
With a disgruntled snort, I went back behind the counter and picked up the mug the guy had left there. As I rinsed it, a smile spread across my face again.
‘Make something up’, huh?
I filled the mug with hot chocolate. With a cheeky smirk, I topped it with a generous dollop of whipped cream, pink and yellow marshmallows, and pastel-colored star- and heart-shaped sprinkles.
To finish it off, I added a cookie and a chocolate straw.
As Olivia used to tell me, psychopaths were just people who needed to eat a little sugar.
I put on my best smile and pranced across the diner with the cute drink in hands. When I set it down on the table in front of our grumpy customer, he looked at my work of art and raised his head very slowly, silently staring at me.
I kept smiling, feeling a morbid pleasure.
“Here's your drink, sugar!” I turned on my heel and dashed away from him.
There was no one in the South who didn't call to their customers, acquaintances, and friends ‘sugar’ or ‘love’.
It was part of our culture and affectionate nature.
But there was something particularly satisfying about preparing a mug of fluffy hot chocolate for a sinister individual and then finishing off the situation by calling him ‘sugar.’ Especially since there was nothing sweet about that man.
I went back to my tasks, humming and skipping behind the counter, despite the shadow in the corner of the diner. It was always better not to ask questions or speculate. Besides, the best victories always came from the most innocent battles, and I won that one.
It was around nine in the morning when the space filled with cheerful conversation. Especially, gossip.
I placed two plates of waffles in front of two old ladies who were talking about the latest news in town. Hunter Caldwell and his dearest wife, Jennifer, were getting divorced. I bit my lower lip, walking away from the table to keep from laughing.
Well, well, what a huge surprise. The ‘perfect couple’, built on top of Olivia's misery, was getting divorced after almost ten years of marriage marked by Hunter's constant cheating scandals. Those two idiots deserved everything they were getting for the suffering they caused my best friend.
Quickly, I took my phone out of the pocket of my tiny white frilly apron, which, paired with my pastel yellow skirt and blouse, made up the cheerful diner’s uniform. I sent a quick message to Liv.
“Your besties are making headlines,” I wrote.
In a fraction of a second, my phone beeped. “Hihihi. Karma is slow, but it never fails!”
I laughed heartily, putting my phone away again.
Divine justice was, in fact, an infallible thing.
As if to prove my point, my smile faded when I saw a figure walk through the glass door.
That routine had been going on for six years, and I wondered if she would ever let me exist in peace.
Senator Madeleine Jones went out of her way every day to show up at the diner.
Morning, afternoon, or night, she always appeared.
And she always looked at me with those hurtful eyes that brought Lester back to life for a moment, before demanding my attention, reminding me once again that if he died, it was because of me.
My life was a prison, and Senator Jones was my sentence.
Standing in front of the door, illuminated by the morning sun, she stared at me.
She was wearing a white pleated skirt, a striped shirt, stiletto heels, and pearls around her neck.
Her gaze held the same hatred as always, and I, as usual, couldn't help but draw a sad smile.
No matter how much she tortured me, mistreated me, even if she were to kill me, I could never hate her.
Seeing Senator Jones was a sentence, but meeting her eyes every day was also a gift she gave me without realizing it.
It was like seeing Lester again.
“Good morning, Senator Jones.” I greeted, and she frowned with all the contempt she felt for me. “At the counter or at a table?”
She jerked her chin toward the booths, her shoulder-length platinum hair swaying. “At a table,” she hissed.
I followed her quickly, stopping beside as soon as she took her seat, waiting for the order and the accusation.
“Did you sleep well, Daisy?”
“Yes, Senator Jones.”
A spiteful smile flashed across her face. “And you still have the nerve to admit it?” she spat, her furious expression nailing me to the spot. “Sometimes I wonder if you even remember him.”
That made me stagger a step back. It hurt more than any accusation she had ever made.
“Every day of my life,” I retorted, my hands tingling.
Senator Jones laughed. “It just proves you never loved him as he deserved.” I bit my tongue hearing that. “I don't understand how you have the courage to keep living.”
I lifted my chin. “It's not fair for you to say that to me.” Normally, I wouldn’t dare to respond. I usually accepted her accusations and insults, but we all have our limits.
“If life were fair, you should have died that night, not him.”
I clenched my fists tightly, swallowing another response that I knew would be futile. “Would you like me to bring you some coffee?” It was better to go back to being a waitress. If after twelve years she still hated me, nothing would change that.
“Green tea.”
“Anything else?”
“That's all.”
I ran behind the counter, swallowing the lump in my throat and wiping away the curtain of tears that blurred my vision.
All those years, I had done nothing but wish I had died in Lester's place, or at least gone with him.
But I couldn't change the designs of fate, nor could I change what had happened.
My penance would always be to face the guilt and the memory of the greatest love of my life alone.
August 19 I would turn thirty, which was strange. It seemed like only yesterday I was eighteen and was dancing with him at the prom. But the truth was that I was no longer that same girl, and I didn’t feel like her either.
The Flower Girl Lester had known was lost to space and time.
There was nothing left of her, neither in spirit nor in body.
There was no trace of the fat girl with pastel pink-dyed hair.
The new Daisy was another Southern woman with honey-blonde hair, golden skin, and a skinny body.
Someone who, in her dark moments, would sneak into the city’s gym and run on a treadmill until her lungs hurt, imagining she would find those she lost at the end of an invisible road.
A kind of pot of gold at the other side of the rainbow.
Someone who, during the day, would put a big smile on her face, showering complete strangers with her charm, and laugh even when she just wanted to cry.
The new Daisy was a fraud with well-styled hair, tanned skin, and a nose job. A fraud with no goals, who didn't allow herself to dream of any kind of future, nor believe in any kind of happy ending. She lived each day with patience, expecting nothing.
I took the tea and placed it in front of the senator.
“The floor is dirty.”
My eyebrows knitted. “What?” I asked, looking around. The white mosaic couldn't be cleaner.
“I said...” She stretched out her arm, dumping the mug of tea in front of me, forcing me to jump backwards. “The floor is dirty. Clean it.”