And Mama made me anyway.
“Katie!” Daddy bellowed from his recliner. “Time for bed. We gotta lotta work to do tomorrow,” he added, unnecessarily. I knew the drill.
“Yes, sir.” I hopped off my stool and headed obediently to the sanctuary that was my bed.
Yup. I could bear a girls’ night with Ashley-Leigh if it would mean a couple of hours break from the monotony that threatened to choke me daily. And maybe I’d be able to sneak five minutes on her laptop to email Reese. That thought perked me up, and I fell asleep feeling like the morning light might actually bring with it the possibility of something good.
3
AT FIRST SIGHT
I pulled off the long, flat stretch of Highway 70 and into the back alley of Norma’s Diner where I sputtered to a stop. Despite pulling down my visor and wearing sunglasses, I arrived nearly blind. Facing the beat down rays of the afternoon sun was becoming an occupational hazard. I blamed my Dollar Store glasses. And the lack of hills, trees, or buildings to help buffer the blaring sun along the way.
It’s funny how much the heat can wear you out (but not in a ha-ha kind of way). I expelled some tired air from the same-ole, same-ole that was my life, arriving in no mood for more work but needing the dinero. Mama’s old Subaru Hatchback was due for a new transmission. Luck had been getting me to and from work for the last couple of weeks, but I was pretty sure it was getting ready to run out on me. And Daddy wasn’t likely gonna part ways with his precious Bronco any time soon. It wasn’t much newer, however, it was much cooler.
Cooler. Sigh. I readjusted the icepack around my neck. Air conditioning was another thing I would have to pay for—a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Oh well. I had a few me-minutes before I had to go clock in and didn’t want to waste them dwelling on the negative. Maybe Ashley-Leigh’s pep talk worked? I parked in the shade of a dumpster and rolled down the window, but the stench of overflowing garbage cans immediately molested my nose. What did I expect? A meadow in spring?
The back alley of Norma’s was a shantytown of cardboard boxes and graffiti-decorated walls. Shattered beer bottles and discarded cigarette butts littered the cracked pavement. Rolling the window back up, I closed my eyes against the mosaic of broken dreams to recreate some of my most memorable moments from Camp Pinewood, the best week of my life . . . since Mama died. But arriving on time for once, Beatrice beeped in beside me, waving madly
So much for my R&R.
I sighed and readjusted the rearview mirror to get ready—a twenty-second job—then dug around in my bag for the brown tie that no longer matched my hair and the forgotten glasses I promised Mama I would wear. While scraping my hair back into a ponytail, I noticed quite a bit of the “golden” streaks from my summer dye-job remained. Even though I knew it was an epic fail, it was fun to be someone different for a while. I’d been channeling Reese, but the bottle-blonde had turned my chestnut hair a burnt, brassy orange.
So much for my foray into hairdressing.
Most of the color had washed out, thank goodness, because I looked like a total imposter as a blonde. I thought I’d never hear the end of it from Daddy, who claimed I looked like a “dime-store hustler” . . . Whatever that is.
He would have grounded me for it, too, if there were actually something to ground me from. It’s not like I really missed the half hour of Disney Channel I was no longer allowed to watch, so Daddy moved to banning books. Well, I’m ordinarily pretty obedient, but I couldn’t abide that. So I’d been sneaking around to read behind bushes and in the bathroom all summer like a crack addict. Daddy must’ve caught on, because my romance novels kept disappearing on me. Eventually he caved on the TV saying “looking like poor man’s Barbie” was punishment enough. And I wasn’t allowed to dye it back to brown, hence the three inches of dark roots I was sporting.
Recalling Daddy’s horrified expression, I smiled broadly in the mirror until my eyes lit upon my teeth and I automatically closed to the Mona Lisa smile I’d perfected. I made a face. Could’ve been worse. My teeth were actually pretty straight—not braces straight like most of the popular kids, but not crooked either. Just my front teeth protruded out slightly, forming an overbite I was acutely self-conscious of.
Mama disagreed with me, of course, saying my natural pouty expression was actually an enhancement. Yeah right. I looked like a hick, and the way my lips stuck out only made me look hicker. She just always knew how to make lemonade out of lemons—one of her many talents.
A lump formed in my throat, so I quickly patted lip balm onto my chapped lips and threw my pink and red trucker-hat and stupid glasses on before the golf ball threatened to choke me. I took a final glance in the mirror to see if I looked as hideous as I thought—yep. Growling out loud, I shouldered my way out the door and stomped up the stairs to go clock in. The bright ponytail swinging cheerfully behind me felt completely incongruent with my dark mood.
“Hey, Hon!” Beatrice greeted from the walk-in, where she was putting on her apron.
“Hey, Bee,” I acknowledged her with a smile while reaching into my cubby for my own apron.
“Ya think it’s gonna get busy tonight?” she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I dunno, but I hope so . . . school’s about to start.”
“I know, sweetie.” A sympathetic smile erased five years from her face. Beatrice was a single mom working nights to make extra money, which pretty much made us comrades-in-arms. “It’s just the two us tonight, Carlos in the kitchen, and Norma of course.” Bee rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.
She and Ms. Norma went at it on several occasions, and I diligently played my role of peacemaker when either Bee threatened to quit, or Norma threatened to fire her. “Maybe we’ll get some of the truckers passin’ through from the dairies,” she added hopefully.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said noncommittally. Remembering some of the awkward encounters with truckers in the past, I was instantly grateful I’d decided to wear my dorky glasses tonight.
As if telepathically, Ms. Norma came bustling in and frowned when she zeroed in on them perched on my nose. “Lose your contacts, Katie?”
I ducked my head. “Um . . . yes ma’am.”
Norma preferred me glasses free. She seemed to think it helped with repeat customers. As if. The only thing that would help this place would be a complete menu overhaul. “Greasy Spoon” was a very apt expression when describing Norma’s.
“Okay, listen up.” Ms. Norma was all business now. “There’s an early bird two-top in your section, Beatrice.” Bee automatically got the first table since she had seniority. “Well, what are ya waitin’ for? Go on and get out there!”
“I’ll finish settin’ up for you,” I volunteered, relieving Bee of the ketchup funnel.
She gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks, hon!”
“City slickers from the looks of ‘em. Probably be a good tip, so be on your best behavior.” Beatrice grabbed her tray, and eagerly pushed through the double doors leading to the dining room. “And no flirtin’ neither!” Ms. Norma warned to doors still swinging on their hinges.
That left just the two of us standing there, a perfect time to make my request. I grabbed the two-gallon ketchup jugs, began refilling the table bottles. “Hmm-hmm,” I awkwardly cleared my throat.