Waiting on my Reason

by Devon Ashley

  “Megan, actually. Can I get you something?”

  She continued to stare, her alabaster skin white as a ghost. I sometimes got looks like this, but they were usually because a part of my damaged skin peeked out beneath my clothing. Casually dipping my head, I made a quick sweep of my body.

  Nope. Nothing showing.

  The silence almost uncomfortable, I lifted my eyebrows and gently shook my head. “Nothing, then?”

  After a few more seconds of unnecessary staring, the muscles throughout her body began to relax, and her eyes glanced down at her hands. She sighed slow and deep.

  “Megan?”

  It really wasn’t a question, just a confirmation on her part, but I’d never heard my name said with such disappointment before.

  She was actually really pretty, even with her light brown eyes cast in shadows and her cheeks so slackened her lips naturally curled downward. She couldn’t have been much older than me, possibly legal age already.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, beginning to shrug off the negative demeanor for a saddened one. “Is the coffee fresh?”

  “About two hours,” I replied.

  “Good enough.”

  I turned my back to her, and while I was pouring her mug and collecting creamer from the cooler, she added, “I’m sorry for staring. It’s just… Well… Here.”

  I served her coffee as she pulled a sheet of paper from a collection just inside her bag, which lay atop the stool next to her. My eyes drifted to the picture as she handed it to me. “Oh, shit!” I blurted.

  “Yeah,” she said dismally, taking a sip of the black coffee.

  No wonder she couldn’t keep her eyes off me. The colored flyer was for a teenage girl that went missing a few years back. Claire Whitaker. Same five-foot-three height. Same brown eyes that were as dark as the cocoa bean. Same creamy beige skin. I know they say everyone had a twin out there, but damn! The only significant difference was the ten extra pounds she had on me. And her hair. Where Claire had brown, highlighted hair with bangs and a length that fell to her shoulders, mine was just plain brown, layered and long all around.

  “Wow,” I murmured, still mesmerized.

  “Sure you’re not really Claire?” Though she tried to hide it, there was a twinge of hope in her voice.

  One year, five months, nine days since the fire, since I sealed my fate, a decision that would haunt me until the day I died.

  Shaking my head of the thought, I asked, “Are you her sister?”

  “Yeah. Thea. Claire’s my only sister.”

  Curious of the age difference between me and my newfound twin, I scanned the flyer. Born September 17, 1993. She’d turn twenty later this year, just four months before me.

  “Sorry,” I soothed, laying the sheet of paper on the counter, though not necessarily returning it, as I still felt the urge to study it. Claire’s eyes were so full of life. You could tell just by looking at her that she was incredibly happy, her smile bursting from seam to seam. I wondered what she was looking at, who was physically standing behind the camera that could invoke such a pleasurable smile.

  There’d never been anyone in my life that lit up my eyes like that. And it saddened me a little because I doubted I’d ever get to have that now, not when I may have to up and leave as early as tomorrow. And I suddenly felt a little jealous of Claire. Like I was the bad twin, doomed to scavenge in the shadows of her life. But then I realized how royally screwed we’d both been. We’d both gone missing at one point, but Claire had one thing I didn’t. Someone to notice. So why was I the one still here and she the one still gone?

  “I’ve never even been to Seattle, let alone lived there. I’m from South Cali, and I have my own parents.”

  Thea nodded solemnly, sucking on the corner of her bottom lip. Curiosity was getting the best of me. I mean, seriously, what were the odds of this ever happening?

  I fidgeted nervously. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to her?”

  To Claire.

  Thea sighed, her eyes falling to the mug with sadness, and I began to feel like an absolute bitch for prying. I was about to say never mind but she found her voice before I did. “No one knows for sure. She was a senior in high school, on her way to class one morning. Best we can tell, her car got hit from behind and she pulled off to the side. But she never called anyone for help, and by the time her car was found abandoned, the other car was long gone. She just vanished.”

  I imagined that answer was memorized and had probably been delivered so many times it made Thea feel lifeless and emotionless inside. She certainly looked that way. Eying the stack of flyers in her bag, I expected she’d been at this all day, driving from town to town giving them out. Still looking after all this time.

  Two years, five months, twelve days since Claire went missing.

  Six months before me.

  Had I been her replacement?

  “That’s awful. Never knowing one way or the other…” Instinct told me to lightly cover her hand and gently squeeze.

  Thea nodded, looking up at me again, a pathetic half smile on her face. “You’re sure there’s no way you’re Claire?”

  Was it so wrong for her to hope? Though statistics would probably say Claire was already gone from this world, there was always the chance she’d been kept alive.

  Like I was.

  Though I begged for death every day. Maybe Claire found a way to end her misery.

  Was she dead the moment that car came up behind her, maybe intentionally hitting her to get her out and alone? Or was she used, spoiled, before meeting her untimely demise? I found it hard to believe that the vibrant girl in the picture before me simply walked away. Not when she had someone to smile for – a smile like that was reserved for someone special. She was loved, and possibly in love herself.

  No, Claire did not simply walk away. She was forced to go. Taken.

  Like me…

  My lips pressed into a straight line as my head shook. “Wish I was. I always wanted siblings growing up, but my mom couldn’t have any more after me. I do hope you find her though. Just keep looking. Tomorrow may be the day she needs you most.”

  “We’ll always look for Claire. She was the heart and soul of our family. We just haven’t been the same without her.” Thea’s hand went to cover her mouth, but it was her eyes that needed tending, as they glistened with fresh fluid on the verge of spilling.

  I hated the way she couldn’t look at me anymore, like it pained her to see her sister’s look-a-like alive and well while Claire was possibly neither of those things. If she only knew what I had to do to be here today…

  Fire billowed on the ceiling, reaching down, down, down…

  Again I tugged on my sleeves.

  “Can I keep this?” I asked softly, drumming my fingers atop the flyer to draw Thea’s attention from the black hole she was on the verge of falling into. “I don’t want to put it on the window or anything, because you’d just get calls about me. But I could place it on the bulletin board in the back and my co-workers and I could keep our eyes open for her.”

  “Thank you,” she whimpered, and I saw a tear land in her coffee, initiating a glistening ripple that bounced against its ceramic prison.

  I felt pity for Claire, and heartache. Because I had a pretty good idea what happened to her. But even more, I feared telling Thea what I believed may have been her sister’s fate.

  A few minutes before four o’clock, I walked the windows in front of Breenie’s Diner, scanning its occupants for a face I hoped to never see again. Once I determined the all-clear, I went inside. As always, the dinner rush had already begun and would continue to be heavy through eight. Of course, I used the word heavy lightly, since the diner only held ten tables: five booths and five four-tops. Saying hello to those I recognized, I made my way to the back and stuffed my purse in the cabinet next to Darla’s and Tish’s.

  “Megan. Good, you’re early,” Paul said from the oversized closet he used for his office. He stood from hi
s chair, but didn’t come out, so I moved to lean against the door frame. As he shuffled through the papers on his desk, he added, “Our new cook started today so I’ll need to introduce you.”

  “New cook?” I asked, turning and scanning the kitchen. There actually was an extra body in the kitchen, but I couldn’t see anything more than the plain gray shirt, most likely belonging to a guy. The bad part about working in a kitchen this small was that you had to stuff and cram and hang as much as possible, so you lost a lot of visibility. “I didn’t know you were even looking.”

  “Yeah, well, Darla’s been on me for awhile now to get off the night shift. She’s tired of working opposite schedules and no way in hell she’s going to work until two in the morning with me. So…”

  “New cook. Got it.” Quite frankly, I was surprised the business could afford it. My attention turned again to the new guy, but he hadn’t moved from that particular spot, hidden well in the corner cooking something on the grill. “So are you training him tonight?”

  For some reason, Paul found that amusing and chuckled before saying, “Nah. He’s good to go. He’s been here since noon familiarizing himself with the menu.”

  Because our menu was so complicated.

  “He’s got a basic idea of what to do for closing, so just follow him and make sure it all gets done properly.”

  “Did you do a background check on him?” I tried to ask it casually, but the thought of working with a guy all by myself concerned me a little. Especially if the guy was a drifter that could up and disappear like it was nothing.

  “I did. He checks out, and his previous employer said nothing but good things about him. Trust me, I wouldn’t leave you alone with anyone I didn’t feel comfortable with.” Feeling a little less anxious, I nodded my head. Paul finally found what he was digging for, a set of keys that he dropped into his jacket pocket. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

  I stepped back and allowed him to pass, then followed behind as he made his way to the corner of the small kitchen. “Nick,” Paul called. Then he pointed backwards over his shoulder using his thumb, stating, “This is your waitress, Megan.”

  Paul had to step sideways just so Nick and I could actually see each other. I was sure the rest of him was nice to look at, but what demanded my attention were the bright green eyes that peeked out beneath the rim of his black baseball cap. My boring brown pair felt downright muddy next to the beauty of his. “Hi,” I said, smiling, keeping my lips squeezed tight.

  “Hey,” he replied, cocking his head upward once.

  Then silence ensued. Somewhat uncomfortable silence.

  Luckily, Paul spoke out. “Well, you two should be just fine.” Turning to Nick, he added, “If you can’t find anything, just ask Megan. She’s been here long enough to know where everything is.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nick answered, surprising me with his formality. I had serious doubts Paul had ever been called Sir his entire life.

  Then Paul squeezed past me, unavoidably rubbing his arm against my shoulder in the tight space. Nick and I just sort of stared awkwardly with half smiles until I said, “Well, I’ll just be over there if you need me.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I made my way to the opposite corner to roll enough silverware into paper napkins to get me through the night. Then I helped Darla and Tish by refilling drinks and busing tables so I could begin picking up the new customers in Darla’s section. She was ecstatic to be leaving the restaurant with Paul at the same time for once, and rushed out of here without really saying goodbye or finishing up her last two checks. I couldn’t be mad at her though. Not when she was flashing the happiest expression I’d ever seen on her face.

  Tish and Juan, our day cook, left at six, leaving Nick and me to contend with all the tables for the rest of the night. If he had put out any of the dinners yet, I hadn’t noticed, so I was curious to see if I’d have to send anything back.

  When I picked up his first official order, I was stunned into silence, looking down on the most beautiful display I think one could make with chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes and pot fried corn. The potatoes were perfect, creamy with zero lumps, drizzled with gravy in a spiraled circle on top and sprinkled with minced herbs. The corn nibblets had some type of garnish that included finely chopped red and green bell peppers and a little shredded cheese. And the chicken? Perfectly browned.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

  “Um…” I muttered. “Not at all. Looks good.”

  I delivered it to Earl, the beefy, grungy man that worked under cars all day, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He tried to see who the new cook was, probably to call him high-falootin, but Nick was out of view. Didn’t matter though, because when I came back five minutes later, he couldn’t stop raving about the food and ordered another side of the mashed potatoes.

  And that was just the beginning. The most popular item ordered at the diner was the hamburger. Nick had reformed the thin beef patties so they were thick and juicy, with additional herbs and seasoning that you could actually see and taste when you bit into it. Pickles and onions were cut with a wavy knife, iceberg lettuce was replaced with spinach. And the French fries? Tossed in some kind of Cajun seasoning to give it some actual flavor.

  Even the Salisbury steak, fried catfish and BBQ sandwich looked like masterpieces. And with each plate I had to pull from the food line, another rave review came from the customer, and Nick’s smile got smugger and smugger. When all the dinners had been delivered and the remaining customers began trickling out the door, I had to ask.

  Leaning over the stainless steel pass-through to the kitchen, I asked, “Nick, what are you doing here?”

  He was just off to the side, wiping down the counters for spilled food. “I thought that was obvious. I’m cooking,” he explained matter-of-factly.

  “I mean, why aren’t you cooking in a restaurant?”

  He adjusted his baseball cap, sweeping his fingers back through his hair, and I got a glimpse of the wavy one-inch locks underneath, shaded a soft, woodsy sort of brown. It went really well with the honey beige shade of his skin and emerald green eyes. “Last time I checked, this was a restaurant,” he jested.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Oh… So you’re one of those guys.”

  Amused, he released a weak chuckle. “What guys?” he asked carefully.

  “Difficult.”

  His head slightly bobbed side to side a few times, his eyes admitting the truth behind my observation. “My last girlfriend concurs.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled with closed lips in a teasing manner.

  Now that the diner had cleared, I returned to my tables to begin busing. It was almost nine, and rationally speaking, I only expected about five more locals for the rest of the night. Any other customers would most likely just be traveling through.

  Before I could even finish clearing the first table, Nick came out with a bucket and began busing the one two tables over. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “We’re just responsible for our own areas.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I try to clean as I cook, so my area’s already done.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

  “So…” he dragged out, thick ceramic plates clanging as he stacked them in his container. “Have you always lived around here?”

  “Uh, no. I’m from L.A. actually. You?”

  “Washington, originally. So how’d you end up here? I can’t imagine you saw a listing for a waitress in a small town and thought that’s just perfect.”

  I playfully rolled my eyes for him, grabbing the dishrag I used for wiping tables. “I was on my way to Portland, but I guess I got a little sidetracked.”

  “Portland, huh?” He carried his bucket to the counter, where two more place settings were dirty. “What’s in Portland?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Hell if I know. When I hit the bus station and scanned the boards, it was the only place that called to me.” I grabbed my bucket and f
ollowed him to the counter.

  “You just up and left for the hell of it? By yourself?”

  “My parents passed away.” I focused on my cleaning, but I could feel his stare on the side of my face. Before he could inquire, I added, “Car accident,” and left it at that. “I didn’t really have anything left, so I had nothing to lose.”

  “I’m sorry.” And as softly as he said that, I believed he meant it. “My dad died a few years back, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, parroting his sentiment.

  With only a stool separating us, we stood there silently for a moment, just gazing, feeling one another’s pain behind our eyes. Was his loss as detrimental to his life as well? Newcomers in small towns were usually running away from something.

  I would know...

  The longer I took him in, the more I realized Nick didn’t belong here. He was a good looking guy, really fit, maybe a couple of years older. An amazing cook – probably a chef even. He could easily be working at a nice restaurant in any major city, or even making a lot of money bartending with those looks. So why wasn’t he?

  It wasn’t until a pair of headlights from an old, white truck flashed and drew our attention to the front windows that we moved. I sighed, and said, “It’s Joe. He’s probably going to want the burger deluxe medium-well. And you’d be doing me a huge favor getting it out ASAP.”

  His posture stiffened. “Is he a problem for you?”

  “No,” I said, tossing the last of the dishes into the bucket. With a forced smile, I added, “He’s harmless.” Just relentless…

  “Here,” he said, taking my bucket and stacking it atop his, “I’ll take care of this and get his food started.”

  As he passed me on the way to the back, I whispered my thanks. I stepped around the counter and pulled a beer from the cooler just as Joe came through the front. I met him at the corner table, where he always sat when it was available.

  “Hey, Joe,” I said sweetly, setting his beer on the table. “How are you doing tonight?”