Ten Below Zero

by Whitney Barbetti

Something about his words bothered me. The tone was neutral, but it felt like a dig. Something replaced the annoyance that simmered on the back burner.

  “Well you look like you belong at a funeral.” It was an immature dig, but it was the only one I could come up.

  Everett laughed humorlessly. “I probably do.”

  I furrowed my brow, confused. “What does that mean?”

  “Nuh-uh,” he said, shaking a finger at me. “My turn to ask a question.”

  “I didn’t even ask one!” I protested.

  “I still answered.”

  I bit my lip to keep from arguing. Why was he bothering me so much?

  Everett watched me with fascination. When he seemed satisfied that I wouldn’t say anything else, he settled back in his seat. “So,” he started. “Morris Jensen.”

  I was already regretting telling him. “What about him?”

  The waitress delivered our burgers and left without a word. Everett’s eyes hadn’t even glanced at the burgers. “I looked him up online.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth, waiting for more. “So?”

  Everett took a bite of his burger and chewed, his eyes never leaving me. I popped a few French fries in my mouth, nervous from the attention.

  “He’s going to trial in a few months.”

  “So?” I said again, with fries in my mouth.

  He mouthed, “Rude,” before he smiled again. It was a mischievous smile and I found myself more nervous from him looking at me than actually talking about Morris Jensen.

  “Are you going to testify?”

  I swallowed. “No.” It was the answer I always gave.

  It wasn’t the answer Everett expected. “Are you joking?”

  I took a bite of my burger and shook my head. After swallowing, I answered. “No. I’m afraid I’m bad at jokes.”

  “You are the sole survivor of a serial killer and you aren’t going to testify against him?” Everett looked angry and his voice had raised several octaves.

  I was really annoyed now. He read a few articles online, so what. He didn’t know anything. And he assumed too much. “I said no.” I glared at him, daring him to say another word about Morris Jensen, so I could run from the restaurant.

  Everett calmed down and called the waitress over. “I’d like a beer please. Whatever you have on draft is fine.”

  I chewed my burger in silence. Everett drank his beer before he finished his burger, and ordered a second one.

  When I’d finished my burger, Everett was on his fourth beer in less than an hour. I stared at him before asking the question that was bouncing around my mind. “Do you usually drink this heavily at lunch?”

  Everett whipped his head up and looked at me. He hadn’t glanced at me since he received his first beer. I noticed his eyes were tired, sad, and called to me on an emotional level. Whatever the emotion was, I couldn’t name it. It was foreign, an intruder.

  “I’m an alcoholic, Parker. I drink this heavily all day long.”

  The words stole my breath. He said them without preamble, as if he was as disappointed in himself as he expected me to be. What stuck in my mind the most was that he said them at all. He barely knew me. Most of the alcoholics I’d known growing up never owned up to it, and denied it even on their second DUI.

  “Are you driving?”

  “I’m an alcoholic. I didn’t say I was an idiot.” The bite of his words fell flat for me and I ignored them.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I walked.” Everett held his head in his hands and sighed, as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders.

  “I live two blocks from here. I can give you a ride home.” I didn’t know how functioning he was as an alcoholic, but for some reason I felt responsibility in making sure he arrived home safe.

  “Okay,” he said, slumping further in the seat. “Sure.”

  I paid the bill and had Everett follow me out of the restaurant. We walked to my car in silence. He told me his address and I plugged it into my GPS. Ten minutes later, Everett was asleep in my passenger seat.

  When I pulled up to a small house in a quiet neighborhood, I turned off the engine and turned my head to look at Everett. His elbow was propped up on the window, his head resting in his hand. He looked calm when he slept. With his face relaxed and his eyes closed, there was nothing intimidating about him.

  The sleeve had slipped down on the arm that rested on the window, so I was granted a better look at the scars on his arm. Many were faded. Most had become white, years old. There were a handful of newer scars that had little red dots in the center of them. They were needle scars, I knew that much.

  I leaned over my seat to get a better view of the scar along his hairline. His head in his hand forced some of his hair up, giving me a better view of one end of the scar. It too was white, faded. There was a small dent in his forehead just beneath the scar on one side. Brain surgery of some kind, I knew.

  Being this close to him, I was able to breathe in the cool rainwater scent that mingled with the scent of leather. His lashes were long, black, thick. He had laugh lines around the corners of his eyes and a nose that had been broken once before. It was a handsome face, a sturdy face. And I couldn’t help but wonder about it, about him.

  As if he had sensed my closeness, his eyes opened in a flash and met mine. I stared at him, holding my breath. His breath washed my lips with warmth and I gradually opened my mouth to allow air in. Everett closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Mmm,” he murmured.

  He was smelling me. As I’d smelled him. Lust burned bright. I closed my eyes.

  A second later I heard the passenger door open and I opened my eyes, watching Everett climbing out of the car.

  “Thanks for the ride, Parker.” He walked up his steps, his gait slow and a little wobbly.

  I waited until he was on the other side of his red front door before I let out a breath and put a hand over my heart. It was raging, out of control.

  I drove away and finally named the emotion that had taken up residence beside my heart: sadness. Inexplicable sadness.

  Late Monday morning, I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early for my shift and started taking breakfast orders. It was an odd hour to eat, which meant business was slow as usual. That was fine by me. My mind was still wrapped up by the day before and what had happened. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Everett and his admission. I wasn’t sure why I cared. And most of all, I wasn’t sure why I felt sad about it. I didn’t feel sadness. I didn’t get close to people on purpose. I didn’t want to feel anything for anyone else, I didn’t want to carry the obligation of caring. The only person I had ever cared for was Mira.

  I hadn’t heard a word from Everett since I dropped him off. I didn’t expect to, after all. I didn’t even know what it was that we had been doing. All of it was confusing. It was too much.

  I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn’t look up at the patrons that were seated in my section until I heard my name being said.

  “Parker.”

  I whipped my head up and came face to face with Everett. I blinked several times, wondering if all my thoughts had conjured him up, if this was a mirage.

  But no. He was there, with clear eyes and a frown.

  Why was he frowning?

  I slid my eyes to the person sitting in the seat opposite him. She was in her mid-twenties, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She looked like sunshine. She watched Everett looking at me with great interest before looking at me as well. A little frown formed her lips and I was suddenly overcome with the urge to laugh. My lips twitched. Even her pout was pretty. I slid my eyes back to Everett. He was wearing a bright blue tee and jeans, looking nothing like himself. And both of them were frowning at me.

  “What can I get you?” I didn’t know what else to say.

  The blonde woman looked at Everett with concern etched into her face. “Ev?” she asked.

  Ev. It didn’t fit him. Not that I had any authority on what
“fit” Everett. But these blue clothes and this sunshine woman, and her stupid nickname for the man in black did not fit at all.

  Everett looked away from me and turned to his breakfast companion. “Sorry Charlotte. Um. Coffee, please.” He didn’t look back at me.

  Charlotte looked very concerned but spared me a quick glance. “Tea, bag out.”

  I turned away and walked quickly back into the kitchen. My hands shook as I poured his coffee and my mind raced. Was Charlotte his girlfriend? Why was he wearing colors? Why was he frowning at me?

  And more important, why did I care?

  I nearly dropped the glass coffee pot as my hand shook with the fearful realization that I liked Everett. More than I normally liked anyone. More than I had liked anyone in years. A creative string of swear words flew through my mind, annoyance replacing the palm-sweating fear.

  I poured cream into Everett’s coffee and then I poured hot water into a second mug and left a tea bag on a saucer. I took a breath and returned to the table, trying my best not to show how badly I was shaking. I placed the coffee and tea cup on the table and stayed longer than I should have. To be fair, it was both Everett and Charlotte’s reactions that made me stay.

  Both of them stared at Everett’s cup. Charlotte looked at me and cocked her head to the side. “Who are you?” she asked. There wasn’t any animosity in her face, but there was curiosity.

  My eyes darted to Everett who was still staring at his coffee cup. What were they staring at? I brushed my hands down my apron, trying to dry my sweaty palms.

  “C-can I get you breakfast?”

  Charlotte stared at Everett before looking at me and smiling, a plastic smile. Her smile only made me more nervous. “Give us a few minutes, hun,” she answered.

  That was all I needed. I spun around and walked into the back, walking all the way to the walk-in freezer. I didn’t stop until I had walked fully into the small room, until puffs of cool air surrounded me. I flung my hands out, shaking them in the cold air, annoyed with myself, with my body’s reactions.

  “Hey,” a voice barked. I turned my head to the freezer door. My manager, Doris, stood at the entrance, hands on her hips. Her white apron was stained with grease and her gray hair was piled high on her head, under her hairnet. “What are you doing in here?”

  I put my hands in my apron and walked back out with my head down, avoiding eye contact. Doris was a force to be reckoned with, impatient and unforgiving.

  I walked back around to the entry from the kitchen to the restaurant, taking a peek at Everett and Charlotte. Everett was still looking at his coffee. I could tell Charlotte was speaking to him, based on the way she was leaning forward across the table top, her hands inches from his. Her long blonde hair shielded her face from view, but I could clearly see Everett’s. His brow was furrowed. He had one hand in his hair, his arm propped on the table. I knew the scars that speckled his arm and wondered about Charlotte. What did she see when she saw them? And in what ways had he revealed them to her?

  That made my stomach roll with nausea. I was angry with myself for worrying. I had no ownership over Everett. The feelings that were battering my head didn’t belong inside me. They were poison, corrupting the indifference I adopted.

  “Table ten is up,” the hostess said, coming up behind me and pointing to the elderly couple she had just seated.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, before looking back at Everett. Ice blue eyes met mine. He was staring at me. He tilted his head to his coffee, holding my gaze.

  Cream. I’d poured cream in his coffee before giving it to him. He hadn’t asked for cream. But I’d remembered from when we had had breakfast the day earlier. And I’d taken it upon myself, though subconsciously, to add the cream.

  A small smile stretched his lips, as he watched me struggle with that realization. What right did I have to do that, to remember how he liked his coffee? It felt intimate. The simple act of bringing him coffee the way he liked it had implications of how well I knew him. No wonder Charlotte had looked at us with confusion.

  I saw Charlotte’s head turn to follow Everett’s gaze and I spun around, knocking into another waitress with arms full of plates. I bit down on the swear word that begged to be released from my lips. Luckily, the waitress held onto her plates, because just behind her was Doris, an impatient look on her face. I knew what that face meant.

  I blew out a breath and walked to table ten, walking past Everett’s table on the way. I took the drink orders for table ten, aware of Charlotte’s penetrating gaze on me. My skin itched and my legs begged me to run.

  Instead, I turned around and stopped at Everett’s table. “Have you decided on food yet?”

  “Pancake stack. Extra bacon,” Everett ordered, leaning back in his seat, watching me. I met his eyes for a moment. They were sad. And suddenly, I felt it too. But it was just a drop. I didn’t embrace it. “Please,” he added, his voice just a little lower. My breath caught.

  “Egg white omelet. No cheese. Vegetables on the side. And I don’t want the potatoes it comes with. Can I have fruit instead?” Charlotte’s voice forced me from looking at Everett. I blinked at her. “Fruit?” I asked dumbly.

  Charlotte looked at me with eyes narrowed. “Yes, fruit. Do you have fruit?” She spoke slowly, as if I was missing the brain cells required to understand her.

  I shook my head, though my thoughts were still clouded with Everett. “Uh, yes. I’ll go put that order in,” I said, turning around.

  “Parker,” Everett’s voice stopped me. I turned around again and lifted my eyes to his. “Can I have another coffee please?”

  I nodded and spun around, walking back to the kitchen. I grabbed the coffee pot and hesitated only a moment before grabbing a bowl with single serve creamers and headed back to the table.

  I set the creamer on the table and poured more coffee, keeping my eyes trained on the cup and not on Everett. But it was futile. I watched as one of his hands reached for the bowl of creamer, plucking two containers from right under my hand. As I topped off his coffee, his hand brushed mine.

  My eyes quickly sought his and he stared at me again, as if willing me to read his mind. The thought was equally exciting and terrifying. I walked stiffly away from the table and filled the drink orders for my other table.

  When I was back in the kitchen, I put in the order for table ten and waited, my eyes glancing back at my tables, lingering on Everett’s. I couldn’t help it. I felt compelled to watch him. He saw me and picked up his phone, his fingers moving across the keyboard. He looked back at me again and set his phone down.

  A moment later, my pocket buzzed. Doris had a strict no-cellphones policy, but everyone checked theirs anyway. With half the employees being college students, it was only natural that they would steal a minute to check our phones.

  I rarely checked mine, mostly because I had no need to. I had no social media accounts to maintain and just five contacts in my phone. No one ever needed to talk to me; if I heard from someone it was for a favor – like Jasmine.

  I looked around for Doris’s beady eyes before stealing away to the bathroom. Once I checked that the stalls were empty, I pulled out my phone.

  Everett: I liked it better when you poured the cream for me.

  I clenched my jaw and debated replying. I hadn’t heard from him since I’d dropped him off at his home. But I didn’t want to lose control of myself, and I knew talking to Everett was a slippery slope to my undoing. So I ignored the message, tucking the phone into my pocket, and returned to the kitchen.

  I delivered Everett and Charlotte’s breakfast without any incident and poured Everett more coffee. By the time they asked for the check, I had poured him a fourth coffee and he was out of creamer containers. I looked at the empty bowl and debated grabbing more, but I shut the thought down and walked back into the kitchen.

  Everett looked at his coffee and at the empty bowl before looking at me. It was like we were both speaking the same silent language. He smiled, a real smile, an
d picked up his phone again. And my pocket buzzed.

  I stole away to the bathroom once more, pulling out the phone.

  Everett: You know I take creamer with my coffee and you deliberately refused to bring me any.

  Guilt crept in and I was suddenly annoyed – with myself. A change of pace. That changed when I received the next text.

  Everett: That’s rude, you know.

  I bit down on my lip, feeling it tremble, as if tempted to smile. And then the door to the bathroom opened.

  Charlotte stood before me and seemed unfazed by my presence in the bathroom. That’s how I knew she was expecting to find me. Her long blonde hair was thick, curled slightly at the ends. Her face was hard, her eyes narrow.

  “How do you know Everett?”

  She didn’t waste any time. I turned to the sink and started washing my hands, rolling up my sleeves, exposing the scar. I looked at the scar a moment before answering. “I don’t.” It wasn’t a lie.

  I looked up in the mirror; saw her reflection staring at my back. “You do,” she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. It emphasized her large chest. As if I needed further proof of her desirability.

  I rinsed the soap from my hands and shook them, letting water splatter across the sink. I pulled down a couple paper towels and dried my hands before wiping up the splatters. I could taste her impatience in the air. It was insufferable.

  I threw away the paper towels and looked at her pointedly. “No, I don’t.” And then I walked out of the bathroom, back to the kitchen. I stayed hidden this time, not peeking around the corner at Everett while we played our staring contest game. When I figured he had paid for the check at the cashier by the exit, I peeked around. He was indeed gone, with Charlotte. That knowledge sank in my stomach, holding me still. It was lead. And I didn’t want it.

  I walked to the table to clear the plates and found a $50 bill under Everett’s plate. Under the bill was a note, torn from what looked like a notebook.

  PARKER,

  I’M SORRY ABOUT YESTERDAY. SOME OF US HAVE SCARS THAT AREN’T MEANT TO BE SEEN.

  DINNER TONIGHT. MY HOUSE. SIX.