Chapter 3
“I heard voices downstairs,” Cassie said as I entered her room.
“You had a visitor. Luke Whitaker brought these over for you.” I put the mason jar of flowers on the bedside table and wondered vaguely where he had gotten them. He had to have driven somewhere to find flowers so nice.
Her face went from an expression of surprise to anger, then fear. “Don’t let him up here, Emily!”
“He’s already gone,” I told her soothingly. I had opened the back door and looked at him expectantly, and he hadn’t had much choice. Things were bad enough without a near-stranger criticizing my judgement and my parenting choices. My aunting choices.
“Why would he come here?” she asked nervously, smoothing what was left of her beautiful hair.
“I guess he wanted to see you, silly. Would you want to see him?” I busied myself fluffing the pillows but watched at her out of the corner of my eye.
She just frowned. “Hey, how about I help you downstairs? You can hang out with Charlie a little. He’s really tired, just lying on the couch. You could watch TV together.”
She picked at a bump in the chenille bedspread. “What does Luke look like?”
Unbelievably handsome. Chiseled. Masculine. Ralph Lauren model. Better than ever.
“Fine. I mean, he’s older.”
“I’m surprised he came here to see me. And flowers too. I broke his heart,” she explained, nodding almost smugly.
“You broke up with him?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
She almost snarled. “Not one of my boyfriends, ever, has broken up with me!” I left the “except Mike” hanging. She still expected him to come back. “Of course I broke up with him.”
“Why, Cass? You guys always seemed…” Perfect. Two beautiful people, destined for a beautiful life together.
“Whatever, I don’t want to talk about it. Did you check out any magazines?”
“They don’t have anything new at the library. Why don’t you come downstairs for a while?”
She stared at me. “What’s all over your face?”
I looked in the mirror over Nana’s old bureau. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
I looked like I had been working in a mine.
My face was covered in dirt. Brown lines streaked my forehead from when I had pushed my hair out of my eyes with the filthy gardening gloves.
My cheeks were a mottled grey with clean lines from the tears I had cried at the sink when Luke implied I was dumb and an unfit aunt to Charlie.
There were a few old leaves stuck in my hair for good measure. “Oh, my God.”
“You’re having people over looking like that?” Cassie asked. “Even for you, it’s pretty bad.”
“I didn’t know I looked like this!” I protested. “He didn’t say anything!”
Cassie snorted a laugh. Even though it was at my expense, I was glad to hear her laugh a little. “He’s still so damn polite. He was like that in bed, too.”
Heat rose in my face. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I don’t feel good,” she said, then turned on her side away from me, and put her earbuds in.
∞
The trip to Roy’s was even harder than the bike ride to town that morning.
Charlie had cried as I left, which was at a time even earlier than usual so I wouldn’t be late.
I had to peel him off me, feeling like crying myself.
Then a bunch of teenage boys in a truck had followed me for a while, yelling vulgar stuff and sometimes veering close to my bike, scaring me to death.
I had been thrilled to see the muddy parking lot at last. Even better was the fact that the El D was no longer in it, having been towed away by Martha’s angel of a cousin.
I hid my bike behind the dumpster at the back of the bar, then fixed my hair and waved my hands at my cheeks, trying to cool the red away. The joy of my fair complexion meant that every exertion and every emotion showed in the color of my cheeks.
Roy met me at the door. “I have something for you, sugar,” he told me. He sounded almost gleeful, and I was immediately suspicious. He took something from behind the bar and I held it up.
It was a neon yellow t-shirt, child sized, with I DRINK AT on the front, and ROYS TAVERN on the back. I was puzzled. “Roy, people aren’t going to buy t-shirts about drinking for their kids.”
“What do you mean, for kids? This is for you to wear while you’re waitressing.”
I shook the shirt, waiting for the rest to unfold. Nope, that was it. “Roy, this is too small for me. I can’t wear this.”
Roy shrugged.
“Roy, man, holy Mary, I can’t wear this!”
He patted my shoulder. “You’re gonna do great in tips. You’ll see.”
I gritted my teeth and went into the ladies’ room to pull it on.
And it was worse than I had expected. The neck scooped out precipitously.
The D for DRINK on the front of the shirt enclosed my right boob, making the C-cup even more pronounced.
Plus, I had worn yoga pants to make biking easier.
My previous top had been pretty loose and drapey, coming down to cover my butt.
Now there was only the apron string back there for concealment.
The shirt was so short that anytime I leaned over to serve or clear it would pull up and show way too much tummy.
I tugged it as far down as I could, and drew in a deep breath. There was nothing to do about it.
Two hours later, I surreptitiously rubbed my aching ass behind the bar. Roy was right about the tips. But I had been ogled, pinched, rubbed, and grabbed in various places the whole night. From the knees up to my waist in the back I was going to be black and blue, again. I was about to scream.
“Highway to Hell” started again on the jukebox. That jackass had been there all night playing the same songs. He had a never-ending supply of change.
“Roy!” I yelled above the din of the bar. He cupped a hand at his ear and looked at me from the other end of the counter. “If I hear another AC/DC song, I’m going to lose it!”
Roy and I had established a three-song policy with that band: if you tried for four, you were cut off. Roy nodded and yelled over to the drunk at the jukebox. “Hank, cut it out with the fucking AC/DC! Somebody take his quarters.”
Finally the night was over. Roy evicted a now passed-out Hank from the bathroom stall and called his wife to pick him up from the curb outside. I wiped down the bar, and did a quick sweep.
I was pretty on edge. I had felt uncomfortable the whole time I had been working.
I had never, never been the girl in the tight top.
The constant groping and comments, plus my worry over Charlie being alone, had made the night absolutely suck.
I folded my apron and left it behind the bar, pulling on a sweatshirt over my grotesque new work uniform.
Although, it might be helpful if there were cars on the road.
No one would miss me in that color. Slowly I pulled the sweatshirt back off, and tied it around my waist. I would be cold, but visible.
I dragged the bike out from behind the dumpster and rolled it into the lot in the dim glow of Roy’s one outdoor light. It was wobbling in funny way—and then I saw the flat tire.
Great. Great. I looked around quickly for Roy, but he had peeled out a few minutes ago. Even Hank had already gotten dragged off by his long-suffering wife.
I squared my shoulders. It wasn’t such a long walk. I had done it before. So I set off for home, pushing the damn bike, trying not to think about animals, or drunks, or whatever else might be wandering in the woods at night.
I was so tired. The bike seemed really heavy, and my feet weren’t stepping anymore, just dragging.
I thought about trying to hide the bike in the weedy ditch at the side of the road, but I would just have to get it tomorrow.
And maybe someone would see it and take it, and I wouldn’t have any means of transportation at all.
Man, it was cold. I started to think weird thoughts about my dad, my mom, and Loretta.
Cassie dying. Mike taking Charlie away. CPS taking him because I was unfit.
Medical bills. Electric bills. All the bills.
The lab. What had happened to my lab work, all my data?
Had I just left it there? Loretta was so sick.
No, it was Cassie that was sick. How could I help Loretta?
No, Cassie! I had a hazy idea that I was crying as I felt the cold night air dry my cheeks. I was so tired.
I heard the car behind me and tried to get as far as I could off the highway without falling into the ditch. But the bike wobbled out of my hands and slid right down into the muddy water that had drained down from the road. I covered my mouth with my hands. Oh my God.
The car slowed and stopped behind me. “Emily?” a voice called. “Are you all right?”
I didn’t want to look at him. I pointed at the bike in the ditch.
“Oh, Jesus, did you fall? Are you all right?” he repeated in a louder voice. The red hazard lights flared up, blinking incessantly, and the car door slammed as Luke ran over to me.
“I’m ok,” I creaked out. “My bike had a flat. I was pushing it.” My tight throat was squeezing out words one at a time, in slow staccato. I didn’t recognize my own voice.
“It’s all right,” Luke told me. He put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get it for you. Just get in the car.”
I climbed into the passenger seat, and watched in the headlights as he wrestled the bike out of the ditch and rolled it to the back of the car.
Luke got in, and turned off the hazards. “I was worried about you coming home, but I got the closing time wrong and I missed you.” I was shivering hard, and stretched my hands out toward the heat vents. He turned it up higher.
I didn’t understand. “You came to get me?”
“Yes. And I’m glad I did. How long have you had that flat?”
“Since town.” I rubbed my fingers into my eyes, pressing hard to alleviate the ache behind them.
We drove in silence. I leaned my head against the seat, then jerked forward. “Wait, I didn’t say thank you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I was nodding off when he asked, “What are you wearing?”