My Bittersweet Summer (21 page)

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Is that all you need? My shift’s about to start so I gotta go.”

“Yep. Thanks, Margie!”

“No problem. Talk to you soon.”

I hung up and shoved my phone back in my pocket, hurriedly tying the apron around my waist. But as I turned to the prep station, I froze completely. An entire stockpot of potatoes were peeled, five tubs of vegetables had been sliced, and three containers of stock reduction sat neatly on the counter, all ready to go for the lunch shift.

“What the hell?” I checked my watch, making sure I had the right day and time. Why was everything already done?

As I stood there, blinking at what was at least an hour’s worth of work, Zach walked up, grabbing the pot of potatoes.

“Who did all this?” I waved at the prep work.

He shrugged, not looking at me. “I came in early. Thought I’d get a head start so you could get the crème brûlée brûléed before we open.”

When he disappeared towards the line, I stared after him, stunned. Not quite believing it, I opened one of the bins to check his work. Row after row of pristinely sliced cucumbers stared back at me, the thickness shockingly uniform. I closed the bin and stepped back. Zach did all that? In an hour?

Still dazed, I wandered up to the time clock, punching in my four-digit employee code to start my shift. When had Zach learned to do so much?

I went through the rest of my prep in a weird, confused haze, constantly shooting glances at him at the dishwashing station. I over-torched two crème brûlées thanks to my distraction, at which point I took a step back and walked a tray of finished desserts to the pie case. After standing in the frosty air of the walk-in with my eyes closed for a minute, I finally got my head on straight, and soon I was back in the swing of things. By the time two o’clock rolled around, I was completely caught up on everything, and the lunch rush was over. Finding a small bright spot in my mistakes of that morning, I grabbed one of the botched desserts and started for the parking lot to take my break. I paused at the door of the pantry, however, looking back at the other ruined crème brûlée. Maybe it wasn’t a huge gesture, but it seemed like a nice thing to do to share. Zach might not have been my favorite person, but he did a lot of work he didn’t have to do that morning. Snagging the other one, I marched over to the dishwashing station and set it on the empty metal counter beside him.

He looked at the ramekin, then up at me, the question in his eyes.

“I messed up two. I can’t eat both. You’re welcome,” I said and spun away before I had to explain myself further. I sure as hell wasn’t going to outright thank him, so that would have to be enough.

Needing a break from the smell of cooking food, I wandered out to the parking lot and sat on the wooden sea wall, nibbling at overcooked crème brûlée and enjoying the ocean breeze. The moment I started to relax, I heard the restaurant door bang closed, and I sighed.

“If I sit at least three poles down, am I at an appropriate distance that I won’t get maced?”

I grimaced and took another bite of the pudding. “Sit where you want.”

It took him a good five minutes of silence to bring it up, but I guessed it was too much for him to handle to not ask. “Did you go out with Carter?”

“Pretty sure that’s none of your business.”

“I’m probably going to hear about it anyway, but I thought you’d rather I know the truth.”

I set the spoon in the bowl and looked at him. “I really don’t care what you know, or what you hear. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t matter in the realm of things concerning me anymore. That,” I pointed at his dessert, “was not a peace offering. It was a thank-you for doing all that stuff for me this morning. That’s it. Job well done. Bonus earned. That’s all there is.”

He scowled at me. “I’m not stupid, Margie. I know that. You didn’t have to. I told your dad I wanted to take on more here, so he’s been teaching me. That wasn’t for you, it was for
me
, to prove to myself that I could. I did it for the same reason I do my own laundry and change the oil in my car myself. Not everything I do is about you, you know.”

I winced. Was that what I really thought, that all of his little self-improvement projects were about me? Given all the carrot flowers, it certainly felt that way, but was I so self-absorbed I actually believed it?

“What if I did go out with him?” I asked, changing the subject. “Would that change your opinion of me?”

The muscles in his jaw worked, twitching with tension.

I swung my leg back over the side to the parking lot. “What if I said I let him kiss me? What then? Still want to know? And what if I—”

He closed his eyes and turned away. “Please don’t, Margie.”

“You did ask.”

“I just…” He sighed and shook his head. “Never mind. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I nearly choked on laughter as I stood. “A bit late for that, but duly noted.”

He called to me as I walked away. “Hey, Margie, just a heads up. Matt’s coming back to town today. I dunno if it matters to you, but—”

“Awesome,” I said over my shoulder. “Be sure to tell him I said hi.”

If he added anything after that, I didn’t hear it over the sound of the door closing behind me.

*
 
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*

As the last customers left, I locked the front door, yawning as I made my way back to the bar. The evening had been brutally busy for a Tuesday, but it was likely due to the Fourth of July on Thursday. More than one person had left the restaurant grumbling under their breath because they couldn’t get a table, but without a reservation, Le Beau Tournée was all but impossible to get into for dinner.

“You look as exhausted as I feel,” Jamal said, sliding me a small glass of orange juice.

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “Way to boost my ego.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that. You killed it today. I can’t figure out how you do it.”

“Persistence and reminding myself that I’ll be in Paris in less than two months.” I tipped the glass to him. “It’s a good motivator.”

He laughed as he wiped down the bar. “That would probably motivate me, too.”

The kitchen door pushed open, Carter strolling out and leaning up against the bar beside me. “I’m about done in back. You wanna go grab coffee or something?”

I winced, apologetic. “I would, but I’m completely exhausted. Maybe tomorrow? The beach again?”

He bumped his shoulder against mine, smiling. “Absolutely. I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“Make sure everything’s prepped for my shift so I don’t have to pull double chopping duty, and I won’t make you wait for me.” I scrunched my nose up, teasing him.

With a roll of his eyes and a smile, Carter was off, likely clocking out. Jamal looked at me with raised eyebrows, and I sighed.

“We’re just friends. Don’t start.”

“Carter doesn’t have female friends.”

“Pfft. He does, too. I met two of them yesterday.”

He pulled out a spout from a bottle of whiskey and dropped it in a bin of soapy water. “Uh-huh. He tell you that, or did they?”

I laughed and drained my juice. “They did, their boyfriends did, and Carter did. Don’t be so harsh on him. He’s not so bad.”

Jamal took away my empty glass, setting it in the tub of other dirty dishes. “Just be careful, Little Miss. He likes to play.”

I waved him off before walking around the bar to grab the dish bin. “We have an understanding. It’s fine, but thank you for the concern. I’ll see you… Thursday night?”

“Day shift.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably see ya,” I said, then went for the kitchen door. “Coming through!”

I dropped the last of the dishes at the station and yawned again. My dad came around from the line, clipboard in hand as he finished up the inventory.

He took one look at me and smiled in understanding. “Why don’t you head home? Let the others mop up for once.”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“That wasn’t really a suggestion. Oh, and we won’t need you on prep tomorrow, so why don’t you take the night off?”

I frowned. “Who’s working tomorrow night, then? Carter has the day shift, so…”

He shrugged. “Zach asked for a shot at it, and he’s been doing really well. I won’t test him with the holiday, but tomorrow should be all right.”

Groaning, I knew what that might mean for me. “You’re not making me permanent front of the house, are you?”

With a small laugh, he slid an arm around my shoulders and led me towards the time clock. “Not at all. We’re interviewing applicants tomorrow morning, so I might need you for training, but you’ll be back in the kitchen soon enough.”

With a grateful smile, I clocked out and headed for my car. My mind focused on how awesome my pillow was going to feel, I unlocked my door and lowered myself into the seat.

As I got in, something small and furry smacked the side of my face, and I launched myself out of the car, flailing wildly as the scream stuck in my throat. I landed on my butt and skittered back, the familiar feelings of a small, soft body against my skin instantly triggering my panic. I plastered myself against another car, panting and staring at the open door across from me.

Even by the low light of the streetlight, I could see the familiar outline of a mouse, dangling from its tail by a string from the roof of my car.

Margie Mouse… Come out and play, Margie Mouse…

Elbows on my knees, I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to blot out the memory bubbles bursting in my brain, feeding my fear and stabbing at old scars.

One in, two out.

One in, two out.

Two in, four out.

One in, two out.

One in, two out.

It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? My throat burned as I fought back the tears that slipped down my cheeks. I needed to breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I was losing it. I was going to—

“Margie?”

Not him. Please not him.

He crouched in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. “Margie, what’s wrong? How can I help?”

One in, two out.

I was going to pass out if I didn’t get it together, but the feel of fur against my face wouldn’t let go, the ghostly memory clawing at me.

He stood, turned, and disappeared, returning a moment later as I tried to rein in the attack. One hand rested on my shoulder again.

“It’s gone, Margie. I got rid of it.” There was a pause. “Mr. Walsh? It’s Zach. Something happened in the parking lot and—”

Two in, four out.

 
How could I let such a stupid, little thing break me? And in front of him…

“Yes, sir. Just outside.”

A moment later, the bang of the back door jarred me. Zach’s hand disappeared, replaced by my father’s arms.

“Breathe, Margie. It’s okay. You’re okay. You can beat this. Just focus on my voice, sweetheart. Let it go. They can’t hurt you.”

A sob finally wrenched itself from my lungs as I clung to his shirt. Filling my head with the sound of his voice, the smell of the kitchen clinging to his clothes, I grabbed on to the tiny comforts I’d always relied on. My parents loved me. I was more than my memories. I’d be walking the streets of Paris soon, everything and everyone thousands of miles in my rear view mirror.

Gradually, my breathing slowed. My dad held me, rubbing my back in slow circles until I counted six in, twelve out.

“Better?” He eased away, smoothing my hair back behind my ears.

I nodded. “Better. Yes.”

“I’ll take you home and come back for closing,” he said as he helped me to my feet, guiding me across the parking lot to the minivan.

“But—”

He held up a hand to stop me. “No buts. I’ll have Zach drive your car home.”

Knowing full well I was in no condition to operate a vehicle, I got into the passenger seat and buckled in. My dad sat down a few minutes later, after what I assumed was arranging and explaining everything to Zach.

Wonderful. Because I wanted him more involved than he already was.

“How do you know it wasn’t him?” I mumbled to the window.

“You really think that’s a possibility?”

I crossed my arms and leaned my head on the glass, perfectly willing to think the worst of Zachary Robinson, but my voice didn’t carry the conviction. “Anything is possible.”

“Baby, I know the history you’re working with as far as he’s concerned, but everything I’ve seen from him since we’ve been back tells me he’s not the boy we remember.”

“Even if it wasn’t him, he’s friends with whoever did it. And by ‘whoever,’ I mean Matt. When he’s around those guys, it’s the same story every time. Some things don’t change, Dad. Besides, it’s pretty convenient he happened to be there when I…” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sucked in a deep breath. The first jolt of pain rocketed across my brain. I needed to get home.

“It was
extremely
lucky, Margie,” my dad said quietly. “If he hadn’t come to pick up some paperwork for his father, who knows how long it would’ve been before someone found you.”

At that, my hatred floundered a little. “I would’ve been fine eventually. In a few weeks, I’ll have to handle it on my own anyway.”

He turned onto the drive leading up to our house. “Yes, but not for a few more weeks. Until then, let’s just be grateful he was there, okay?”

The last thing I wanted to be was grateful that Zach was there to see me fall apart completely, but I kept it to myself. There was no point in arguing with him any further.

We pulled up to the house, another set of headlights coming up behind us as my dad unlocked the front door. He let me inside and gave me a hug before leaving again. After locking the front and double-checking the back, I went straight to the bathroom for my migraine meds. While I downed a glass of water and changed into pajamas, I heard the front door open and close again.

Curious, I wandered out to see if my dad forgot something.

“Don’t freak out,” Zach said when I saw him in the entryway, his hands up in surrender. “Let me explain.”

Fists clenched at my sides, I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.