It’s for Jackson. Jackson. You’re doing this for Jackson.
The idea calms me some, and by the time I reach her table, I’m able to pull my lips into a polite smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Abernathy.” I clear my throat and taste essence of pig shit. In my imagination, I’m spooning the stuff into my mouth, then puking out the words. “I’d like to apologize for what happened last time you were here, and offer you a meal on the house today.”
She shuffles in her seat like an imperious queen, glancing at her husband as if to say, “See, this is how you handle her.”
I grit my teeth.
“Well, I should think so. And since I’m dining with my husband, it’s only right that he should get the same.”
The Psycho soundtrack starts playing in the back of my mind. My imagination has turned that spoon into a knife, and my arm is a piston.
“I’ll have the steak and potatoes with an extra side of greens.”
I note it down, then glance to her husband.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I want my steak?”
I nearly laugh. Mateo’s cooking it. She’ll get whatever she’s served, but I can’t risk Jackson’s safety, so I force another smile and tip my head to the side.
“I’m sorry. How would you like your steak today?”
“I’ll take it medium rare. And for dessert, I’ll have a slice of Ma Baker’s cherry pie with a scoop of ice cream. A weekend treat.” She winks at her husband, and I clamp my lips against the truth.
A weekend treat. A mid-week treat. And I swear if we were open on Sundays, she’d probably waltz in here after church and have the same.
“That sounds good, honey.” He grins at her. “Let’s make that two, except I’ll have the—”
“Apple pie with a dollop of whipped cream.” I know it’s rude to interrupt, but I tack on a smile. “Isn’t that right, Mayor Abernathy?”
His lips twitch and he nods, handing me the menu with a smirk.
I walk away from the table, acid pooling in my stomach while I try not to lament the fact that they ordered the most expensive meals on the menu. I bet they read the damn thing from right to left, just to spite me.
There goes two days’ worth of pay.
Dammit! I’ll probably have to give up all my tips just to pay for the groceries this week, which Dean insists is my duty.
Ripping the order off with a growl, I attach it to the wall next to Mateo’s head, behind the other four. “That one’s for the mayor and Her Majesty, so make it good.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, flipping a burger patty and wiping his sweaty forehead again.
My nose wrinkles and I turn away just as the kitchen door flings open.
Jackson bolts through it, white as a sheet.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He shakes his head. His large eyes look ready to pop out of his head. I grab his shirtsleeve and tug him toward the staircase leading up to the apartment.
Pausing three steps up, I spin him around so I can look at his face. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a man. Up in the attic. He was just sittin’ there. Lookin’ like he’s been there for weeks! There were plates piled up around him, and he was readin’ them books you don’t let me touch.”
My cheeks burst with color. I can feel it.
Jackson’s eyes immediately narrow. “Annie,” he growls.
“Don’t freak out. It’s okay.”
“You know about this?”
I wince.
“Annie!” He gives me a wild look. “What the hell is goin’ on?”
“Hey!” Dean barks, blocking the bottom of the stairwell. “What are you two doin’? Jackson, unless you want to start washin’ dishes, you get! Go on!”
“It’s Annie’s break time,” he bravely argues. “We’re s’pposed to visit Gramma today. Dolly’s already arrived to cover for her. I saw her car out back.”
Dean sighs and looks at his watch. If anything will get him to give in, it’s Gramma. She still owns the diner, and although her mind is leaving her, she sometimes has her good days, and he knows he can’t deny the woman her grandkids.
“You’ve got two hours, and that’s it! Saturdays are always busy, and I need Annie back here. Jackson, you can make it up by doing dishes tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glare over Jackson’s head at Dean. He gives me a pointed look and taps his watch. “Time is ticking, Miss Annabelle Mae.”
My nostrils flare, but Jackson pulls me upstairs before I say anything stupid.
“You better start talkin’.” Jackson throws me the keys and my denim jacket.
I put it on over my uniform and we head out to the Bronco, knowing Dean will be watching us. Pulling out of the driveway, I head down Main Street and spot Hank Keyes at the gas station. He looks up to watch us drive by, and I know I have to go all the way out to see Gramma now.
Dammit. We’ll just make it a quick visit.
“Annie. Why is there a stranger in your attic? Is he your boyfriend or somethin’?”
“No.” My cheeks feel hot again, so I keep my eyes on the road and hope my voice sounds normal enough. “Thing is, he came into the diner a few nights ago and… and he was sick. He’s traveling through town, and he had no place to stay.”
I can’t bring myself to tell Jackson the whole truth. He’s only ten, and I don’t need a lecture from him about how crazy this all is.
“So you just took him in?”
“Well, what’s wrong with that? He needs our help.”
“He’s a stranger. We don’t know anything about him.”
“I know things about him!”
“Like what?”
“His name!”
Jackson scoffs.
“It’s Michael… Barrett.”
“I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more information than his name, Annie.” Jackson crosses his arms and slumps back in his seat.
I roll my eyes and start telling him what I can, including the fact that Aunt Mirren knows. I don’t tell him she disapproves. I also spend a bunch of my time explaining that Michael’s grandpa owns a ranch in Montana and Michael would go there all the time. Jackson softens up a little. He’s always loved horses, and playing cowboys was one of his favorite pretend games when he was little.
“Well, how long’s he stayin’?”
“Probably not too much longer. He’s gettin’ better every day.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“Uh… gut ache.”
“Right.” His droll expression would be funny if I wasn’t feeling so tense.
“Would you stop lookin’ at me like that?”
“I can look at you however I damn well want to! I’m not the crazy one who took a perfect stranger into my safe place. Only select people go into the attic, Annie. You made me swear never to tell anyone about it, and I kept my promise.”
“I know. I know. And I’m grateful.”
He mutters something under his breath.
Easing on the brakes, I pull the Bronco to the side of the road and turn to look at my brother.
“If you want, we can just pretend we went to Gramma’s and I’ll let you go meet Michael instead.”