Cinderella in the Surf (17 page)

Walker shakes his head and smiles widely. "Nope! I was practicing surfing! I wanted to surprise you."

I stare at him. My stomach aches like he's reached out and punched me.
 

"You were what? Surfing? Where's Piper?" I ask, sure the blonde nightmare can't be too far away now. I'm only wondering why she isn't glued to Walker's side.
 

"Piper?" He looks confused. "I don't know?"

"Well, aren't you surfing with her now? Or who were you out here with?"

If he's already found
another
girl to hit the waves with, I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose it completely.

Even though that's totally ridiculous because I've got no claim to Walker whatsoever.

He looks confused. "No one. I was by myself."

My mouth drops. "Wait, wait, wait. You went surfing by yourself? Like...alone?"

Walker nods enthusiastically, like he's all proud of himself or something equally ridiculous. "Yeah, like I said, I want to practice."

I hear what he's saying, but I'm so stunned I feel like I'm opening and closing my mouth, just staring at him in a stupor, no words coming out.

"Rach?"

"Sorry, I'm -- sorry. I'm just trying to process what you said to me."

Doubt flickers across his face for the first time. "That I went surfing? Rach, talk to me. What's going on here?"

I take three deep, calming breaths, but they don't really help. My heart's still pounding and all I want to do is reach out and shake him.

"I guess I don't really know," I say at last. "Maybe you should tell me. Don't you remember what I asked you when I took you out there?"

He blinks twice, then shrugs. "You taught me a lot. Sorry I guess I don't remember it all."

"That's not what I'm talking about," I hiss. "You broke your promise."

I practically spit the words at him through clenched teeth, but the look on his face suggests he
still
has no idea what I'm talking about.

"Rachel, you're not making any sense."

"The hell I'm not. I asked you. I asked you right to your face to promise that you would never go surfing by yourself."
 

He nods. "I remember you asked me that," he agrees, and fire flashes in my eyes. "But Rachel, I never said yes."

"What?" I gasp, hardly able to believe what I'm hearing. "How can you say that? I remember you promising."
 

Walker shakes his head, holding firm. "I didn't. You think I'd forget a promise like that?"

I throw my hands up in the air, tired of all of his nonsense lately. "I don't really know, Walker. I have no idea anymore."

"Rachel," he says. "Rach, I know what surfing means to you. Sometimes I feel like I know that better than anybody else here. Do you really think I'd break a promise?"

I stare at him, my eyes searching his, looking for any sign that he's lying, that he knows exactly what he's done to me, but I can't find it.
 

But that doesn't do much to make me feel better.

"I can't believe this," I spit out. It's harder to make eye contact with him now, but I make myself do it anyway. "Of all the people to do something like this to me, I didn't think it would be you."
 

Walker looks at me helplessly. "If you think I did this, I don't know what else I can say to you." He shakes his head. "I guess I'm sorry you think I did."
 

I watch him, waiting for a sure sign of weakness, and it never comes. I don't have anything more to say that I haven't told him already, so I push myself to my feet and walk slowly up the beach, never turning around once.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It's not an easy thing to do, walking away from someone who's been there for you in a way no one else has for a long time.
 

But I've done it before, and I've just done it again.

And I can't get Walker's face -- his eyes -- out of my head.
 

I'm back out on our rooftop patio as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink, purple and orange.
 

It's beautiful.

And I hate looking at it.

I'm back at the beginning again. No Alex, no surfing, no job and now no Walker.
 

Even if Lydia hasn't fired me by now, I can't go back there. Obviously I'm not cut out for waitressing at a taco stand.

Or probably anywhere else, for that matter.

I'll have to find a new job, a new thread of hope to cling to that maybe I'll still get to make my escape to northern California in the fall, where I can start a new life in a place with no memories that will cloud the sunsets.

I sip from the can of soda sitting on the glass table next to my chair. I'm about to pick it up and head inside when my cell phone buzzes and lights up with an unknown local number.

I watch as the phone impatiently moves against the table, then pick it up at the last second before it goes to voicemail.

"Rachel!" A breathless Lydia is on the other end. Of course. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Sorry for bailing out of my shift. There was an emergency on the beach."
 

"Missy filled me in," she replies, not sounding too broken up about it.
 

I frown. "Missy? How'd she know?"

"She said she followed you outside because you forgot gloves for handling the broken glass, then heard you scream someone's name before taking off sprinting toward the water. Word about the near-drowning spread pretty fast, and we figured it out. It happens, life happens," Lydia says dismissively. "But you left before we could figure out your schedule for the rest of the week. I was thinking tomorrow, you'd come in around -- "

"Lydia? Lydia, wait," I interrupt. "I don't think I can work tomorrow."
 

She pauses for a second, then plows ahead. "No worries. But we'll need you the day after."
 

"Actually, I don't think I'm cut out for waitressing."
 

The silence stretches from here to the North Pole. "I don't think I quite understand."

"Lydia, come on. You saw me today. Disaster after disaster after disaster."

"Was it supposed to be something different your first day on the job?"

Her question surprises me, and I don't have a good answer to it. All I know is that the idea of going back to that place fills me with nothing but cold ickiness.

"I just don't think it's gonna work."

More silence.

It's making me nervous.

"I'm sorry to hear this," Lydia finally says. "You would've done great at Trippy's. Good luck to ya. Be sure to stop by and get your tips from yesterday."
 

She hangs up before I have a chance to respond.

I stare at the phone in my hand before sighing and tucking it into my back pocket and heading back inside.
 

It's not until I reach the kitchen that I realize I don't even really have a purpose right now.
 

What am I supposed to do? I can't surf, I can't hang with Walker, I don't have a job.
 

I'm useless.

And I kinda feel like one of the broken seashells littering the shoreline.
 

I'm staring out the window that hangs over the kitchen sink, trying to decide if I'd be a conch or a moon shell, when a noise behind me jolts me back into realty.

I turn around, and there's Mom, wandering into the kitchen with her pink mug. She shuffles over to the counter and absently pours more coffee. I watch as she walks to the fridge, and take in her greasy, matted hair and the slippers she hasn't changed out of in what must be days.

Dad's job loss isn't treating her well.

"You know, Rach," she begins without looking over at me as she pours half-and-half. "I've been meaning to tell you how proud we are of you for sucking it up and taking that job in town. I can't imagine Trippy's is a great place to work, but it means a lot to your father and me."
 

My jaw goes slack and it kind of feels like my own mother just punched me in the gut because I've suddenly got a stomachache the size of Siberia.

"I, um, I -- thanks," I sputter.
 

She lifts one questioning eyebrow as she returns the milk to the fridge. "Did it go well?"

I nod even though my hands are starting to shake a little. Lying to Mom isn't exactly high on my list of fun things to do, but I don't see another way out right now.

"Yeah, it's great. Lydia, that's my boss, she's super nice," I say, and I'm relieved to at least get a little bit of the truth out.

"I've passed the stand. Doesn't look like somewhere I'd think about stopping. They really get customers?"

"Oh, yeah. Lots. Especially at happy hour, it got super busy. And since I was the only waitress, I think I made a lot in tips."
 

Maybe. I'm not so sure how the rest of the night went after I bolted to the beach for Walker, and I'm also not so sure I really want to go back to Trippy's to pick up a couple bucks.

"That's great, that's just all so great." Mom smiles and lifts the coffee mug to her lips. "You really have no idea what it means to your father and me. We were just talking about it this morning. It's really helping him deal with the job loss."

I can feel my insides start to shake slightly and beads of sweat pop up along my hairline and along the palms of my hands.

And my stomach just churns worse when it dawns on me.
 

I don't really have a choice here.

Trippy's Tim's is it.

It's where I'm going to have to belong.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY

An envelope with my name on it is taped to the front window of the door at Trippy Tim's when I get here this morning.

It took me a full day to work up the nerve -- and try to squash all the dread -- to come back to work.

Lydia doesn't know I'm coming, so the envelope with my tips from the other day hanging outside doesn't surprise me. I peel it off and stuff it into my bag without opening it.
 

It's only 10 a.m., and the stand doesn't open up until eleven for the first lunch push, even though that apparently isn't usually too heavy. I'd figured now would be the perfect time to come ask -- or, okay, beg -- for my job back.

The front door opens when I twist the knob, which I'm not expecting, and I wander inside. It hasn't been set up for the day yet; chairs are still stacked upside down on the table tops after the broom and mop went through last night.
 

The rest of the place is dark and empty. Lydia isn't in yet.

Great.
 

With a sigh, I flip the light switches and start organizing the dining room and patio.

I'm taking down the last chair when the back door crashes open, slams against the wall and shuts again.

"Holy Toledo hot dog on ice!"
 

I jump, flinging the rag I'd been using to wipe down the tables into the air.

The bags Lydia was carrying are on the floor next to her, and she's standing in the aisle that divides the kitchen, staring at me, hand clasped to her chest.
 

"Lydia! I'm sorry!"

"What in the sweet mother of molasses are you doing here? Nearly scared me half to death." She wipes at her forehead and bends down to pick up the bags before setting them on the countertop.

"I, um, I -- "

"You need the money. I get it. It's the way of the world. Lucky for you, Missy still smokes and I'm still desperate."
 

I feel some of the tension that had been steadily building since my talk with Mom slowly start to seep out of me. "Thanks, Lydia."

She waves me off. "You know how to pay me back," she replies, then nods over at the tables. "That's a good start."
 

Lydia turns and heads back into her office with the bags, leaving me alone in the restaurant.

A small smile spreads across my face.

It feels like the first time in a long time that I've actually managed to get something right.
 

***

"Order up!"
 

I hurry back toward the kitchen counter and load my tray with the three rounds of steak tacos Missy's just cooked. I'm thankful for the quick second break I get while she's busy scooping rice onto the last plate.

It's already seven o'clock. I've been at Trippy's for what feels like three days, but I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm having a good time. Missy is great to work with when she's not sneaking out the back door with her lighter and Lydia, well, she's Lydia, and she's not so bad.

She came out of her office about half an hour ago to tell me to go home since I've been here for more than eight hours, but I refused.

I kinda feel like I owe it to her to stick around, at least for today, after quitting on her this week.

"Thanks, Miss," I say once the last plate is on my tray and I'm heading back to the table of three women who stopped in for after-work margaritas and tacos.
 

"Excellent," one woman says when I stop next to them and set up the tray stand. "We're starving and those smell great."
 

"Just wait until you taste it." I finish handing out their meals. "Can I get you ladies anything else?"
 

They glance around the table, then look back up at me. "Nope," one says with a smile. "I think we're all set here."
 

"Great. I'll be back in a bit to check on you. Enjoy."
 

I wait until my back is turned to them before I let out a little sigh of relief. Waitressing isn't exactly coming naturally to me -- I think that's obvious after the other day -- but so far, it's not the total disaster it was before, either.
 

I can work with this.

I turn over three more tables during the next hour, and it really seems to be working with Missy manning the kitchen and me handling whatever the customers want.

It's eight o'clock before we finally don't have any more customers coming in, even though we're open for another half hour.