“A couple of teaspoons.”
“Not enough to worry about. I’ll find a jar to put it in.”
He realized he was hungry.
“Did you bring a lunch today?” He’d been so distracted by her peekaboo top first thing this morning he hadn’t noticed whether she’d been carrying a bag.
“No,” she said.
“Listen, I have this thing I do. I take new employees out to lunch on the first day. I have to run some mints over to the diner anyway.”
She made a noncommittal sound.
“Lunch is my treat.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
C.J. grabbed a box of commercial wrapped mints from the back room then headed out of the shop.
Janey followed him onto the street.
“Aren’t you going to lock the door?” she asked.
“Naw. The tourists are gone for the season and it’s mainly just local folk around now.”
She looked at him like he had a screw loose, and muttered, “Naive.”
That bugged him. “This is Ordinary. These are my people.”
She turned away and stalked down Main Street. “It’s your funeral.”
It reminded him that she was a stranger here and that she didn’t know the town the way he did, and it showed how different they were.
“WHAT SHOULD I DO?” Walter asked, leaning forward in the diner booth toward his lunch partner, Gladys Graves.
Gladys had come to town a year ago to visit her daughter, Amy, at the Sheltering Arms and had never left. Walter had been watching her ever since, hoping they could move a little closer together.Gladys folded her hands on top of the table between them. “You’ve already talked to C.J.?” she asked.
“Yes. The boy won’t listen to me. He’s still trying to sell the store.” Walter watched the ghost of a sad smile play around Gladys’s lips, her mouth small in her face, her cheekbones high. Fine lines radiated from the corners of her eyes. She didn’t color her hair. It curled around her face in a soft white cloud.
As he always did, Walter marveled at how beautifully she was aging for a sixty-something. Amy had inherited her beauty from her mother.
“How much interest does C.J. have in the store?” Gladys asked.
Walter shook his head. “None. It’s a good business, though, and brings in a steady income. He wants to liquidate, though, so he can pay taxes on the ranch and get that deadbeat Vicki off his back.”
Gladys raised her narrow white eyebrows. Walter knew why. Because he rarely used terms like deadbeat. He didn’t call people names. “That woman deserves that and more for what she’s put C.J. through.”
“Maybe,” Gladys said, reasonably. “Drugs do awful things to people, though. You know that.”
“Gladys, I know you think I’m being unreasonable, but C.J. is my only child.” Walter covered his mouth with his hand. “I want him safe and happy.”
“C.J.’s no longer a boy,” Gladys said. “He’s doing a good job of turning his life around. Have faith in him.”
“I try to. I really do. It’s hard when he’s becoming involved in the rodeo again and hiring the likes of that Gothic girl who’ll invite him into her bed and—” Realizing his mistake, he cut himself off, but too late. Gladys was fond of that girl, lived with her on the Sheltering Arms.
The smile fell from her face. She picked up her purse and started to slide out of the booth.
“Gladys, stop.” A rush of panic sent his head spinning. He reached for her hand and held her still, wouldn’t let her leave. “I’m sorry. We won’t talk about her. We’ll discuss something else.”
“I’m loyal to my friends, Walter,” she said. “Janey is a good woman.”
“I know—”
“No, Walter, you don’t.” She stood and watched him with pity in her eyes. “You are wonderful in your care of your flock and a good, good man, but sometimes you can be as dumb as a stump.”
She turned and left, barely missing Mona, who carried their lunches to the table.
Walter stared after her. What had he done?
He stared at the bowl of soup in front of the spot Gladys had vacated, then at the sandwich he no longer wanted.
AWESOME! Awe. Some. Janey walked down the street beside C.J.
So far, she loved everything about the candy store. Even working with C.J. had been okay. She craved his knowledge. Too bad she couldn’t split his skull open and take everything he knew so she wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of the man.Just as Janey and C.J. passed the barbershop, raucous laughter flowed through the open doorway onto the street. Janey glanced in. A bunch of old men sat around while the barber worked on a man in one of the chairs in front of a wall of mirrors.
“Hey,” C.J. called and they waved.
Janey lifted her hand in a tentative wave, then kept walking, not waiting to see whether anyone returned it.
They passed Kurt, asleep in the same doorway he’d been in yesterday. C.J. reached into his pocket and tossed some change into the paper coffee cup, but with such an air of distraction, Janey wasn’t certain he was even aware that he’d done it.
They approached the New American Diner. New forty years ago, maybe.
C.J. opened the door and stepped back to allow her to enter ahead of him. A lot of people here seemed to have manners.
She nearly collided with a woman running out.
“Gladys!” she blurted.
Gladys looked preoccupied. A frown marred her usually smooth forehead.
“Janey,” Gladys said. “Just going in for lunch?”
Janey could tell Gladys was trying to sound cheerful, but she wasn’t pulling it off.
“What’s wrong?” Janey asked.
Gladys took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself. “I’m fine. I’ll see you at the ranch for dinner.”
Then she whirled back and said, “You’re a lovely young woman. Don’t take any shit in there.” She gestured with her head toward the diner, then stomped away.
Gladys never stomped, and she never, ever swore. Janey got goose bumps.
She stepped into the restaurant and halted inside the door, wishing that C.J. had entered first. The place was packed. Conversations swirled around her. She recognized no one.
The noise level reduced when people spotted her. Not another bug-under-glass moment.
With her makeup and hair and weird clothes, she attracted attention, but it was all part of her strategy called hiding in plain sight. Sometimes, though, she wished she could be normal and walk out into the world as herself, but that was never going to happen, was it?
The world was a tough place and a girl did what a girl had to do.
The chatter of conversations picked up again.
Then C.J. stepped in behind her, unaware of the problem.
He looked around the diner and frowned. A second later, Janey realized why.
Every booth was taken.
C.J. started forward, slowly, his steps heavy. He approached a booth across from the grill.
No. No, I do not want to sit with C.J.’s father. Absolutely not.
When he motioned her to precede him into the booth opposite the Rev, she hesitated, realized she couldn’t do a thing, couldn’t walk out of here without embarrassing all of them.
She slid onto the bench seat and folded her hands in her lap. The Reverend watched her from beneath bushy dark eyebrows, shooting twin daggers of animosity her way.
Right back atcha, Rev. I’m not any happier about being here with you than you are with me.
“C.J., can you eat that soup?” The Rev pointed to a bowl sitting on their side of the table. “My guest had to run.”
Janey’s stomach rumbled. “Was it Gladys?”
The Rev sent her a keen look. “That’s none of your business, young lady.”
“Dad—”
“Gladys is my friend,” Janey said.
“Janey—”
“She’s my friend, too,” the Reverend replied.
“Then why did you
make her cry?” Janey leaned forward on the bench.
Reverend Wright pulled away. “She was crying?”
If Janey didn’t already know him as an uptight prig, she’d swear he felt bad for Gladys.
“What did you say to her?”
The Rev’s face turned bright red. “Nothing,” he mumbled.
If Janey didn’t know better, she would think his flush was shame.
“Liar,” she said. “I got your number the minute I met you, Rev.”
He scowled. “Don’t call me that. It’s disrespectful.”
“So is your attitude toward me.” Janey opened her mouth to say more, to let loose her hostility and put this self-righteous man in his place.
“Stop it. Both of you.” C.J.’s tone was sharp.
Chastised, Janey sat back.
He pushed the bowl of soup toward her. “If you want it, eat it.”
She glared at the Reverend one last time. “Okay, but only because I don’t want it to go to waste.” She started in on the soup.
A waitress approached with a pot of coffee in her hand.
“Hey, Mona,” C.J. said, sliding the box toward her. “Here are your mints.”
“Thanks, C.J. Bill the diner, okay?” She picked up the box of mints, turned and slammed it onto the counter. “Knock yourself out, Roscoe.”
Janey turned in her seat to watch over C.J.’s shoulder. An older man wearing a plaid shirt and a frown that looked permanent reached in for a mint. “Only wanted one,” he grumbled.
Mona winked at C.J. “Grumpy old man,” she whispered.
“I heard that.” Roscoe turned and walked out of the diner.
“Today’s specials,” Mona said, “are cream of potato soup and meat loaf surprise. Be back in a minute for your orders.” She ran on her way.
Janey’s stomach growled. She hoped she was getting a whole lot more than a bowl of soup for lunch. “Wonder what the surprise in the meat loaf is?”
“Spinach and boiled eggs,” C.J. said. “They have it here once a week. It’s good.”
C.J. straightened his cutlery. The Rev ate his sandwich staring down at his plate. The pair of them looked everywhere but at each other. Weird. She didn’t think she was imagining the tension between them.
She finished the soup and pushed the bowl away from her.
Mona hustled to the table and pulled an order pad out of her pocket. “What do you want?” She stared at Janey. Janey didn’t think she saw rudeness there. It sort of looked like curiosity and maybe, admiration?
C.J. looked down at Janey. “What’ll you have?”
Yes! She could have more food.
“Turkey club on brown, please, toasted,” Janey said. “Can you make the bacon well-done, please?”
A slow smile spread across Mona’s face. She obviously hadn’t expected Janey to have manners. Sometimes, it was good to turn people’s expectations upside down.
“What kind of potatoes do you want?”
Janey perked up. “Fries.” Her stomach grumbled again. “Can I have them with gravy?”
“Sure. You want a coffee?”
Janey nodded.
“I’ll have to get another pot.”
“Take your time if you have to. You’re real busy.”
Mona grinned. “Thanks.”
C.J. ordered the same thing, without the gravy.
The Rev watched her while he ate, a puzzled frown on his face.
“What?” she said, jutting her chin forward.
The Rev opened his mouth to respond, but C.J. shot him a look and he closed his mouth.
A couple of people called for refills on their coffee. Mona returned with a fresh pot straight to Janey’s table. “Since you were willing to be patient, you get the first cup of the fresh stuff.”
She winked at Janey.
Janey shrugged, raised her shoulders to her ears, and smiled, a tiny one. Warm blood rushed up her neck and cheeks. Someone actually liked her.
The Reverend finished his meal. “Tell Roy lunch was excellent, as usual. What do I owe you?”
“I’ll get it, Dad.”
Reverend Wright looked at C.J. “Thanks,” he said, then stood and left with a backward glance at Janey, that puzzled frown still firmly in place.
Mona took the Rev’s dirty dishes and put them on the counter behind her, reaching between a couple of big men, then raced to fill more coffee cups.
C.J. moved to the other side of the table, facing Janey.
The hot coffee smelled almost as good as the scents from the grill.
She pulled a small bowl of packets of sugar toward herself and took out three of them, pinching one corner from each packet.
Mona placed a small pot of cream onto the table.
C.J. drizzled a little into his coffee. “You made a friend in Mona. She doesn’t usually take to strangers.”
“I respect working women.” I want to be one.
Janey dumped all three packets of sugar into her coffee at once. She stirred then added cream to the brim.
She sipped it. Good. She sipped again, then topped up the cup with more cream, replacing the liquid she’d swallowed with more cream, sipped another couple of times and added more cream. It cooled down the coffee fast, but she didn’t mind. She took another sip. Warm and sweet and rich.
She looked up to find C.J. watching her and flushed under his heavy stare.
“What?” she asked, belligerence a weight in her voice.
“You sure do like your coffee doctored,” C.J. said.
Defiance stiffened her spine. “The cream and sugar are free.”
C.J. looked puzzled and said, “Okay.”
Mona brought their meals.
Janey squirted lots of ketchup on her fries because, like cream and sugar, it was free. C.J. could think she was as weird as he wanted to.
She bit into her sandwich and chewed. Oh, man, heaven. She bit off more. Before she knew it, she’d finished all but one quarter, forgetting that C.J. sat across the booth from her.
All of Hannah’s amazing food that Janey had eaten in the last year, three meals a day plus snacks, hadn’t managed to fill the gaping hole inside of her that growing up in poverty had carved out.
C.J. continued to eat his sandwich and fries. Janey touched a dot of ketchup on her plate with her forefinger and licked it.
She wanted to eat that last quarter of her sandwich, but wrapped it in her paper napkin instead.
“You saving that for later?” C.J. stood.
Janey shrugged and slid from the booth.
C.J. paid for the food and they left the restaurant.
Kurt still sat on the sidewalk just past the diner, awake now.
Janey handed him her piece of leftover sandwich.
“You again,” Kurt breathed. “Thanks.”
She nodded and walked away, felt C.J. watching her but refused to meet his eye. If he didn’t like that she gave part of the food he’d paid for to Kurt, he could kiss her butt.
CHAPTER SIX
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, right before C.J. was about to open the store, he asked Janey to grab a box of Tootsie Rolls from the back to top up the bin.
While in the pantry, she heard the door chime ring. A customer. When she swiped a cloth across the top of the box to remove a faint layer of dust, it rang again. She rushed to the front and found the store flooded with people. She’d had no idea the place could get so busy.“Janey, come over here and help me serve customers.” C.J. scooped candy into a bag.
She set the box of Tootsie Rolls down and ran to stand beside him.
“Find out what Bernice wants,” he said.
“Hi, honey,” Bernice said. “Glad to see you got a job.”
Janey offered Bernice a tentative smile. “Can I help you?”
“Give me a small bag of after-dinner mints. Real small.” She patted a generous hip. “Wish I could eat more, but I have to watch my waistline.” Bernice’s husky laugh filled the room.
A man wearing a greasy hairpie
ce and a greasier smile said, “Bernice, come over to my place tonight. I’ll be happy to show you what I think of your waistline.”
“Mason, if you were half the lady killer you think you are, I’d have dated you long ago. Dream on.”
Chuckles filtered around the room.
Janey scooped a handful of pastel mints into a bag.
Bernice handed her a five-dollar bill and she made change.
“How much did the candy weigh?” C.J. asked.
“Three ounces.”
“Good, you got the price right.”
She handed Bernice her change.
Janey turned to the next customer. A short, wiry man asked for two chocolates with mint filling. Janey served him.
She turned her back to the customers and whispered to C.J., “Wow, the people in this town like their candy in small bits.”
His answering grunt didn’t tell her much.
When Janey turned to serve the next person, the hairs on her neck stood up and she got the eeriest feeling that everyone waiting to be served was staring at her. She glanced around. They were.
She shut down, went into automatic pilot mode.
She fumbled the bags, dropped two of them on the floor.
“Throw those out,” C.J. said.
She tossed them into the garbage can then served two more people. She’d never met them before, had no idea what their names were. She tried to smile but couldn’t, her discomfort freezing the muscles of her face.
She dropped half a scoopful of humbugs into the neighboring caramel bin.
“What’s wrong with you?” C.J. asked.
“Nothing. I’ll clean it up later.”
The thinning crowd still focused attention on her.
Stop staring at me.
She wished she could say it out loud.
“I gotta run to the back for a special order for Howard,”
C.J. said. “Finish up with the others, okay?”
Janey looked around. Her breath came a little more easily now that there were fewer people in the shop watching her.
Ten minutes later, every customer had been served. The empty room felt hollow with just the two of them left in it. She picked humbugs out of the caramels and returned them to their own bin.
C.J. opened the drawer of the antique cash register with the big brass keys. “Haven’t had that many people in here at one time since Labor Day weekend brought the tourists out.”
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