Back to the Good Fortune Diner

by Vicki Essex

  Once in her room, Tiffany shut her door and leaned her forehead against the cool wood. Like everything else in the house, her room had remained untouched. Glossy animal posters were still tacked up on the walls. Mementos of her childhood still sat on the shelves, including the many plastic trophies and medals for spelling bees and mathletics, and her one big trophy for highest academic achievement in high school. Her high school diploma sat in the center of her achievements, its gold, foil-embossed letters declaring highest honors. And tucked in one corner was the blue ribbon she’d won at the county fair for one of her watercolors.

  All those achievements mocked her now. What good had any of those bits of plastic done her? Dejectedly, she waded through the garbage bags full of clothing and sat on her old sticker-covered twin bed. She shouldn’t be here. She’d had a plan, goals, and considering how hard she’d worked, she refused to believe she was back to square one.

  She took out a sheet of paper. Making lists always helped smooth things out in her mind, and she desperately needed the mental balm.

  1. Pay off car repairs.

  The old hatchback meant escape and freedom, and she’d need her car if she was going to get to job interviews. It would also be a roof over her head if things got desperate.

  2. Get a job.

  Naturally. Though how she’d get it was another question.

  Steps three through five listed the bills she needed to pay off in order of highest interest. Of course, she didn’t have anything to pay them with.

  Looking at the piles of clothing-filled garbage bags, it wasn’t hard to figure out where most of her paycheck had gone. But almost all her clothes had been on sale, and she’d had to stay fashionable and look the part of a professional if she was going to work in New York. That, at least, had been her justification when she’d seen her latest credit card bill.

  A whole lot of good her fashion sense did her now. She remembered there was a consignment store on the far end of Main Street. Perhaps she could sell her clothes there. Most of her wardrobe was in good condition—plenty of items hadn’t even been worn yet. But even if they sold, it wouldn’t be enough to pay all her bills. And if her credit score sucked, she wouldn’t be able to rent an apartment in the city.

  She crumpled up the sheet and rewrote her list. Her number one priority now had to be making money. She needed to work off that debt. Nothing else could happen until she paid her bills.

  Determined, she went online to search the town’s classified ads.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “THINK YOU’VE MIXED that soil enough?”

  Chris looked up at the sound of Jane Orbach’s voice echoing through the greenhouse where the seedlings and more delicate crops were raised. The farm overseer nodded at the pile of black earth before him. “Trying to bury your troubles, or is there a body we haven’t accounted for?”

  “Maybe I’m digging for answers.” He stuck the spade into the ground and wiped his brow. Jane had two grown children and was divorced. She’d always been a willing sounding board, and today, Chris really needed her guidance.

  “William or Simon?” Count on Jane to know the source of his problems.

  “Both. We had a big fight last night. Simon failed English, and he didn’t do so well in his other classes, either.” The scene from the barn had been replayed at the dinner table, except that his father hadn’t taken issue with Simon’s poor grades. In fact, he’d seemed delighted. “Dad encouraged him to quit school and work on the farm, and told him we couldn’t afford to send him to college, which is a lie.” It infuriated him that William would try to manipulate Simon like that.

  “Sending your kids to college ain’t cheap,” Jane agreed solemnly. “But if it were going to be a cakewalk, I assume you wouldn’t look like you were facing the executioner on your birthday.”

  “There are...issues.” Chris sat heavily on a stool. “I thought I’d have a better handle on the finances by now. But I had to dip into his college fund to pay a few bills.” He pinched the furrows between his eyebrows.

  “That’s the farming business for you. You can’t blame yourself.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Things’ll get better, you’ll see. Have you tried talking to Daphne about helping out?”

  His lips thinned with distaste. “I’m not getting my hopes up there. Frankly, I’m not sure she could rouse herself to make a trip to the bank.”

  Jane pulled up her cap and wiped the back of her arm across her brow. “You’ve gotta give the woman a chance to say no. That way, she can’t blame you later for not asking her to contribute.”

  She was right about that. He couldn’t cut Daphne out of his son’s life, even if she’d effectively done it herself.

  “But I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Jane propped a hip on the table. “Your problem is that you’re always trying to see the forest instead of the trees. Fact of the matter is, if Simon wants to go to college, he’ll need to bring his GPA up. And to do that, he’s going to have to retake that English course and ace it. Pretty damn clear course of action, if you ask me.”

  It was clear to Chris, at least. But as he went about his day, he couldn’t stop worrying about how he would pay for college. Simon wasn’t likely to get a scholarship; he had to admit that to himself. His son lacked the motivation and drive. Chris had done his best to provide and save money, but it wasn’t going to be enough.

  Fists clenched, he strode into the house. He couldn’t let a little thing like money stand between Simon and his future.

  He picked up the phone and stabbed the number buttons.

  “Daphne. It’s Chris,” he said tersely when she answered the phone.

  “I’m waiting for a call from my decorator. What do you want?”

  How about a few minutes out of your day to discuss our son? He willed the tension to drain from his voice, pushing down the resentment that surfaced whenever he talked to his ex-wife. After all, he was calling her, hat in hand. He led into the matter slowly. “I thought you might want to hear about Simon’s report card. I’m not sure he’d tell you about it himself.” He gave her a brief rundown of his marks.

  “What do you expect me to do?” Daphne asked impatiently when he was done. “It’s not as if I can fly over there to do his homework for him.”

  “So nice to hear you care.”

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me,” she snapped. “Of course I care. He’s my son, too.”

  “You’re right, that was uncalled for. I apologize.” He blew out a breath. “Look, I’ve been thinking a lot about the next couple of years. Simon’s going to head off for college soon and...well, he’s going to need help with tuition.”

  The silence from the other end of the line pressed down on him. “I thought you said you’d take care of all that.”

  “Things on the farm haven’t been easy.”

  “Things on the farm have never been easy. What is it this time? Barn fire? Swine flu? Plague of locusts?”

  “It’s not about the farm—”

  “It’s always about the farm, Chris. You never cared about anything else.”

  “How can you say that? I left school for you.”

  “You could have gotten a job in town.”

  “Doing what? I didn’t have a degree or diploma. We needed money right away, so I had to work on the farm to provide for you and Simon and—” He cut himself off ruthlessly, willing his pulse to stop throbbing inside his skull. He would not rehash this old argument with her. “Please, Daph. Will you help with Simon’s college fund?”

  “You think he’s going to go anywhere with those marks?” The wryness in her voice was tinged with just a hint of bitterness. She’d never done well in school, either. “Besides, I thought you and your father would be happy. You always need help mucking out the stables, right?”

  “Is that what you want for him?”

  “Of course not.” She sighed. “You think your father will even accept money from me?”

  “Forget what my dad thinks. He doesn�
�t matter.”

  “That’s not what you’ve said in the past.”

  “Daphne. Please,” he implored, barely clinging to the last of his patience, “will you help?”

  Finally, after a lengthy pause, she replied, “I’ll have to talk to Bryan. I’m sure he’ll say yes, but he’ll want to see some college acceptance letters first.”

  The muscles in his shoulders relaxed marginally. “I understand. And I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “You know I care for him, right?” Daphne asked in earnest. “Simon means a lot to me. I know it doesn’t seem that way but...I care, Chris. I really do.”

  Chris chewed the inside of his cheek. He’d told himself she’d done the best she could. And they really had been in love once. She’d cared for him and Simon. But not enough to stay. Not enough to try to work things out, to get help, not even for herself. Instead, she’d run into the arms of a man who’d taken her away from her problems, gotten her the counseling she’d needed and given her all the things she’d ever wanted. Things Chris would never have been able to provide. He’d been enough back in high school, but now... “Yeah, I know you care,” he said, tired to the bone. “Do you want to talk to Simon? He’s up in his room.”

  “Better not,” she said after a brief hesitation. “I feel a headache coming on. Just tell him hi for me.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

  He put down the receiver and rubbed at the ache in his chest. It wasn’t for love lost—not exactly, but he did have regrets. He wondered whether getting a shift job at a factory and moving into a dingy little apartment might have kept their family together. But he knew they wouldn’t have been happy. Daphne was never happy.

  Though maybe Simon would have fared better in a bigger town. He’d never said it outright, but Chris was sure his son resented the hell out of being stuck on the Jamieson farm. Chris remembered being fifteen: too young to drive, too isolated to have friends with cars to pick him up to go to town. Things had changed after Chris had joined the football team and gotten his driver’s license, but Simon wasn’t as athletically inclined or motivated. Things might change in another year when Simon could get his learner’s permit, he told himself hopefully. But he could easily picture his son taking the car for a ride and never coming back. He would drive aimlessly, in any direction that was away from the farm, until the car broke down, or he ran out of gas money....

  Gripped by a sudden fervor, Chris booted up his computer. He wouldn’t let Simon’s future slip out of his hands. He was his father, dammit, and he would make sure Simon went to college.

  Unfortunately for Simon, the only way he was going to get there was by first passing that English course.

  * * *

  “SUMMER SCHOOL?” Simon stared at the enrollment form Chris had printed out. “You want me to go to summer school?”

  “It’s better than doing the extra course load in the fall. Besides, you’re still in school mode. Better to stay in and get it over with.”

  “But...what about the farm? And the kittens? I was supposed to help out around here.”

  “You’ll still have to do your regular chores, including keeping an eye on the kittens. But I’ll figure something out with Jane for the rest. I’d rather you focus on your grades. And I want to find you a tutor,” he added. “It’s easier to have someone guide you through Shakespeare rather than figuring it out on your own. And a tutor could help you brush up on a few other subjects, too.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Dad, I’m sick of school,” Simon whined. “I’m not smart, and I can’t do all this work. Why can’t you accept that?”

  A hard, hot lump lodged in his throat. He couldn’t believe his son was giving up so easily. “You are smart. Did someone tell you otherwise?”

  Simon looked away without answering.

  Gentling his voice, Chris said, “You can do this, Simon. If you work hard, you’ll bring your GPA up. You need it if you want to go to college.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m lazy, okay? School’s stupid. None of that stuff matters. I don’t want to go to summer school. I don’t want a tutor.”

  “So, to spite yourself and prove how lazy you are, you’d rather work on a farm for the rest of your life?” Chris laughed humorlessly. “Listen, Simon, farming is not work for a dummy. Farming is not work for someone who wants to cut corners and nap in the barn. You want to work on the farm? I’ll show you what a real day’s work is, mark my words.” Good Lord, he was starting to sound like his dad. But he had to be firm and make Simon see how important his education was.

  Simon jammed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, belligerence in every line of his body. “Never mind. Forget I said it.”

  Chris pressed his advantage, hating that he always had to be the bad guy. “Summer school and the tutor, or you’re up at 4:00 a.m. every day doing farmwork till it’s dark.”

  His son shot him a hateful glare. For a heart-stopping second, Chris thought he’d have to condemn his son to hard labor. He’d called his bluff before. But then Simon threw his hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll do summer school.”

  “And the tutor.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

  His insides unclenched. He hated how he had to threaten his son into wanting something better. But the battle was won. Simon would get help. He would raise his marks. And he would go to college if Chris had to sell half the farm.

  * * *

  TIFFANY SCANNED THE PILES OF CLOTHING, lips pursed. The Sell pile wasn’t nearly as big as it should be, the Keep pile was too big, and the Maybe pile was inching ever closer to the Keep pile.

  She stuffed the Sell pile into a backpack and hefted it downstairs with her good arm. It would make a good test, she told herself. She could bring in more if this cream of the crop sold.

  She peeked around the edge of the stairwell. She couldn’t let anyone in her family see what she was doing. Her mother had never approved of using the consignment shop. She thought it made the family look cheap. And besides, Tiffany didn’t want anyone knowing how much debt she was in. If her parents found out, they would insist on paying her bills, and she would never live it down. No, she had to do this on her own.

  She placed the bag by the door and went to say hello to her grandmother.

  “Poh-poh,” Tiffany greeted as she entered the kitchen. Sunny sat at the table, meticulously peeling cloves of garlic. She acknowledged her with a grunt. She’d slowed down considerably in her old age, so she didn’t work in the diner much anymore. Instead, she cleaned and cooked the family meals and did prep work for the diner at home. “I’m heading out. Do you need help with anything before I go?”

  Her grandmother regarded her with a small frown. “Why are you okay working here, but not at the diner?”

  “I want to spend more time with you, that’s all.” She couldn’t quite mask her false intentions, though, because Sunny simply shook her head.

  “Your parents work very hard, you know. You should help them.”

  Tiffany didn’t respond. Her grandmother didn’t usually harangue her about her duty to her parents. In fact, back in high school, Sunny had often told her daughter and son-in-law that they all worked too hard and wore their children down to the bone.

  “Ai-ya, I forgot we’re out of creamed corn.” She pushed up slowly. “I’ll go to the grocery store.”

  “I can pick it up for you,” Tiff volunteered.

  She waved her off. “Mm-sai, la. I was going to get a few things anyhow.”

  Tiff hesitated. She wouldn’t be able to drop into the consignment store if Poh-poh was with her. She’d have to leave that task for another day.

  The grocery store was a healthy twenty-minute walk away, but at seventy-five, Sunny wasn’t as fast as she used to be, so it took significantly longer. Still, she insisted on walking everywhere. The sun was bright and hot, and a stiff breeze blew dust into their faces. Tiff worried her grandmother was a little overdressed in her dark blue
jogging suit, but Sunny didn’t complain. She didn’t even break a sweat.

  Much of this part of Everville looked the same, with lines of Colonial-style houses broken up by postwar detached homes on big grass parcels, many of them remodeled and added on to over the years. A weed-choked lot, which had once housed a line of older homes leveled by fire, had been cleared, and a new development was being built. Several yellow backhoes and dump trucks were parked around piles of gravel and big lengths of pipes.

  Someone needs to put a Starbucks here, Tiffany thought wistfully. She missed her daily soy latte.

  “So, do you have a boyfriend yet?” her grandmother asked, managing to sound only mildly interested.

  Tiffany smirked. “I’ve been too busy to date.”

  “That’s no good. You’re getting older, Ah-Teen.” It had been a long time since Tiffany had heard her shortened Chinese name, Cheung Sai Teen. “You can’t wait much longer. Ah-Day has a girlfriend, you know.”

  She startled. “Daniel’s dating someone? Who?”

  “She’s a doctor in New York. Her name is...ah...See-lee-na?” She shook her head. “Strange name.”

  Her brother was dating a doctor, and no one had shoved her nose in it yet? “Do Mom and Dad know about her?”

  “They know he’s seeing someone. But none of us have met her yet.”

  She filed that bit of information away for later as they approached Main Street. It was busy for a Tuesday afternoon, or as busy as small-town thoroughfares could get. Part of that was due to the construction a couple of blocks away, where they were replacing the water mains. Annoying as the roadwork was, drivers who would otherwise be passing through stopped for gas and coffee and peeked into the shops. Tiffany was surprised to see a few of the older businesses had closed down and been replaced by new ones including a modern furniture store, a trendy café and an eco-friendly Laundromat. Fortunately, the consignment shop at the far end of the street was still open, a rack of colorful clothes displayed outside.