Sleeping Alone

by Bretton, Barbara

  Neither do I, she thought as she packaged the rejected food for the women’s shelter. Not when she made such mess of things.

  “You’re making my life difficult,” Will went on. The beaten eggs sizzled as they hit the griddle. “Where the hell is Dee?”

  “You know as much as I do, Will. She said she’d be in after lunch.”

  “She didn’t pull that crap when Nick was around,” he grumbled. “I can tell you that.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” she said. “I wasn’t working here when Nick was around.”

  “Damn right you weren’t.” He pushed the eggs around with a spatula. Even from where she stood she could see that the eggs were on their way to turning into yellow blobs of rubber.

  “You’re overcooking those eggs,” she said.

  He ignored her and turned up the flame.

  “Will.” She crossed the kitchen to the stove. “The order was for scrambled, wet.”

  “You said dry.”

  The poor eggs were turning brown. “The toast was dry. The eggs were wet.”

  “That’s not what you said.”

  She flipped open her order pad and pointed to her notes. “That’s what I have here.”

  She’d barely uttered the words when he picked up a skillet and threw it across the kitchen where it smashed against the far wall, knocking a can of cooking oil to the floor. Then he untied his apron and threw it at Alex.

  “Will.” She tried to return the apron to him, but he was already reaching for his jacket. “We’re having a bad day, that’s all. Why don’t we—”

  “You’re having a bad day, lady. At least I know what the hell I’m doing.”

  She drew herself up to her full height and stared down at him “There’s no need to curse.”

  “You think that’s cursing?” He unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “At least I’m not stupid.”

  If the skillet had been within reach, she would have hit him over the head with it. “You’re fired,” she snapped.

  Will started to laugh. “You can’t fire me. You’re a waitress.”

  “Then Dee can fire you.”

  “She’s a waitress, too.”

  “But I’m not.” John loomed in the doorway like a thundercloud.

  Alex stepped between the two men. “I can handle this,” she said to John. “Will and I are just having a discussion.”

  “I heard that discussion,” John said through gritted teeth. He stepped around Alex and went face-to-face with Will. “You’re fired.”

  “You’re a customer,” Will said, looking at them as if they both were crazy. “Customers can’t fire the help.”

  “They can if the customer owns the place.”

  “You’re nuts,” Will said. “Tell Dee I quit.”

  “Too late,” John shot back. “I already fired you.”

  Muttering something about rubber rooms and electro-shock therapy, Will bolted for the door.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Alex said as Will backed his car out of the parking lot in a spray of snow and gravel. “I’ll lose my job because of this.”

  John looked insufferably pleased with himself. “You’re not going to lose your job.”

  “Dee is going to be furious.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “What is she going to tell the owner, that one of her customers went berserk and fired the cook? I don’t think he’s going to be very happy about that.”

  “I am the owner, Alex.”

  “Very funny,” she said. “The joke’s over. Now help me figure out what to do.”

  “I’m not joking,” he said. “I own the Starlight.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re my boss?”

  “I’m your boss.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because I haven’t told anybody, Alex. Not even Eddie knows.”

  “That does it.” She pulled off her apron. “I can’t work here anymore.”

  “Why can’t you work here anymore?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She folded the apron and set it down on the counter. “You should have told me before I started working here, John. Now I feel like a total fool.”

  “Look,” he said, “the original owner skipped town. They were going to shut down the Starlight. I couldn’t let it happen so I bought the place. You’re right. I should have told you about it.”

  “Why the secrecy?”

  He looked at her for what seemed like a very long time. “Damned if I know,” he said finally. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “It’s Dee, isn’t it? She told me she’d like to buy the diner one day. You were protecting her interest.”

  “It’s what friends do.”

  “No,” she said, “it’s what you do. You tried to save my roof, my car, and my job, and now you’re telling me you actually saved an entire diner. Call me crazy, but I think I see a pattern emerging here.”

  He turned away, but not before she caught a glimpse of pain so deep she prayed she was imagining it. But she wasn’t imagining it. She knew his pain the way she knew her own. She’d seen that pain on Thanksgiving and she’d felt it when he held her in his arms. It was what had brought them together and it was what kept them apart.

  He gestured toward the front of the diner with his thumb. “What are we going to do about them?”

  The shift in focus startled her for a moment. “I completely forgot we had customers.”

  “As your boss, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “I guess I’ll tell them to go home,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Without a cook, there’s not much else we can do.”

  “Sure there is. You’re a great cook. Why don’t you take over for Will?”

  “I’m supposed to be waiting tables.”

  “That chicken you made for me last night was the best I’ve ever had.”

  She dipped her head, pleased by the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, but I doubt if the Starlight is ready for chicken Florentine.”

  “Let me put it this way, Alex. You’re a better cook than you are a waitress. Will’s gone. We need somebody to replace him ASAP. Why not give it a try?”

  She couldn’t come up with a good reason. Actually the idea had its charm. Waiting tables had turned out to be a lot tougher than it looked. She hadn’t realized how seriously people took things like eggs over easy and salad dressing on the side. Make one mistake and the wrath of God came down on your head.

  “You know,” she said, “you might have something there.” The cook could hide out in the kitchen and let the waitress do the explaining when things went wrong. “But what are we going to do with the lunch crowd out there? I can’t cook and serve, John.”

  “You cook,” he said, grabbing an apron. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

  * * *

  “Okay, Dee.” Dr. Schulman peeled off her plastic gloves and tossed them in the proper receptacle. “Get dressed, and we’ll talk in my office.”

  “I’ll live?” She sat up and readjusted her paper dressing gown around her chest. She hated the brittle tone her voice got whenever she was nervous.

  “You’ll live.” Dr. Schulman turned toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Dee muttered as the doctor closed the door behind her. It wasn’t Dr. Schulman’s cellulite and spider veins that had been on display for all and sundry to see.

  Was there any experience more traumatic than the yearly gynecological exam? She’d take a mammogram any day over being spread-eagled on a Star Wars table. And what was with those stirrups? What had the first gynecologist been thinking when he came up with that sadomasochistic fantasy item? She was sure it had been a male invention. No woman in her right mind would have linked horseback riding with a cold speculum.

  Five minutes later she took a seat in Dr. Schulman’s office.

  “We’ll have the
Pap results back in a week or so,” the doctor said, perusing her notes. “When do you want to schedule your mammogram?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that,” Dee said, withholding a shudder. “The budget can only stand so much this month.”

  “You should talk to your boss about instituting an HMO plan,” Dr. Schulman said. “It might make more sense for you.”

  There was no point reminding the doctor that she wasn’t some high-priced executive at a Fortune 500 company. The thought of the Starlight ever being able to offer an HMO was downright laughable.

  The doctor leaned forward, her dark eyes bright with professional concern. “So now it’s your turn, Dee. Any questions, concerns, problems you’d like to talk about with me?”

  Dee wondered if the doctor used that same annoying tone of voice with her husband. “Yes, there is,” she said, pushing away the thought. “I want to go back on the pill.”

  “Well.” The doctor leaned back in her seat. “I feel obliged to remind you that while the effectiveness of the pill is undeniable, there are still some valid and pertinent reasons for the use of condoms.”

  “I understand,” Dee said, “and I agree, but I still want to go back on the pill.”

  “You’re in a steady relationship?”

  “I’m not in a physical relationship at all,” Dee said, growing annoyed. “I’m thinking ahead.”

  It’s called wishful thinking, Doc, and I’ve got it dawn to an art form.

  Brian’s Thanksgiving Day visit had had an enormous impact on her, though it probably wasn’t the impact he’d hoped for. He had wanted her to swoon at his feet, totally overcome by desire for him... totally overwhelmed by admiration for all he’d accomplished. The truth was, there had been something pathetic about him that day, a look of loneliness, of vulnerability, that she hadn’t seen since they were in high school. And once again, it had drawn her to him. She’d told herself she was immune, and over the years she’d actually come to believe it. Thanksgiving had blown all of her theories to hell.

  She felt like a gawky fifteen-year-old girl around Brian, the same girl who’d worshipped him like a God. The same girl who’d believed he would make all of her dreams come true.

  It won’t happen this time, Brian, she thought as Dr. Schulman wrote out a prescription. This time she’d fight fire with fire. The Christmas season was a dangerous time for lonely single women on the verge of middle age. Take a little mistletoe, a lot of eggnog, add a marrow-deep loneliness, and you had a recipe for disaster.

  It had been three years since she’d had sex and even longer since she’d slept with a man. Really slept. Where you went to bed together and stayed there through the darkest part of the night, then woke up to find out you weren’t alone.

  It was what Sam wanted. He’d told her time and time again. “I’m not going to hurt you, Dee. You don’t have to be afraid.” But she was afraid. Not of Sam, who was a good and decent man, but of herself. That maybe she only wanted what she couldn’t have, the things and people that were bad for her.

  But what frightened her most of all was the thought that the decisions she’d made as a frightened teenager would end up hurting her son.

  Twelve

  John went back to the marina around two o’clock, and by three Alex was the only one left in the diner. She rinsed dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher, wiped down the stove and countertops, then poured herself a tall glass of iced tea. It didn’t matter that it was 25 degrees outside and snowing lightly. She was hot and sweaty and beyond tired.

  She pushed open the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the rest of the diner and claimed the booth nearest the door for herself. She’d forgotten how wonderful silence could be. No loud jukebox music. No laughter. No spirited arguments about sex, politics, and religion. Just blissful peace and quiet.

  She took a sip of iced tea, then closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation.

  You did it, Alex, she congratulated herself. The world’s lousiest waitress had transformed herself into a fairly decent short-order cook. Considering the fact that she’d been tossed into the deep end of the pool, she’d not only managed to stay afloat, but also she’d learned how to swim.

  Sometimes her old life with Griffin seemed as if it had belonged to someone else—some sad, lonely woman who didn’t have the guts to admit she deserved more from marriage than a platinum American Express card. Would it have been different if she’d showed a little backbone early on? She wondered if part of her charm for Griffin had been her malleability, or if he’d always secretly longed for someone as accomplished as Claire Brubaker.

  An image of Claire, the way she had looked that afternoon at Harrods, flashed before her eyes. Her lustrous red hair pulled back in a chignon, her chic navy blue maternity dress, her stomach swollen with Griffin’s child. It wasn’t often a woman could point to the one moment in time when her life changed forever, but Alex could. From that moment on, the end of her marriage had been inevitable.

  She didn’t want to think about Claire... or about Griffin. They belonged to a distant past, to a world that no longer existed for her—if it had ever existed at all. He’d be ashamed of her, Griffin would. Ashamed of the beads of sweat rolling down the back of her neck, of the way her hands smelled of onion and cooking oil.

  Ashamed of the fact that she had managed to survive on her own.

  John wasn’t ashamed of any of it. He looked at her with the same wonderful mix of desire and affection whether she was wearing her pale blue waitress uniform or nothing at all. He didn’t judge her by her lack of education or accomplishment. He seemed to judge her by what was in her heart. Not even her parents had done that.

  She wished with all her heart that she had met John years ago when they might have had a chance to make a life together.

  “God, I’m sorry I’m so late.” Dee burst through the door like a red-haired whirlwind. “Dr. Schulman was running behind schedule, and I—”

  Alex’s eyes opened wide. “The doctor! Are you okay?”

  “Routine maintenance.” Dee slipped out of her hunter green windbreaker, then hung it from the hook near the door. “If you’re looking for someone local, I’d be glad to give you her number.”

  “I guess.” Her experiences with the medical profession in the last few years had been equal parts frustration and heartbreak.

  “What do you use?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Birth control,” Dee said, sitting down opposite her. “Call me an optimist, but I just asked the doctor to put me back on the pill.”

  “I—well, I don’t really use anything.”

  “Tell me you’re kidding.” Dee looked and sounded horrified. “You must be using condoms at the very least.”

  “Excuse me, Dee, but what makes you think I need them?” In point of fact, she and John hadn’t been using birth control, not that it was any of Dee’s business. They both had been tested, and thank God both were HIV-negative. Alex knew all too well that pregnancy would never be an issue for her.

  “The guys at the counter think you and Johnny are getting married.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Vince thinks John will pop the question Christmas Day. Rich is betting on New Year’s Eve.”

  “What about you?” she asked. “Are you putting fifty cents on Groundhog Day?”

  “Honey, don’t go getting upset. They love John and they’re fond of you. They want the two of you to be happy together.”

  “We’re not really having this conversation,” Alex said. “I must be having a bad dream.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dee said. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I don’t think any secret is safe in this town.”

  Some of Dee’s sparkle dimmed. “You’d be surprised,” she said after a moment. “Every now and then one manages to sneak by.” She adjusted her ponytail, and her trademark grin returned. “So when did it happen?”

  “That’s personal, Dee.”

/>   “I’ll bet it was Thanksgiving. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  Alex’s face flamed. She might as well have taken out an ad in the New York Times.

  “I promise I won’t ask you all sorts of nosy questions,” Dee said. “I always hate when people do that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course, if there’s something you’d like to tell me, I’d be more than happy to listen.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Alex said carefully. “We enjoy each other’s company.”

  “I enjoy Vince Troisi’s company, but I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “And it’s a good thing you’re not,” Alex shot back. “I don’t think Cora would be too pleased about it.”

  Dee tossed a packet of sweetener at her. It bounced off her shoulder and fell to the floor. “You know what I’m talking about. The sparks between the two of you could light this place for a year. I’m almost thirty-five years old, Alex. Believe me, I know when there’s more than just good sex happening between a couple.”

  Alex put down her glass of iced tea and met Dee’s challenging gaze head-on. “There isn’t,” she said bluntly. “No strings. No commitments. It’s the way we both want it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Dee!” Alex wasn’t sure if she should laugh or be insulted. “I think I know what’s happening better than you do.”

  Dee refused to back down an inch. “Trust me,” the woman said. “I’ve known Johnny all my life and I’ve seen him through good times and bad. The boy’s in love.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

  “Why not? I’d be overjoyed if you told me a kind, handsome man was in love with me.”

  Instinctively Alex touched the place on her left ring finger where her wedding band used to be. Dee’s sharp eyes caught the gesture before she could cover up.

  “So that’s the way it is,” Dee said in a quiet tone of voice. “You’re still carrying a torch for your ex.”

  The thought made Alex physically ill. She opened her mouth to say exactly that when a surprisingly sharp instinct for self-preservation sprang to life. If she let Dee believe she was nursing a broken heart over Griffin, she wouldn’t have to endure endless questions about the future of her relationship with John. How could there be a future when she hadn’t relinquished her past?