Chaos (Blackwell Bayou Series Book 1)

by Chelle C. Craze

  I waited for him to say something. Anything to break the silence. His eyes roamed my face as I took in everything about him. He traced the corners again. With each new point his fingers touched, my heart thundered against my ribcage as his eyes dared my mouth to speak.

  Point. Thunder. Dare. Point. Thunder. Dare.

  What was happening between us was a mystery to me. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or hated it. I loudly breathed outward, getting frustrated with myself for overthinking the situation as I did most anything.

  He faintly smiled and opened the menu. Breaking our staring contest, he closed his eyes and pointed to an item a tad right of the center. Automatically, I knew his finger landed in the pancake section, something most servers wouldn’t know, but I had worked at Dad’s Skillet for six years and the menu hadn’t changed. Except for the occasional special, that was. Even then, the new items were printed on a piece of paper and placed inside the menu. I wasn’t sure I’d ever look at the menus the same after today. Either they would annoy me for the rest of eternity for the time spent staring at someone who would probably stiff me on a tip or I’d welcome the distraction, because even if it was only brief, I forgot what day today was and what significance it held.

  When he opened his eyes, he chuckled. “I guess I’m having blueberry pancakes.”

  “Blueberry pancakes it is,” I simply said and walked away from the table, stopping at tables five and four, refilling their coffee without speaking to them.

  “Sam, we have another odd one at table seven. He’s the reason it took so long to get in here. Sorry,” I apologized, knowing he wouldn’t mention the food was getting cold, but without looking knew his foot was silently tapping on the other side of the counter.

  “Sug,” he said, moving a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “It’s your tip you’re ruining, not mine.” He winked, curled his tongue around the toothpick to keep it from falling out of his mouth, and then smiled. “’Sides, sometimes, staring at a stranger, it’s good for ya.” His head fell back as his deep, throaty laugh filled the kitchen.

  Ray came out of the walk-in cooler, his arms full with heads of lettuce. His face was barely visible, because as usual, he carried too much, not wanting to make more than one trip.

  “Sug’s got an admirer at seven, Ray. Whatcha think about that?” Sam said, nearly choking on the words as they left his lips.

  “Shew! When’s the wedding?” Ray laughed, kicking the walk-in’s door closed with his foot. One head of lettuce fell out of his arms and rolled across the kitchen floor. No surprise there. He usually dropped something when his arms were full. He wasn’t nearly as well-balanced as he liked for people to believe.

  “Stop it, y’all!” I grumbled, setting my order pad down and picking up the plates of food for tables four, five, and six.

  “Listen at her. The country is coming out now,” Sam said as he picked the lettuce up and tossed it into the sink, pushing against the handle with his elbow to turn the water on to a steady stream.

  “Watch out. Someone might think you’re one of us,” Ray said, sticking out his tongue at me, his brown eyes glistening with humor.

  I stopped just shy of the door. “I am one of you. Ain’t that right, Sam?” I said, returning the gesture to Ray, but distorting my face into the ugliest expression possible, wanting to one-up him.

  “Sure are,” Sam agreed and Ray shook his head as he finished what Ray had begun by rinsing the lettuce and shaking the excess water back into the sink. A few droplets slung onto Sam’s arm and he eyed Ray, pushing his toothpick between his teeth and tongue, and then went back to prepping dishes.

  After dropping off four and five’s food to them, I delivered six’s steak and Cobb salad. Gretchen had six in her section, but she was outside smoking or texting her boyfriend, or whatever she did when she was outside. I wasn’t even sure she smoked. She never smelled like cigarettes when she returned to work. Typically, the customer should have received his salad a good while before he had his steak, but he could have requested they be brought to the table at the same time. I didn’t know, and it really didn’t matter to me either way.

  As soon as the man’s hand wrapped around my wrist, I considered throat punching him and hated Gretchen a little for not serving her own food.

  “Are you Dad or his skillet? You’re a saucy little thing.” He laughed as I pulled my arm from his grasp and gritted my teeth to keep from cussing him on the spot. I didn’t think I would have gotten in trouble for it, but there were a few kids in Marian’s section, and I didn’t want to be the one to introduce them to the word “fuck”. A few morals still resided somewhere inside me, but they weren’t found easily.

  Sam loudly cleared his throat from behind me, and I knew this guy would soon regret ever touching me. My eyes widened, and the tip of my tongue found the inside of my jaw. This wasn’t going to be a pretty scene.

  “Sir, another trick like that will get you a tour of the back. You don’t want that tour. Trust me,” Sam said, wiping his hands on his apron and cracking his neck. “Eat your food, leave a generous tip for both ladies for being less than a gentleman, and then be on your way.”

  The man’s Adam’s apple jetted up his throat and quickly fell, followed by him nodding his head in agreement.

  “Now, do you need anything for your steak?” Sam remained calm as his Southern drawl thickened in his words. Over the years, Sam’s accent had conformed to resemble something of the locals, but when he was drunk or upset, there was no denying he was from New Orleans.

  Gretchen rounded the corner and stopped a few feet shy of Sam. She cocked her head to the side, shocked to see him out of the back of the house. The kitchen area of a restaurant is often referred to as the “back of the house” amongst the food service industry. “He wanted steak sauce.” Her voiced peaked as she shoved her cell phone behind her ordering pad, and her eyes flashed to Sam to make sure he didn’t see the movement. She was texting. I didn’t understand why she was trying to hide it from Sam. He didn’t care as long as the customers were happy. Excluding this particular one, obviously.

  Sam headed toward the back of the house and then turned on his heels, swiping a bottle from table eight.

  “Ketchup. You get ketchup. No one will be making a special trip for you.” He slammed the bottle in front of the man with such force it surprised me the bottle didn’t shatter. “Hope you never find out why this is my skillet.” Sam smiled and tipped his imaginary hat. “Enjoy your meal,” he sternly said and then loudly whispered, “asshole.” The volume of his voice was low enough to where the kids couldn’t hear, but everyone standing around did.

  In the eighties, Sam and his wife moved to Blackwell and opened Dad’s Skillet together. Lorene passed away eight years ago from cancer, without the two ever having children together. He told me he had considered closing the restaurant, but knew she would haunt “his old ass” if he did. Secretly, I knew this restaurant to be his life. There were lifeless chain restaurants across the world, but Dad’s Skillet was alive. You could practically feel the history its walls collected over the many years it’d remained open for business. Every blemish in its construction, down to a few holes in the booths, told an epic tale. Every time I thought I had heard all of the stories it had to tell, someone told me another. I didn’t enjoy many things nowadays, but I loved this diner and most of the people who worked inside.

  Sam was more of a father figure to me than he ever was a boss. I still was not sure what convinced him to hire me six years ago, but I was thankful he had. I’d just arrived in town, wearing a pair of filthy flip-flops, and was running from anything that resembled my past. Not the best shoe choice for running, but luckily, Sam put an end to my marathon. I’d bounced to and fro for around a year and was tired of wandering, but wanted to get as far away from the life I left behind, as it was too painful to remember. Forgetting was easier. Giving up the good memories with the bad was something I was willing to do to forget the pain. Those memories w
ere unbearable; they clawed and pierced my soul, taking away irreplaceable pieces, and left the mangled person I was today.

  Most days, I simply forgot everything and busied myself with work, along with whatever else I could find to fill my time and occupy my mind. I put up emotional and mental blinders, because I refused to give in to the throbbing ache I felt to remember. I missed Mom and Jaxson, my little brother. I often thought of them. Were they happy? Seven years was a long time to not speak to people you love. Too much time had passed to allow them to fill the space I left in their life with someone or something else. Too much time had passed for someone else to embrace them in the hugs I should have been giving them. I came from a long line of huggers, and it wasn’t until my move that I even questioned that fact. Now, I reserved my hugs for the very minute list of people I cared for, which was microscopic. If I had to find something positive in all of that, at least I wasn’t giving hugs to everyone anymore. If no other good outcome came from walking away from my past, I could be thankful I was no longer a hug whore. I could openly admit I used to give them out to any and everybody. These days, I gave a little more thought into whom I embraced.

  Mom texted, almost daily, but I never responded. I couldn’t. I doubt they’d ever be able to forgive me. I knew without any doubt I would never forgive myself, but I wasn’t strong enough to stay. I was too young to have the strength I needed to face the nightmares I lived.

  The bell chimed, saving me from teetering further into the past, letting me know seven’s food was ready. I picked it up with a nod to Sam in appreciation, never mentioning the incident that unveiled a short time ago. Everyone knew to go on working as if it didn’t happened. Sam was a great man who had a temper, but he rarely showed it. Generally, if he did, something happened to warrant his actions. Even if he was pushing seventy, Sam was extremely fit and not someone you wanted to mess with. His bullshit filter was short-fused. Rumors floated in hushed tones he had been a reaper for the Chained Rebels motorcycle gang in his younger days, but I wasn’t entirely convinced he still didn’t have his hand in the club. Either way, it didn’t sway my opinion of him.

  As I approached the table, I watched the bearded man stare out the window, and then his eyes landed on mine. I noticed something I hadn’t before. There, in his eyes, lay an emotion I wished I couldn’t recognize. Loneliness. Feeling alone and actually being it were two very different things. Unfortunately, he and I were the latter. Lonely people tended to hold a beacon only other lonely people could identify, as if everyone else traipsed the earth clueless loneliness existed and were blind to the beacon that shone so brightly to the rest of us. It had become part of who I was, and I was comfortable with that.

  “Hot blueberry stacks.” Mindlessly, I described the dish with a little too much pep in my tone, which was useless. Not enough time had passed to allow either of us to forget his order. Judging by his arched questioning eyebrow, I was confident he’d figured out I’d caught onto his secret of underlying loneliness.

  “Thanks,” was all he said before unrolling his silverware and turning his attention back out the window.

  Expecting to see the world ending or maybe a plane crash, I let my eyes wander where his seemed to be fixated. Perhaps a type of disaster. Something you didn’t see every day. A tornado. I made up my mind. A tornado seemed worthy enough to lure apart two wary, kindred souls such as ourselves.

  When my eyes followed his, nothing extraordinary caught my attention, and I looked twice just to be positive I wasn’t missing something extravagant. I saw nothing at all that was even a little bit interesting. The Schwartzes were opening their flower shop. Cornel turned the wooden sign from closed to open and brought out their sale items for the day, petunias and bleeding hearts as the sign swung, indicating waves of a light breeze. Agatha passed him on his way back into the store; he tenderly kissed her on the head and cupped her cheek. She squeezed his hand and smiled as she continued out the door, sweeping the settled dirt from the sidewalk. The tender touches they shared were sentimental, if you were into that type of thing, but they were ordinary things. They happened daily.

  I wasn’t sure what I had expected. He didn’t know me any more than I knew him, but I felt connected with him. Perhaps I did need someone in my life so badly I was desperately finding familiarity in a stranger. In that moment, I decided I would find a friend or maybe get a cat. Definitely a cat. Felines didn’t argue.

  2

  The Dick

  Day 1

  Why did I come into this fucking diner? I’d never decided to eat here before. My gut told me to stay away from this place. It was too bright, and the staff smiled too frequently. I mean, come on. No one was happy that often. It wasn’t natural. Why I didn’t listen to my instincts was beyond me. I blamed it on the massive amount of whiskey I drank last night. It was a temporary error in judgment, in which I didn’t plan to repeat. Ever.

  Her name was Eris. I should have been nice, but I wasn’t. I was a dick. I interrupted her because I didn’t deserve how nice she was being to me.

  When she walked away from the shithead’s table and I figured she was coming to mine, I quickly looked out the window. I didn’t want her to see me as I awaited her reaction, and I most definitely hoped she didn’t witness me stand up, on the brink of beating the shit out of the guy who grabbed her. I wouldn’t have hesitated to do so, but the cook got to him first, so I tucked myself back into the booth.

  I shouldn’t have smiled, but I couldn’t help myself. I tried gritting my teeth, but felt like I resembled a bulldog and quit before anyone could notice. I was too distracted to order anything, so I pointed my stupid finger to a random place on the menu. I closed my eyelids because she’s beautiful, and I hummed the same tune I always did in an attempt to get my mind on anything other than her. Maybe in a different life I could have fulfilled the wishful longing that poured out from her eyes, but not this one. In this one, I was an asshole, so I announced what I foolishly pointed to and she repeated it over the faint jazz music floating around the diner.

  I debated on telling her I hated blueberries, but she just left. I would have, too. I didn’t blame her for being the smart one out of the two of us. At least one of us had the ability to make rational decisions. Rationality bolted from me the moment I saw her.

  3

  Eris

  A dark gray cat arched his back, and his skin shuttered in response to my fingers, running down his spine and up the tail. After dealing with the same asshole for days now, I decided to stop at the humane society to pick out a friend. It was apparent I needed something or someone to help keep my mind occupied. That asshole had almost driven me screaming on multiple occasions in the short time we’d spent with one another, and I had to get my mind focused on something else or I’d snap.

  The cat stretched and curled into a fur ball on my lap, resting his head against my leg, and was quick to close his eyelids. The soft purrs allowed me to relax as I stroked behind the white spot on his ear and breathed a small sigh of relief.

  My phone dinged, and I knew whom the text was from without looking at the screen. It was Mom. No one else called or texted my phone other than work.

  Mom: Your brother made all A’s for the semester.

  Mom: He wanted to show you.

  She forwarded a picture, and I stared at the university crest at the top of the grade report in disbelief. My brother being old enough to be in college was something hard for me to accept, considering he was thirteen the last time I saw him. He used to text as well, but he gave up a few years ago after he broke down and gave up on me ever answering him. Instead, he’d send messages through Mom when he knew the news was something I’d be sad if I missed. Never mind the fact I’d moved away from them without an explanation. I was hurting, but they were, too. I was selfish to not consider how my moving would impact their lives, but I couldn’t handle any aspect of my own.

  Mom: We miss you.

  Mom: Well, it was nice talking to you.

  I didn�
�t respond. This was nothing new. I never did.

  My lap got warm soon after the cat leaped from my legs and cried out like it hurt him to jump. He peed on me, and then I wasn’t sure what happened to cause him to cry.

  I wasn’t getting a cat. I hated cats.

  The little mousy-looking woman came into the adoption room, and her dark ponytail flipped as she bounced in place. “So, are we going to be taking The Wizard home?”

  “The Wizard?” I asked, exhaling and glancing at the wet spot on my jeans. “Is piss his magic trick?” I sounded bitterer than I had intended.

  “Yes, well, it’s Wiz for short. He, um, kind of has accidents on occasion.” Her eyes followed mine and then widened. “I guess you figured that out, huh?”

  “Yep,” I answered, grabbing my stuff and shaking my head. I guess if she had told me beforehand that he “has accidents,” I probably would have asked to look at another one. I didn’t blame her for that decision. I might have done the same; he wasn’t exactly a young cat. If I had to guess, I’d speculate him to be over seven because he had white patches of fur from aging.

  “Sorry,” she said, scooping him up and nuzzling her face against the side of his gray furry face, wiggling her nose when his whiskers tickled her skin. “It’s probably best you don’t want him anyway. Dr. H would have me skinned if he knew I was letting people visit with his cat.”

  My head turned to the side and I raised an eyebrow in her direction. She let me visit and potentially bond with a pet that already belonged to someone. It was as if the universe was telling me I was supposed to be alone. Either that or it simply showed her mild behavior and upbeat attitude was a mask for her true dick self.