Duet Rubato

by Claerie Kavanaugh

  Kris is pretty much the opposite, at least when she’s here. Harlan has cut her share of the community tips twice. He keeps her around for her efficiency. Prickly as she may be, I have to give her credit. Kris gets stuff done. She can manage twelve tables at once and make it look like a piece of cake. A skill, I hate to admit, I envy. I have tableside manner down to a science, but Jenna Hunterson I am not.

  My hand fishes in the depths of my bag even though my phone has long stopped vibrating, and the locker room door swings open. Valerie, dark black hair a mess of scrambled eggs and apron soaked with ketchup, comes in.

  “Sorry.” She scrambles toward her own locker for the change of clothes she always has on hand. I swallow down a sigh and replace it with a much-too-bright smile.

  “No problem.” I mask a wince with a quick wink when the words come out two octaves higher than normal. “Need any help?”

  She smiles over her shoulder, but shakes her head as she drapes a new, crisp apron over her arm and heads down the hall toward the employee restrooms. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  Once she’s gone, I sink against the lockers and let out a long breath. Great. Tonight’s going to be the diner version of the disastrous audition session in the opening number of A Chorus Line.

  I wrap my fingers around the my cell and pull it out. One missed call and a text.

  1 MISSED CALL-Megan

  9:02 P.M. Megan: Need to talk to you.

  9:05 P.M. Catie: Shift’s abt to start. What’s up?

  Before I press send, the hinges creak. Kris scowls from the doorway. “Twinkle Toes,” she demands. “Boss wants you.”

  “Be right there.” I send off the message with a whoosh and drop my phone into my purse before slamming the locker closed.

  In the kitchen Harlan pulls me into the food locker. I try not to think about the sweat beading the back of my neck as he crosses his arms and gives me a contemplative look.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Trouble?” He blinks, then drops his arms to his sides. “Oh, no. I wanted to . . .listen, I know you’ve had a lot going on, but I’m gonna need you to keep a good head on your shoulders tonight, okay?”

  My brows furrow. “Sure.” I shrug. “But why?” I gesture to the storage room, reserved for more serious conversations.

  Harlan grunts and runs a hand down his face. “Look, we got a lot of newbies out there tonight.

  I stifle a snort. Yeah, I’ve noticed.

  “Bonnie’s gonna be swamped, so you have to step it up and make sure none of ’em end up too deep in the weeds tonight. Got it?”

  I don’t break eye contact. “Yes, sir.”

  A smile twitches on his lips. He nods and heads for the door. “Good.”

  The moment he vanishes in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, I sag against the shelves. Yep. It’s gonna be a long night.

  Three hours later, I swoop the second tray of dishes piled high with the greasiest foods of late-night dining into my right arm.

  “You all right there, hun?” Bonnie asks, already setting her own food down and making her way toward where I’m wobbling near the counter.

  I nod, fearing moving my arm will cause the five plates cramming the other platter in my left hand to clatter to the floor.

  “Thanks,” I pant as she shifts the left tray to her own hand, “but I got it.” I reach to take the serving tray back, but she holds it a little higher and heads for the swinging doors.

  “Come on, doll, lemme help you out. I know you’ve had a rough couple of weeks, what with the little darlin’ bein’ under the weather ’n all.”

  Harlan watches our exchange. His gaze flicks toward Bonnie’s receding form before he quirks a brow as if to say, Well? Get out there! Crap.

  I scurry behind Bonnie, and the door shuts against the back of my faded skirt. I shoot it a quick glare. It has hit me in the same spot since I started working this shift. I even have the bruise to prove it. Inanimate object or not, that door has a vendetta.

  I weave through the crowded tables, scanning the sea of people in search of my savior, and catch up to her a few tables shy of entering my section. “Bonnie, thank you, but these are my customers.” Keeping step with her, I move to retrieve the tray, but she swings it in front of her. Her tongue clicks.

  “Catie, I ain’t gonna leave ya stuck in the weeds like this.” She gestures toward my overflowing seats.

  My shoulders slump at the roar of conversations and clambering forks against way too many empty places. Several pairs of eyes scan left and right, gleaming with hunger and ready to flag me down.

  “What about you? I don’t want you to run behind. What if Harlan busts you?”

  Bonnie swallows a laugh. “Oh, honey, I can handle him. He’s a kitten in tiger’s skin.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  But she keeps walking toward the closest waiting table. “Face it, darlin’,” she hisses in my ear as she passes me. “You ain’t gonna win this one.” She winks and I suppress a groan when she puts on an award-winning smile for the guests. “All right, who had the nachos?”

  It’s 1:00 a.m. I’m barely holding my head up. I need a break before I curl up in the middle of the kitchen. Bonnie’s help is keeping my nerves from fraying, but she’s off in an hour. I have no idea how I’m going to keep track of everyone. Around three or four, the college partiers will start piling in, and I’ll take Bonnie’s place as Annie freakin’ Oakley. I can’t wait.

  Harlan has slowed down from darting in and out between tables to rectify mistakes—for now. I take a deep breath, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Yes?” He faces me. “Can I help you?”

  Clearing my throat, I meet his gaze. “All my tables have food and I need to check in with my family.” I shift on my feet. “Please, fifteen minutes? Sir.”

  Harlan cranes his neck to look out over the crowded restaurant before nodding. “Ten,” he says. I bound toward the locker area.

  “Not a minute more.”

  Turning my locker key, I unzip my bag and pull out my phone. The screen refuses to light up. Perfect. This is a wonderful time for it to die. When my kid is home sick with my girlfriend as her babysitter. I look around. The locker room is disserted except for Valerie, who is picking olives from her hair.

  “Someone needs to spill some ice cream on me and I’ll be able to feed a whole table.” She flings a piece of crispy cheese across the room and I grimace.

  I glance over my shoulder in the mirror. A USB end of a phone charger flops out of her purse as she riffles through it and an idea forms in my mind. Snatching the desired item off my shelf, I walk over and tap her on the shoulder.

  “Trade you for a phone charger?” I hold out my dry shampoo. I always keep some on hand. It takes a lot of effort to look this good, and even more when your body is drenched in sweat. “Mine’s dead.”

  Valerie frowns. “What is it?”

  I spin the container around so she can read the label. “It won’t be the same as a full wash, but I guarantee it’ll feel better than,” I point to another sauce stain knotting her bouncy curls, “mustard.” I smile, and she blushes as she slips the bottle from my hand.

  “Thanks,” she says, giving over her charger.

  Yes! “Ditto.” After finding an outlet on the opposite side of the room, my phone flickers to life with two minutes left on my break.

  9:14 P.M. MEGAN: I did something stupid. Call me ASAP

  12:34 A.M. 2 MISSED CALLS-MEGAN

  Geez, she’s up late. Err, early. And “something stupid”? Megan isn’t one to make mountains out of molehills, but she also holds herself to high standards. If she’s admitting her stupidity, it has to be serious. The last time she’d said that, we were on tour and it’d meant, “I accidentally slept with my roommate’s boyfriend and didn’t know who he was.”

  My stomach dips. My break ends in sixty seconds, but I hit “CALL BACK.” If I know she’s okay, maybe I’ll be able to push the thoughts out of my mind and finish my
shift.

  “Cate?” comes her sleepy mumble from the receiver.

  “Hey, Mags. Harlan finally gave me a break. What’s up?”

  Megan groans. “I’m an idiot.”

  I sit on the bench. “Why?”

  “Well, I—”

  The door flies open and Bonnie steps in. I pull the phone away from my ear upon noticing the creases in her forehead and mouth, “What’s wrong?”

  “Dan’s got an entire table of dead food and Harlan is chewin’ out the poor lad as we speak.” She looks at me with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, honey. I’d help, but I gotta get my own tables done before my shift ends. Can’t stay late neither or I ain’t gonna get no sleep t’night.”

  I nod. “Mags, I’m sorry, I gotta go. Call you later, ’kay?”

  “What? No, wait, I need to—” I hit “END” and leave it on the charger. Megan will have to wait. As will the butterflies turning my stomach into a terrarium.

  “Bonnie, it’s fine. You take care of your tables and get home. I got this.” I hope.

  She smiles and her body slumps. When I stand next to her, she squeezes my shoulder. “I owe you.”

  I wave my hand. “If anything, I owe you. Harlan would’ve sent me to the Chokey multiple times without you.”

  Bonnie’s laugh lines crinkle. She’s more than used to my constant musical references, though always refrains from divulging a direct answer when I question her recognition of them. At this point though, I don’t care. They make her smile and that’s the least I can do after all the times she’s bailed me out.

  “Anytime, honey.”

  It takes me a good half an hour to sort out Dan’s mistake, and five others crop up in the meantime. Even so, Megan’s frantic text and our partial phone call keeps nagging at me. On my third run back to the kitchen to pick up an order of shakes, I scrawl a quick note on a napkin to slip to Dan, figuring it’s time to collect on my debt after I’ve kept him from running around like a headless chicken.

  Need to steal 5 minutes. Cover my tables. They already have their food.

  I slide it in his pouch as I pass him with the tray, but not once does he give me any indication he saw it. With each hour that passes, my nerves are closer to ripping away from my body and worries about Megan gnaw at my sanity. If Harlan hadn’t been watching, I would have stopped bailing these newbies out a long time ago.

  Several hours later, the sun peeks up over the horizon and I’m a walking zombie. I hang my apron in its place, grab my cell, and swing my bag over my shoulder. Harlan taps me before I reach the door.

  “Heading out?”

  “Yeah.” I squelch a yawn. “I gotta check on Lyssa.”

  Harlan clears his throat. “You did well tonight.”

  My brows shoot into my hairline. “Really?” I squeak. He nods. Pride blossoms in my chest. “Th-thank you, sir.”

  “Now, go home. Before the kid burns your apartment down.”

  I smile. He’s heard Bonnie and I exchange stories. My phone vibrates again. I pull it out and gape at it. My hands dampen. “If she hasn’t already.”

  I put the messages off as long as I can, settling my purse in the passenger seat, shrugging off my coat, buckling my seatbelt, cranking the heat to full blast, and taking a few minutes to let the chill thaw from my hands. I punch the password into my phone to scroll through the texts and missed calls.

  2 MISSED CALLS-MEGAN

  7:25 A.M. Megan: Answer the phone!!! Important!

  7:38 A.M. Megan: 911!!!!

  7:43 A.M. Megan: Dammit! Kristina, if you’re reading this, I don’t care how swamped Catie is, give her back the fucking phone. Urgent family emergency!

  4 MISSED CALLS-MEGAN

  7:51 A.M. Megan: I hope the reason you’re not answering is because you’re speeding to the damn apartment.

  1 MISSED CALL-ADDIE

  8:05 A.M. Addie: What the fuck is Grayson doing at my apartment?

  Grayson. The oxygen is sucked from the car. My quick reflexes stop the cell from dropping. I fumble to the missed call log and punch Megan’s number over and over with the pad of my thumb. The metal frame of the car is closing in, but I hit speaker and focus on my breathing as the numbers on my dashboard blur. It doesn’t finish the first ring before Megan picks up.

  “Catie?” she yells. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”

  “Megan.” My words quiver. “Why did Addie ask me what Grayson is doing at the house?”

  She sucks in her breath, and I imagine the color washing from her face. “He’s there already? Oh, shit. Cate, I’m sorry, I tried to tell you—”

  I turn the key, but haven’t quite gained my bearings enough to move yet. “Megan,” I say, this time stronger. “What. Happened?”

  Her swallow crackles through the speaker. “He called here last night. Said he had landed from a business trip and wanted to remind you he was coming to pick up Lyssa tomorrow.” My heart marches to the beat of Little Drummer Boy at the prolonged silence. “I told him you weren’t here, and he might have to check with you about taking Lyssa ’cause she was sick.”

  “And?”

  “And he asked if he could say hi to her. I told him, I told him she wasn’t with me. He asked where she was and well . . .I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “What?” I screech. “Does he know we’re staying with Addie?”

  A beat. Then, in a choked whisper, “Yes.”

  Thank goodness my foot isn’t on the gas pedal, or I’d ram straight through the parking sign and over the curb. “How could you? With everything going on with his parents?” My breaths come in gasping spurts and my hands clench. “If they find out I’m on leave . . .” I don’t want to finish that thought. I can’t.

  “I know, I know, okay! I’m so sorry. I screwed up royally and I don’t know how to fix it, but you have to get over there as fast as you can. The last thing I want is for the two of them to murder each other over this.”

  “On my way.” I skid across the asphalt.

  “Good. And, Cate?”

  “Yeah?” I growl through gritted teeth.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry can’t fix the battle royale destroying Lyn’s kitchen.

  “Yeah. Whatever.” I stab “END” and peel out into the street. All that matters right now is getting home.

  I scoop the warm oats into the bowl, dust them with cinnamon sugar, and Sweeney Todd half of a banana into Lyssa-sized pieces. She’s perched atop a kitchen chair I pulled over to the counter, swinging her feet as she doodles on a piece of paper with a ten-pack of markers. I give her a weary side-eye as I slip in a spoon and slide the bowl across the table. “There you go.”

  Lyssa eyes the oatmeal, pushing her drawing aside and pulling it closer.

  Please don’t let her turn me into a human target. Again. In a few quick strides, and amid several cringes at the ever-so-pleasant squish of yogurt parfait soaking into my favorite pair of slippers, I’m standing next to her. The last thing I need is to pick sticky oats out of my hair along with everything else. Especially at 7:30. No matter what, this breakfast item is going to stay away from the floor.

  I made the mistake of wearing my monogrammed cotton robe from the last company I worked with in college. It’s the most comfortable thing I own, but it reeks with the stench of rejected applesauce and remnants of a one-sided food fight crust the once soft fabric.

  Lyssa spoons a tentative bite into her mouth. As she chews, satisfaction twinkles in her eyes. My shoulders droop. Phew. I sit on my own stool and reach for my still brimming coffee mug—black this time, because I’ll be damned if anything gets in the way of my caffeine after the morning I’ve had. As I wrap my fingers around the handle and lift the coffee to my lips, Lyssa’s features scrunch and she slams the spoon back in the bowl, splattering food across the counter.

  And my robe. Again. Shit.

  “Yuck! I hate bananas!”

  With quick reflexes, I replace my cup and snatch the bowl second
s before she shoves it across the granite. I swing it to my right so she has to squirm over me to reach it and fix her with a pointed glare.

  “Alyssa Margaret, we do not throw food!” She crosses her arms and glowers.

  Lyssa scoffs. “I don’t care, this is gross. Make it like Mom does.”

  Damn. Catie had warned me she got cranky if she stayed up too late. At first, I’d cut her some slack because she was sick, but this? This attitude is not acceptable.

  “Well, your mother’s not here right now,” I say, moving the oatmeal toward her. “And this is what you asked for. So you can eat it now and help me clean up this mess, or spend the next nine minutes in the quiet room, and eat it for lunch instead.”

  “No!” she screams, shoving the bowl away.

  I wince as the screech stabs at my already pounding headache, but shrug.

  “Okay.” Standing, I bring the oatmeal over to the sink, pulling out some plastic wrap from the cabinet to cover it. “But you’re gonna be hungry later.” Opening the fridge, I indicate where I’m going to put the bowl. “It’ll be here when you want it.”

  “I won’t!” she retorts, this time jumping free from her seat and yanking my elbow. “Throw it away!”

  My grip to loosens. The breakfast topples from my hand and shatters on the tile with an ear-splitting crash. The world flashes red. Lyssa howls as lukewarm mush splashes onto her bare feet and porcelain shards explode across the floor.

  “Dammit! Lyssa!” Her wails grow louder and fat tears leak from her eyes. Fuck. What am I supposed to do now?

  Calm down. That’s step one.

  I survey the surroundings before searching for a broom.

  “Don’t. Move.” I give a strict scowl. She nods, continuing to sniffle. For an instant, I’m tempted to drop my stern demeanor and gather her in a quick hug to get rid of that pitiful and, admittedly endearing, expression. Her pout and wide, misty eyes remind me she’s Catie’s daughter. I never could stand to see her cry either. Still can’t.