3. Boo Hoos and Booze
Boo Hoos and Booze
By two o’clock the following day, the restaurant’s lunch rush was over and it was time to wash the dirty dishes that had piled up on the stainless-steel counter in the kitchen. Tears filled my eyes as water filled the oversized sink.
Francie, a fellow server who’d become a close friend over the years, folded freshly laundered cloth napkins on a table nearby. She’d pulled her long, dark hair up into a ponytail, which bobbed as she turned to look at me. “What’s wrong, Autumn?”
I sniffled and blinked in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay. “This will be the first year I won’t get to take my kids trick or treating.” I hurled the used silverware into the sink, taking out my frustrations on the forks, knives, and spoons.
Francie, too, was divorced, and her son would likewise spend the holiday with his father. “It stinks we can’t be with our kids on Halloween. But I take solace in the fact that my ex is sure to let Braden overindulge in candy until he throws up on the carpet.” Her lips spread in an evil grin.
I poured dishwashing liquid into the hot water. “Why don’t you come over to my place? We can keep each other company.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said. “I don’t get many trick-or-treaters anyway. Kids don’t want to climb the three floors to my condo. I’ll turn out the lights so they’ll know not to bother.”
Though I’d miss trick-or-treating with Lila and Landon, it was a comfort to know I wouldn’t spend the holiday alone.
=^ ..^=
Halloween arrived a week later, and the restaurant’s head chef baked several pumpkin pies in celebration.
The delicious aroma wafted out into the dining room, and the pies went quickly.
The same could not be said for the pumpkin-flavored beer the manager had stocked in the bar.
Despite the bartender’s and server’s best efforts to move the product, most customers turned up their nose at the suggestion.
I didn’t blame them. A pumpkin-spice latte was one thing, but pumpkin beer? The idea held no appeal.
Francie and I passed each other again and again as we made our way back and forth from the kitchen and bar to our tables in the dining room, maintaining a conversation in a series of quick exchanges.
The lunch rush was ebbing when she emerged from the kitchen with two plates loaded with burgers and fries for table three.
She leaned in to whisper, “The scariest thing about this day is how little my customers have left me in tips.”
A minute later, she returned from her table and I came out of the kitchen with three salads and a basket of sliced sourdough bread on my tray for table eight.
“Show the customers a pic of your son in his costume,” I suggested.
“Maybe they’ll throw in another buck or two if they realize you’re a working mom. ”
“Good idea.”
We passed each other again as I was on my way back to the kitchen. She looked past me to the front door and a knowing smile spread across her face. “Officer Big-Tipper is back.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see the sandy-haired officer who’d been coming to the restaurant more and more frequently for lunch.
His muscles filled out his uniform quite well.
He had a friendly face, too, with a strong jawline and sparkly blue eyes.
I hoped the hostess would seat him in my section.
He was an easy customer, never asked for substitutions, or for any sauces or dressings to be served on the side.
He was generous with his gratuities, too.
He’d left me a full thirty percent the last two times I’d served him.
Francie was convinced he had a thing for me, but he’d probably just been in a hurry and didn’t have time to wait for his change.
Or maybe, as a public servant, he knew how thankless dealing with people could be.
He couldn’t truly be attracted to me, could he?
With this traffic cone hair? I’d pulled my hair back with a cute scarf today, but the style couldn’t hide the crazy color.
When the hostess seated the cop in my section, my heartrate revved up like a police cruiser peeling out for a chase.
I drew a deep breath to settle myself, and walked over to his table, greeting him with a warm smile as I eyed the name badge sewn onto the chest of his uniform.
“Welcome back, Officer Steele.” I poised my pen over my pad, ready to jot down his order. “What are you in the mood for today?”
Francie turned back from a nearby table with a pitcher of iced tea. “That’s a loaded question.”
A hot blush rushed to my face, but when Officer Steele chuckled I found myself chuckling, too. “Never mind her,” I said. “She’s nothing but trouble.”
“I’d prefer a cheeseburger and fries, but I’ll go with the veggie plate.” He put a hand on his abs. “Gotta stay in shape to chase the bad guys.”
Francie swept by, headed to the kitchen now. “If you need any practice, you can chase me.” She tossed a coy look back over her shoulder and winked at him.
I rolled my eyes before smiling down at Officer Steele again. “Like I said. Nothing but trouble.”
“What about you?” He cocked his head and cast me a sidelong look, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you trouble?”
I shook a finger at him. “Nuh-uh-uh. I know my rights. I plead the Fifth.”
His gaze narrowed, but a grin tugged at his lips. “Your bold hair color says you might have a wild streak. I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
The thought that he’d be watching me made me blush again, but in a good way this time. Lest I self-combust on the spot, I turned and headed to the kitchen to put in his order.
I returned to his table a minute or so later with a glass of ice water. “Your food will be out soon.”
“No rush,” he said.
If only all of my customers could be so patient.
I made the rounds of my tables, checking on customers, refilling glasses, and pocketing my tips. When Officer Steele’s veggie plate was ready in the kitchen, I surreptitiously added a second piece of cornbread and carried it to this table, sliding it in front of him. “Here you go. Enjoy.”
He looked down at the plate, then up at me. “An extra piece of cornbread? This wouldn’t be a bribe, would it?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But keep it in mind if you ever pull me over for speeding.”
With another chuckle, he picked up his fork to dig in.
I wasn’t sure if our banter counted as flirting.
It had been so long since I’d flirted with a guy that I couldn’t be sure.
But whatever it was, it felt good to get a little attention from a man.
I found myself standing a little straighter, moving about with more confidence.
Dakota might have cheated on me, but his infidelity said more about him than it did about me.
Maybe Francie was right. Maybe Officer Steele had a thing for me.
And maybe, just maybe, I had a little thing for him, too.
When he’d cleaned his plate, I brought his bill in a small plastic tray and set it on the table. “Have a happy Halloween.”
He issued a groan. “Too late for that. I’m working the swing shift. That means I’ll have to deal with all of the craziness tonight.”
“I can only imagine.” Halloween was a night for pranks and vandalism. Eggs thrown at houses and cars. Pumpkins smashed. Trees decorated with toilet paper. At least most of the crimes would be minor infractions.
“At least I’ve got the weekend off.” He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something else when a snapping sound came from a four-top where a group of businessmen sat drinking dirty martinis.
I turned to see one of the men snapping his fingers at me. Ugh! So rude!
The man pointed down and circled his finger to indicate their empty martini glasses. “’nother round.” At least he had the manners to add a “please.”
As I headed off to the bar to put in the drink order, Steele slipped a few bills into the tray.
I returned to find he’d left me a thirty-five percent tip this time.
I looked out the window and spotted him in his cruiser, window down.
I raised a hand and gave him a wave, mouthing the words, “Thank you.”
He gave me a nod in return, then drove off to keep the mean streets of suburbia safe. Meanwhile, I resumed slinging food and drinks, my mood buoyed. I didn’t even mind when a customer sent their pumpkin-flavored beer back, calling it “unswallowable swill.”
=^ ..^=
At home later that afternoon, I tucked the day’s cash tips into the envelope in the console table.
It had been an exceptionally good shift, and I’d racked up over two-hundred and fifty dollars.
If my luck kept up, maybe I could afford to go to a professional hairdresser for a color correction.
Then again, Officer Steele seemed to like my vibrant hair.
Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe I’d leave it as is.
I changed out of my server’s uniform and donned the leafy hat and sweatshirt my children had helped me fashion. At a quarter to six, the skies were growing dim and my doorbell rang for the first time that night. Ding-dong!
I carried my big bowl of candy to the door and opened it. Rather than a child in costume, Francie stood there in a black cape and a witch’s hat.
She ran her eyes over my getup and grinned, revealing plastic fangs. “Autumn leaves!” she said with a lisp caused by the plastic vampire teeth. “I love it!”
I returned the compliment. “You look bewitching.”
“I do, don’t I?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and stepped into the foyer. Once I’d closed the door, she pulled a jug of apple cider and a bottle of spiced rum out from under her cape, holding one up in each hand. “Captain Morgan will be joining us tonight.”
“Yum!” The night had turned cold but, to keep the electric bill down, I had the thermostat set at just sixty degrees. A hot toddy would be just the thing to warm our bellies and lift our sad-mommy spirits.
We went to the kitchen, where I rounded up a pot for Francie to warm the cider in.
After removing her vampire teeth and plunking them into a glass, she poured the entire jug of cider into the pot.
She stashed the glass jug in the recycle bin and raided my pantry for cinnamon sticks, cloves, ground ginger, and maple syrup.
As the simmering cider warmed, it filled the house with a welcoming, seasonal scent. I inhaled deeply and sighed. “That cider smells delicious.”
“Just wait ‘til you taste it. My witches’ brew is divine.” Francie performed a chef’s kiss.
Once the cider was steaming, I retrieved two large mugs from the pantry and placed them on the counter next to the stove. Francie ladled her concoction into the mugs, then poured three fingers of spiced rum into each drink.
“Whoa! That’s a lot of rum.”
She shrugged. “What’s it matter? We don’t have to operate any heavy machinery, and we’re not going anywhere.” Francie planned to spend the night on my couch. She held a mug out to me.
“Good points.” I accepted the mug, raised it in toast, and then put it to my lips, downing the drink in six warm gulps. I held the mug out to her. “Hit me again, barkeep.”
“Pace yourself,” she warned with a grin. “Tomorrow’s lunch special is shrimp alfredo. You don’t want to smell shellfish and cheese on a queasy stomach.”
Ding-dong!
My first trick-or-treaters had arrived. I grabbed my big bowl of candy and headed back to the door. A Rubik’s cube and a pink donut with pom-pom sprinkles stood on my doorstep. Dakota wouldn’t have been thoughtful enough to bring the kids by. Their visit had probably been Lila and Landon’s idea.
“Trick or treat!” they cried.
I tucked the bowl under my left arm and tapped my chin with my right index finger. “You two look vaguely familiar … Do I know you from somewhere?”
Lila laughed, but Landon just held out his plastic jack-o-lantern and issued his demand. “Candy. Or else.”
“Or else what?” I demanded, putting a hand on my hip. The booze had me feeling feisty.
He looked up in thought before turning an evil grin on me. “Or else I won’t clean my room.”
I snorted. “You already don’t clean your room. The dirty socks and underwear on your floor have been lying there since Labor Day.” I’ve got him there. “If you’re trying to threaten me for candy, you’ll have to try again.”
He looked up in thought again before turning an impish grin on me. “Or else I’ll practice my trombone in the living room.”
Ugh. Now he had me. He’d just started learning the instrument two months ago.
The sounds he produced on his trombone sounded like an asthmatic elephant at a hundred and fifty decibels.
It was bad enough when he practiced in his bedroom.
If he brought that godforsaken horn downstairs, my head would explode.
Francie sidled up beside me, mug in hand, and looked Landon up and down. “You’re talking awfully tough for a toy, you know.”
Landon laughed. He adored Francie. She was so much cooler than his mom. “I like your costume,” he told her.
“What costume?” She feigned confusion. “This is how I always dress when I’m not waiting tables at the restaurant.”
Behind my son, I saw Dakota and Kayla standing on the sidewalk, waiting.
Both were dressed in black pants and black-and-white striped referee shirts, their standard work uniforms at the sporting goods store.
They’d put no thought whatsoever into their couple’s costume.
Maybe their relationship wasn’t as fun now that it was no longer a sneaky affair and they had the kids to contend with.
Or maybe the fact that they’d settled for wearing their uniforms meant that Dakota was struggling to make ends meet, too. It would serve him right.
Dakota looked up at the spider web, probably wondering how I’d managed to tie the rope so high up in the tree.
Maybe it was the booze talking—or thinking?
—but I hoped he assumed I’d had help from a handsome hunk, one who’d then gone on to make hot, passionate love to me, treating me to what was by far the best intimate encounter of my life. Heh-heh.
I dropped a bag of Skittles into each of my kids’ empty pumpkins. The candy hit the bottom with a klunk. As they turned to go, I said, “Not so fast. Mom needs pics.”
I handed Francie my phone and she snapped several photos of me and the kids on the porch. Maybe it was wrong of me, but I took joy in the fact that Dakota and Kayla looked positively morose in the background.
“Have fun!” I called to the kids as they returned to their father.
“I know we will!” Francie raised her drink so Dakota and Kayla could see it.
Dakota frowned.
After Francie and I stepped back inside, I said, “No need to taunt Dakota. Divorce is not a competition.”
“The heck it’s not!” she snapped. “But you are winning.”
She had a point. Though I’d been trying to keep things as civil as possible between Dakota and me, I couldn’t help but feel glad he’d seen that I was doing just fine without him, thanks to my friend and Captain Morgan.