A wiry boy who looked to be around ten issued from another door and walked in a quick limp past the curtain. Mark followed, intending to say thank you to Cindy, but she was busy with another walk-in.
The boy tapped the shoulder of the sleeping man, who flinched and stopped mid-snore. He opened his bleary eyes, and after giving him a lopsided grin, said, “Hey buddy,” while his eyelids began to close again.
“Dad, you gotta wake up. It’s time to go.”
The man blinked a few times. “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
After a yawn, the man glanced around. “Where are we now?”
“At the clinic, Dad. It’s time to go home now.” His voice was gentle and low.
“Oh…the clinic. Okay.”
The man rose and stumbled onto the youngster, who wavered before bracing himself against his father. Mark stepped forward. “Let me help.”
The boy stared up at him. “It’s his day off. He’s tired.”
Mark’s breath caught at the naked vulnerability in his eyes. He cleared his throat, and tucked his arm under the man’s elbow. “I know how he feels.” The sharp, sour smell of whiskey clung to the man.
The youngster pointed to his right foot. “I’ve got my walking cast now. I can manage.”
“That’s okay. I want to help.”
After a glance at his father’s vacant expression, the boy shrugged. “All right, then.”
“Onward and upward,” the man declared with a wobbly flip of one of his hands.
Mark grinned and the young fellow giggled before he said, “Let’s go. We live a few blocks away.”
Mark opened the door, ushering the shuffling man through it. “My name’s Mark.”
The boy stepped through the doorway behind them with his own uneven gait. “I’m Casey. This is my dad, Kevin.”
“Pleased to meet you both.” Mark exchanged a smile with Casey.
Kevin gave out a loud belch, followed by a chuckle. “Oops. Pardon me. My oh my. Aren’t I a slob today?”
Mark suppressed a laugh and shored up the wavering man. Casey surged ahead to the left, and beckoned. “This way.”
Mark wondered how Chris and Julie were coping with kitchen prep. Funny how distant he felt from the thought, as though the work wasn’t a big deal. Something was definitely wrong with him.
His thoughts meandered back to rumpled, unsteady Kevin, who raised his eyes to Mark. “You look like a nice fellow. Are you the doctor?”
Mark shook his head. “I’m a cook.”
“Ooh. Hear that Case? He’s a cook.” He gave Mark a happy, off-kilter nod, and grinned. “I didn’t know there were cooks at the clinic. What’s for dinner?”
A sudden mental image of the flurry of chopping and peeling taking place at the restaurant flashed in his mind and faded. “The usual, I imagine.”
“Beef soup and toasted bagels?” Kevin asked, one brow raised as he craned his head at Mark and lurched sideways. Mark pulled him straight and steadied him.
Casey’s hand shot out to his father’s side. “That’s right, Dad. Beef soup and toasted bagels.”
“That’s your dinner, too, Mark?” Kevin’s wavering gaze fixed on him.
“No. I eat dinner at my job, so it depends on the day.”
Kevin nodded slowly. “At the clinic.”
Mark chuckled. “No, not there. I work at High Steaks.”
Casey’s serious expression brightened. “I know where that is. Just past the bakery. You work there?”
“Yes, indeed.”
I should be there now. What the heck am I doing?
He followed Casey’s lead down a bumpy driveway toward a small house sandwiched between other older homes, worn, but tidy. The small dog Mark spotted earlier ran toward the door and Casey crowed, “Freddy! What are you doing out loose?”
“That’s your dog?” Mark asked.
“Nope. Elmer’s from next door. He must’ve snuck out of the fence again.”
Kevin pointed at the dog and boomed out, “This is a naughty animal right here. Broke Casey’s foot.”
Casey crouched down and rubbed Freddy’s ears. “No, he didn’t, Dad. I was playing with him and tripped. He didn’t do it.”
“You tripped on him, son.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t his fault.” He grinned at the dog and his voice rose into a playful tone while he patted the happy, wriggling animal. “Was it, Freddy? Wasn’t your fault. No, no. Good doggie, good boy.”
Casey opened the door and Freddy ran inside. Kevin indicated the door with a flourish of his hand. “Enter, my liege.”
Mark couldn’t help a smile at the jaunty tone. “After you, Kevin.”
Casey stood ready to assist his father, who managed to shamble in under his own steam, and flop onto an easy chair. He let out a loud sigh and leaned his head back on the headrest. “My leg always hurts more when the weather changes. I have a barometric leg, Mark. More reliable than the weatherman.”
Kevin raised his head and directed a crisp salute to the room. “Courtesy of my service.” He glanced at Casey. “Bring me a glass and bottle, son. Want a drink, Mark?”
Mark shook his head. He should go, but the odd fog inside kept him locked with indecision.
“Well, have a seat. Take a load off.”
Mark perched on the edge of the couch, taking in the room. Light from the windows picked out tiny dust motes that rose into the air after he sat down. The room held few decorations or pictures on the walls, while each end table sported stacks of magazines and books. A game system sat on the floor in front of the television, various game accessories piled in a box near it. The furniture appeared sturdy, though well-used.
Casey handed Kevin a partially full bottle of whiskey, and at the table next to him, he pushed a pile of magazines to clear a spot for the glass. Freddy followed the boy, tail wagging. Casey parked on the couch and welcomed Freddy up, a delighted smile on his face while he stroked Freddy’s back.
Kevin filled the short glass, raised it toward Mark and Casey, grinned, and said, “Skoal, Prosit, cheers, my friends. Here’s to no more pain today.”
He took a long gulp and set down the glass before tilting his head at Mark. “This darn leg is always yelling for attention. There I was, never gave much thought to either of my legs.” He waved his hands. “Boom. Road bomb. My ears rang so loud, I couldn’t hear my buddy screaming. He was pointing to my leg.”
Mark glanced at Casey, who continued to pet the dog, his eyes fixed on his father. Kevin took another sip and chuckled. “All I could think of was my leg looked like Mom’s dark red pincushion, with pins and needles sticking in it. Only I wish it’d been pins and needles and not big pieces of metal from the truck body. The funny thing is, it didn’t hurt yet. I just watched like it was someone else’s leg. My buddy tied his belt on my thigh and the blood stopped gushing.”
Kevin stared at the ceiling for a few moments. Mark’s gut soured while the mental images filled his mind. Kevin sighed and turned his eyes to Mark. “Now the leg can’t stop complaining about it.”
Mark couldn’t think of a word to say. His usual quick wits evaporated into the inner haze. Kevin gave him a crooked grin. “So. Teach me.”
“Teach you?”
“Yeah.” His head bobbed in a comic, vigorous nod. “Teach me about you. You’re a cook. I remember that. Married? Got any kids?”
Mark shifted and noticed Casey’s interested expression. Why did they care?
“Nope. Not married, and no kids, either.”
Kevin shook his head. “Well, that’s too bad. But maybe someday.”
Mark settled his back further on the couch, hearing the slight squeak of a spring under him. “Cooking doesn’t leave much time for a family. So, is your wife at work?”
Instant regret hit when the friendly aspect in Kevin’s gaze turned to pain. The charged silence sliced through Mark’s detachment. Why did he ask that? It wasn’t his business. And when did what happened around him come into s
uch sharp focus, while inside him the fog remained? What a weird day.
Casey dropped his head and regarded his shoes while Mark swallowed and Kevin took another gulp from his glass before he said, “Sheila left. Moved downstate near the city after she got her transfer.”
Mark sensed misery radiating from Casey. The boy’s head popped up. “She says she’ll visit at holiday time when she comes to Grandma’s.”
Kevin snorted. “She won’t visit here, son. You’ll have to go to Grandma’s to see her.”
“Maybe she will, Dad. I bet she misses you.”
The deep hurt in Kevin’s eyes made Mark want to jump up and leave. He needed to get out of this house and off to work. A knock on the back door, and Freddy’s excited bark offered him an opportunity.
Casey hopped up and said, “Must be Elmer, looking for Freddy.”
Mark rose and extended a hand to Kevin. “Guess I better get to work, now. Pleased to meet you both.”
“Thanks for helping,” Casey called over his shoulder, Freddy right behind him as they left the room.
Mark paused at the front door and glanced at Kevin who saluted and raised his glass at Mark. “See ya.”
Mark doubted he’d ever see him again. Poor guy. What a life. He shut the door and hurried through the neighborhood toward the restaurant. Once he arrived there, he hoped he’d feel more like himself again. He tried to muster up his usual excitement at the prospect of the evening’s challenges. But he couldn’t find it in the fog.
CHAPTER THREE
Julie exchanged a wide-eyed stare with Chris, who swallowed and glanced back at the front window. He cleared his throat. “What’s with him?”
Julie shrugged. Mark’s moods could be varied, but his extreme dedication to work never wavered. Why would he hop up like that, in mid-meal, and disappear out the door? They needed to get going with dinner prep. She sighed and strode into the kitchen.
First things first. She sorted through the vegetables in the walk-in cooler, removing any that had started to dry up or soften. Into a plastic bag they went, which she tucked onto a shelf. She filled a large tray with salad vegetables, placed them on the counter, and went back to retrieve a pan of potatoes.
Chris stepped inside the meat locker and returned with a steel tray stacked with beef cuts, his face flushed. Julie worried about all the extra weight Chris carried. Mark teased him about liking his own food too much, but Julie could tell he shared her concern. Sometimes Chris’s labored breathing during times of hectic orders frightened her.
Chris trimmed the meat off the bones into various steak portions, and threw the leavings onto an empty tray. Julie transferred bones and scraps into bags and stored them in the cooler.
Chris shook his head. “You sure are a dedicated dog-lover, gathering up that stuff every day.”
Julie murmured, “Mmm-hmm,” and continued peeling potatoes. If she told him the truth, Chris might be on board with what she did, but the opportunity never came up.
He raised a brow at her. “What’ll you do if Barlow ever decides to start ordering pre-cut steaks? You’ll need to get the doggie bones somewhere else.”
“Not likely he’d switch. He’s too cheap.” They shared a short laugh.
Tara, one of the two waitresses, scurried in, scraped off Mark and Chris’s plates and deposited them in the sink. She crossed her arms over her slender torso. “Just saw the boss pull up.”
Chris groaned and Julie glanced up at Tara’s reddened cheeks and pretty face. “Calm down. He probably just wants to eat and nose around. Like usual.”
Tara straightened and smoothed her apron. “What if he’s in a bad mood?”
“He won’t take it out on you or Stacey.”
“Nope.” Chris shook his head. “He’ll save the fun stuff for us cooks. Unless he’s had a good run of cards. If so, he’ll be all chummy with you and Stacey, and the customers.”
Julie rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure which is worse. At least he leaves faster when he’s bugged.”
Chris chuckled. The door sounded and Tara stiffened, while Chris and Julie’s hands continued their deft, measured motions.
Stacey’s voice, full of forced cheer, echoed from the front room. “Hi, Mr. Barlow.”
“Afternoon, Stace.”
Julie scrutinized his tone. He sounded jovial enough. She glanced at Tara and gave her a grin and a thumbs-up. Tara rushed out and the sound of happy conversation further relaxed Julie. Good. He’d be occupied out there for a while, flirting and greeting people.
Mark better get back soon. There’d be a verbal ruckus if Barlow stopped here and nobody could explain where Mark was. She shook her head. The boss had no idea how lucky he was to have such dependable kitchen staff. Some of the places she’d worked were in constant turmoil from the unreliability of the crew.
One night, she’d handled the entire back of a diner, dishes, orders and all when the other two team members didn’t show up. That was in her top ten list of days she wouldn’t want to repeat. No, closer to top twenty. There were much worse things than being overworked and frazzled.
Chris began the first hot appetizers, and the back door creaked. She hadn’t realized her shoulders were tight until they relaxed at the sight of Mark. Good. Finally. She almost asked him where he’d been, but his expression stopped her. The easy smile that normally enhanced his good looks was missing. A thud of recognition hit her when she met his half-vacant gaze. He must have lost someone close to him. She pushed down the surge of raw, painful memory that threatened to rise.
Chris glanced up from the stove. “Where the heck have you been, dude? Barlow’s out front. I’ve been trying to figure out a good lie to tell him in case he came back here.”
Chris gave him a quick head shake. “You look out of it. Better snap to and get your jacket on. You can start on those two other appetizer orders.”
Mark appeared almost lost, and Chris didn’t even ask him if he was all right. Men. Honestly, sometimes they were so thick. She expected more sensitivity from a family man like Chris. When Mark brushed past to grab his jacket, she murmured, “You okay?”
He gave her a half-hearted shrug. “Just sick or something.”
She studied his face while he donned his uniform. Odd. He looked upset or disturbed, not sick. Mark could be a bit of a hypochondriac. He always complained about people going out in public when they were ill and spreading disease. But who could afford to stay home?
Mark seemed to shake it off and began his usual whizzing around the kitchen. What a study in contrasts he was. So intense and perfectionistic about work, protective of his health, but completely casual about personal relationships. He’d dated almost every waitress in the years she’d worked here, and even though he acted affectionate while involved with them, he dumped them with ease, and never seemed to understand why they quit soon afterward.
Julie pressed her lips together and chopped onions with vigor. Mark’s shallowness made her struggle with annoyance toward him. She couldn’t expect everyone to be thoughtful or accessible to others. Some people just weren’t. But if so, they shouldn’t get into relationships and break other people’s hearts. That was unfair. She’d continue to keep her emotional distance from him and never attempt real friendship.
Mr. Barlow swept into the room, locks of his thick unruly salt-and-pepper hair tapping his forehead as he paced around, scanning the kitchen. He parked next to the stove, hands clasped behind his back, to watch Chris cook. “Almost done with my scallops?’
“You bet.”
Mr. Barlow glanced at Mark, and Julie. He cleared his throat. “Well, carry on, then. Do a good job.”
After he left, Chris stopped chewing and murmured, “Always do, boss.”
Julie didn’t care much for Barlow’s arrogant tone, either, but it made no sense to waste energy getting annoyed. She had her shift to finish, and a lot of work waiting at home. Best not to think about it. She sighed. God would give her the strength she needed. A smile lifted her lips, and
her spirits. Yes, He always did.
The evening passed in its usual blur of speedy cooking, wonderful aromas and jokes from Chris. Mark failed to join in the banter, so Julie attempted to fill in and try to keep the mood lighthearted, casting occasional glances at Mark’s sober expression. He never glanced up from his tasks, and answered questions with a tone devoid of any emotion. So odd.
* * *
Julie lugged the bags of bones and vegetables into her apartment and plopped into a soft chair. Tonight there was half a pan of roasted root vegetables to go along with the usual leftovers and cast-offs from the restaurant. It boggled her mind that all the food used to get thrown out every night before she came to work there. Not even composted, just tossed right into the dumpster. At first, Chris and Mark shook their heads at her “tree-hugger” mentality, but at least they didn’t tease her about it anymore.
It would be interesting to find out how much food she’d rescued in the two years she’d worked there. How many dumpsters would it fill? A chuckle escaped her at the mental picture. She indulged in a luxuriant stretch and a yawn. Time to get back up and preheat the oven so she could get the bones roasted and ready to simmer all night in the stockpot.
She glanced at the clock. While the bones baked, she’d bag up the cooked leftovers into portions and pop over to the bakery with them. The roasted veggies would be a hit with everyone. A quick stop at her computer, and she clicked on her favorite gospel choir songs. Energy filled her as she sung and worked, stopping to praise or raise her hands as the music transported her to her favorite inner space of joy and thanksgiving.
Her small apartment seemed to swell in size, lifted in the waves of sound. Too bad she couldn’t listen to this at work, but Mr. Barlow frowned on any noise other than the sounds of chopping, sizzling, clanging pans and utensils, with the accompaniment of incoming orders being barked. That was the music he loved.
The bones were in, and the food all bagged. She turned off the songs and stood still a moment, eyes closed. Lord please use me to help somebody tonight, even if it’s just a tiny help.
A Work in Progress Page 2