by Freya Barker
My eyes go straight to the table where Gray had been sitting just minutes before, but is now empty. Damn. He took off. I briefly consider if he might be running again, but I have a diner full of hungry people and quickly file it away to worry about later.
In no time I have food in front of waiting patrons and am taking orders for new ones. I’m handing those in with the kitchen when Mrs. Chapman appears, a subdued Paige following her as they make their way to the booth where Enzo waits. They were in the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes, and I’m struggling to keep my curiosity in check as I go about my work.
“You okay?” Kim asks, when I stop to make a fresh pot of coffee.
“Yes. I’m so sorry about all that.”
“Not sure why you think any of that had anything to do with you. It wasn’t the first time she was rude with customers. Good riddance if you ask me.”
“But it leaves us shorthanded,” I protest.
Kim shrugs.
“Not for long. Holidays are over. This is the last weekend before everyone’s back to work and it’ll slow down. Besides, I talked to Shirley last night; with Mike safely locked away, she plans to return to Beaverton some time next week. She wanted to know if she still had a job to come back to.”
“That’s good news.”
I feel a little guilty I haven’t been in touch with Shirley as much since Paige got here, but I’m glad to hear she’ll be back home soon.
“Orders up!” Jason calls from the kitchen.
I collect the plates and bring them to Mrs. Chapman and Enzo, who seem deep in conversation with my daughter.
“What can I get you, Paige?” I try again.
Paige looks at me from under her eyebrows.
“Can I have a coffee and a muffin or something?”
She doesn’t have to say anything; I can see the apology in her eyes. I stroke my hand over her hair while sending my own silent message to Mrs. Chapman, thanking her for whatever it was she conveyed to my daughter.
“Coming right up.”
“Oh, and Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you put in an order for whatever Gray likes for breakfast for takeout?”
God, I have such a great kid.
My heart swells in my chest and I smile down at her.
“You bet, sweetheart.”
Fifteen minutes later, I hand her a container with a Western omelet for Gray and a carryout cup of coffee.
“Can we talk when you get home?” she asks.
“Of course. I’ll be home midafternoon. Want me to bring home something for dinner?”
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
She leans in to kiss my cheek before she walks out. I see her get in the rental car and watch as she drives off, turning right toward Olson’s.
When she’s out of sight, I head straight for Mrs. Chapman’s table.
“Should I be worried?” I ask her.
“Good Lord, no. You raised a sensible young lady. It didn’t take her long to realize she may have overreacted. Something she’s determined to set straight herself. It’s commendable.”
“Whatever it is you said to her; thank you. Maybe I should give Gray—”
“Let them figure it out,” Enzo interrupts. “They’re both adults, they can handle it.”
“He’s right,” Mrs. Chapman agrees. “And while I have you here, could I have the bill, please?”
“Actually,” her breakfast companion offers. “I’ll take the bill.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mrs. Chapman protests, her spine suddenly ramrod straight as she visibly bristles.
“Watch me. You’re not paying for me, Madeline. End of story,” Enzo declares firmly, putting his words into action when he produces a billfold and pulls out a few bills, handing them to me. “Keep the change.”
“Well, I never…” she continues to sputter, but I notice it’s not quite as convincing.
Enzo grins wide and reaches across the table the moment I clear their dishes, covering her hand with his.
“Tell you what; next time you can buy me breakfast. But only if you let me buy you dinner the night before.”
“Enzo!”
Chuckling and slightly mortified at the surplus of information, I rush to settle their bill.
Gray
I’ve barely started on the transmission flush when I hear Kyle call me over the sounds of the Eagles coming from the radio.
“Yeah?”
As soon as I straighten I see Paige, shuffling a little nervously in the open bay door, a Styrofoam box in her hands. I’m surprised to see her here, given her reaction earlier. Kyle is lingering close by, his eyes honed in on Robin’s pretty daughter.
“Yo, Kyle!” I call out, getting his attention as I wipe my hands on a rag. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Even at this distance, I can see a blush color his cheeks as he quickly returns to the car he was working on. Smart kid.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she mutters when I approach. “I brought you breakfast. As an apology. I’m…I wasn’t…I overreacted. It’s just Mom hasn’t had—”
I hold up my hand to stop her.
“I get it, girl. It’s all good.”
Surprisingly I find I mean it. That easy.
“But I was rude, then I yelled at Mom until Mrs. Chapman explained a few things…” I’m starting to realize there’s no way I’m going to stop the flow, so I’ll just wait her out. “…And then I saw you’d left. I felt so bad for making a scene, and being rude to you the whole time, and I’m so sorry.”
“You done?” I finally ask.
“Yup,” she says, nodding. “Totally done.”
“Good.” I grab the container from her hands and start walking to the office.
Halfway there I check over my shoulder to find her still standing in the same spot.
“Well, come on,” I call out. “You can get to know me over breakfast. I’m fucking starving.”
A smile tugs at her mouth as she hustles to catch up with me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Robin
I want to cry but I don’t.
I’ll save it for later, when I don’t have my daughter sitting beside me as I drive her to Lansing to catch her flight back to Newark.
She’s struggling, she told me as much last night, no longer sure what she’s doing in New Jersey. Josh—that little prick—turns out to have had a lot to do with her wanting to settle there after she graduated last year. Had I known it was over a boy I’d have cautioned her, which I’m sure she knew when she decided to keep his existence a secret until I visited in September.
I hate she’s hurting, but in hindsight I’m glad she went with him to see his family over Christmas. Being around them had brought out Josh’s true colors, and luckily, my girl had enough self-worth to remove herself from that situation. Doesn’t mean it’s not painful, that much is clear from the drawn and pale girl sitting beside me.
Last night she announced she didn’t want to go back to her apartment or her job. As tempting as it was to tell her to stay home, I don’t want this to be another decision made because of that guy. I wanted to be her friend but knew I had to be her mother. So I reminded her she had a responsibility to her employer, an apartment she couldn’t simply abandon, and friends she couldn’t just drop.
In the end, she’d agreed and would give herself a month or two to really consider what she wanted.
The parent in me is happy with that decision, but my mother’s heart is heavy.
“When is Gram coming home again?” she asks, when we see the first traffic sign for the airport.
“Not sure of the exact date, but I believe she said the third week of March.” I glance over and catch her chewing on her bottom lip, something she tends to do when she’s thinking hard. “Why?” I prompt her.
Her eyes flash to me.
“I just wonder if I decide to come back before she’s supposed to return, whether I could maybe use her place until I
find something of my own.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind, but why don’t you just come home?”
There’s a bit of a pause before she answers.
“No offense, Mom, but you have a boyfriend. I don’t want to cramp your style any more than I need to.”
“You’re not cramping my style and besides, my ‘boyfriend’ has a place too.”
She snorts. “I can’t see you frequenting the Dirty Dog, Mom.”
“Did he say something to you?”
I immediately have my bristles up. Nobody’s shared with me any details of what they talked about when Paige dropped off her peace offering with him yesterday, but I assumed they’d worked things out. Maybe I was wrong.
“No. Geeze, Mom. You should know him better than that.”
Put in my place by my child. She’s right, I should realize there’s no way the man I’ve gotten to know over the past months would say anything that could hurt my girl or me.
“You’re right. I should.”
Fifteen minutes later, I pull up in the drop-off zone at departures.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. This is easier.”
She doesn’t add she doesn’t want to prolong goodbye any longer than is absolutely necessary, but she doesn’t need to; I feel the same. Funny how neither of us have been particularly emotional at previous goodbyes over the last few years, but seem to be this time around. Not all that surprising though, given the deep heart-to-hearts we’ve shared this past week. Both of us are pretty raw, but probably more in tune than ever before.
Honesty has scraped some wounds raw, but hopefully now they can heal without ugly scars.
“Love you, Mom” Paige says, once her bags are waiting on the curb.
I open my arms to her and hold her securely to me, taking in a deep breath of her scent. I wish I could hold her safe like this forever, but I know the best thing I can do for her is let her go. Let her make her own mistakes and find her own solutions. Parenting never gets easier.
“Love you too, sweetheart. So much.” Reluctantly I let go and force my tears back. “Call me when you get there.”
“I will.”
She smiles through tears, grabs her bags, and heads for the entrance. I stand there until she disappears inside when I’m startled by a car horn. I quickly slide behind the wheel, making room for the waiting car behind me.
I manage to hold it together until I pull up outside Mom’s house. I know she’s made arrangements for her mail to be picked up, and a friend has her plants to look after, but I want to make sure everything is in order. Especially since it’s entirely possible Paige will be staying here for a while.
It’s appropriately raining when I get out of my vehicle, cold sleet hitting me in the face, mingling with my tears.
The house smells like Mom when I step in the door and I have a sudden urge to hear her voice. Hanging up my coat and kicking off my shoes, so I don’t track dirt onto her pristine carpet, I head for the kitchen, grabbing the towel hanging on the stove handle to wipe my face. Then I sit down at the island and pull out my phone.
“Is she gone?”
My mom, so intuitive when it comes to her girls.
“Yes.” My voice sounds wobbly even to my own ears.
“Oh, honey. Where are you now? You’re not driving are you?”
“I’m at your place. Just wanted to check on things here.”
“Why? Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
For the next few minutes I recount the conversation with Paige about her staying here for a bit. Mom is instantly on board, which makes me feel a little better. Whatever Paige ends up deciding to do, she’s covered with all her options.
As always, talking with my mom is like a warm blanket around my shoulders, and by the time we end the call, I feel better equipped to face the drive back. I do a quick check of the house—everything appears in order—and lock back up.
During my drive home I start thinking about Gray. I missed him last night. He messaged me at some point, letting me know he wouldn’t be coming by so Paige and I had the night to ourselves—which was sweet—but I missed him anyway.
We hadn’t made any plans and part of me was nervous about facing him alone. I’m not sure what—if anything—Paige shared with him about her father, but I know I at least owe him some explanation. I had tightly guarded the truth about my marriage to protect my family. However, discovering my daughter already knew more than I thought, there’s no real point in keeping it a secret. At least not from Gray.
My mother is another matter. I’m not sure how much to tell her, but I have a couple of months to figure that out.
Gray is my first concern, and when I hit town limits—instead of taking the turn home—I keep driving and pull into the Dirty Dog parking lot.
Gray
Un-fucking-believable.
With the garage closed and Robin out of town, I spent the day in my apartment reading. Sounds from the Dirty Dog downstairs started filtering through and I could smell the grill up here. Getting hungry and more than a little claustrophobic, I made my way down the outside stairs, thinking maybe I could grab a burger and play a game of pool if any of the old guys are around.
I was about to round my truck parked at the bottom of the stairs, when I noticed it was sitting lower than it should be. All four of my goddamn tires sliced.
“Who’d you piss off?”
I lift my head to see Derek Francisi walking up. I called the police right away. No way this was an accident, as the clean slices in each of my tires attest to and Francisi clearly agrees with.
“I didn’t see and it’s possible there are some people out there still holding a grudge, but if I had to venture a guess…”
He bends down to examine my rear tire and whistles between his teeth.
“By all means, do.”
I share my suspicions and the reasons behind it. He does little more than raise his eyebrows when I mention Becca’s name.
“Interesting. That’s a name that has come up in recent days.”
Now it’s my turn to look surprised.
“How so?”
“Mike Hancock was the first one to mention her when I finally had a chance to question him a few days ago. Claims the woman asked him to pick something up she’d left in the office at the diner. Of course, he also claimed he’d just been defending himself when, according to him, he was attacked by your lady friend.” He chuckles when I mutter a heartfelt profanity and a promise of substantial physical harm. “Anyway, things came up and I haven’t had a chance to speak to Ms. Simms to get her side of things. I did happen to talk to Kim Hudson at the diner yesterday, who mentioned Ms. Simms no longer worked there.”
I flip up my collar when the slight drizzle turns into sleet coming down in earnest. Francisi tucks away his notepad and motions me to follow him to his cruiser. I barely flinch when I open his passenger side door and slide in.
“What is the woman’s hang-up with you?” he asks, turning sideways in his seat.
“Fuck if I know. When 9/11 happened, I never saw or heard from her again. Not even an attempt. Then I’m released and suddenly she shows up here in Beaverton, wanting to reconnect and not taking no for an answer.”
“And you don’t know why?”
“Not a damn clue.”
“Okay, guess I’ll have to pay Ms. Simms a visit, but first let me see if anyone at the Dirty Dog has seen anything.”
The sleet has let up again so we make our way inside. The smell of hot grease has my stomach grumbling as we sidle up to the bar. Bunker is chatting with a few regulars at the far end but comes over when he sees us.
“What can I get you guys?”
“Actually,” Francisi answers. “I’m working, I just have a few questions.”
Bunker glances questioningly at me but I shrug.
“I’ll wait ‘til he’s done.”
“Fire
away, Francisi.”
“Have you by any chance noticed anything unusual out in the parking lot today? Anyone hanging around who didn’t have reason to be there?”
“Here? Why?”
“We’ll get to that,” Francisi answers firmly.
Bunker takes his time thinking before he responds.
“Not really. I opened up at noon and it was pretty quiet for the first hour before people started dropping in. Probably no more than three or four vehicles in the parking lot until maybe an hour ago.”
“Anyone come in or out of the side door?”
The door Francisi is referring to is right underneath the stairway to the apartment. The dumpster is on the other side and I heard the door open and close a few times this afternoon, but that’s not unusual. Staff is tossing out garbage all the time. The kitchen is right there.
“No. Not that I know of.”
“I heard the door at least twice,” I contribute, turning to the cop to clarify. “My apartment is right upstairs.”
“Could’ve been Sammie,” he suggests.
Sammie is one of the kitchen employees. An old guy, probably in his seventies, who’s apparently been a staple at the Dirty Dog for twenty or so years.
“That the only one?” Francisi asks.
“As far as I know.” Bunker shrugs. “Well, except for my cousin. She popped in when I was still cleaning up from last night. She offered to take the garbage on her way out the door.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yeah. She lives in Clare but has crashed at my place from time to time, since she started working at the diner.”
I don’t realize I’ve gotten to my feet, my knuckles white holding onto the bar, until I feel Francisi’s restraining hand on my shoulder.
“Fucking Becca? She’s your cousin?” I bite off, faintly registering the stunned look on Bunker’s face.
“You know her?”
His surprise seems genuine enough, but I’m still unable to let the tension go from my hands.
“Any idea where I can find her?” Derek asks.
“At the diner.”
“She got canned yesterday,” I volunteer.