Authors: Cynthia Racette
"What kind of job?" her son asked.
"I going to be a waitress," Anna said, trying to act casual. "At Betty’s Diner."
"Really? I didn’t know you could do that." Having a great fascination for restaurant dining and an insatiable appetite for his favorite lunch, the BLT, he added, "They make great BLTs. Lots of bacon. Remember when we stopped there for lunch after we shopped for my school clothes? I got a BLT then. If I go there when you’re working, would it be you who makes me the BLT? Like you do at home?"
"I’m not sure who would make it," Anna said, astounded by his reaction. She’d expected him to be displeased, as Rose and Mallory had been. She smiled to herself. If she’d been thinking straight, she’d have known. The way he watched, with great fascination, every single detail of the goings-on at the restaurants where they used to eat out, she’d often wondered if he’d grow up to be a restaurateur. Sometimes he made a concession to fancier restaurants and ordered turkey and dressing, his other great love. This job of hers must seem like a dream come true for him. At least someone would be on her side.
"When will you be working?"
"Seven to three on Tuesdays through Saturdays."
His face fell and he withdrew into himself, eyelids fluttering down. "You won’t be here in the mornings before I go to school, and you’ll be gone all day Saturday?"
"I’m afraid so, honey. Those are the hours they need me. I can’t go in whenever I want. I need this job too much to haggle over hours." She lifted his chin with her fingers. "I’ve talked to Rose and she’s agreed to watch you when I’m not here. I’ll wake you up at 6:30 then you can get dressed. Rose will give you breakfast and you’ll wait there for the bus. I’ll be home by the time you get back from school at three thirty. And on Saturdays, you’ll stay at Rose’s."
Squeezing his chin, reassuringly, she tried to get him to look at her. "You understand I don’t really have a choice, don’t you?"
He nodded, then pulled away from her. "Yeah, sure." He turned to go.
"I hope you’re not too upset by my job, honey."
"No." He stared down at the carpet, obviously thinking. "I guess it’ll be interesting having you being a waitress at a restaurant." He glanced toward the door, clearly eager to be out of there. "I want to go now, please."
Anna watched him, fearful that this was adding to his obvious distress over losing his father.
Brian wandered down the hall and into the rec room, where he turned on the TV set, and curled up in a ball on the couch. His thumb slipped underneath his belt, the way he used to tuck his thumb into the top of his diaper.
He missed his father. He still felt like it was his fault his father would never walk into the house at suppertime again. Sometimes he thought for a brief, mad moment he heard his father in the basement, banging wood and clattering around. A couple of times, he started to get up to join him, as he used to, and then he remembered his father was dead and so the sound must have been something else—the dryer or the furnace.
And now his mother was been taken away from him, too. He would barely have his shoes and socks on in the morning before he was pushed out of the house and his mother went rushing off down the street in her car. And on Saturdays, she’d be gone almost all day. Little League started in May. Would he play every Saturday morning game all alone, with no one to watch him?
He’d thought about those kinds of things a lot—Little League games without his father around, but he’d figured his mother would be there at least. Now, no one. Maybe he wouldn’t bother to try out this year. At the end of last season he'd wanted to make the majors. Now he didn’t know if he still cared about that anymore.
He rolled over and buried his face into the back of the sofa, his thumb tightly clenched into his belt. Rocking slowly back and forth, he eventually fell into a troubled sleep, plagued by dreams of being chased. He ran frantically from a horrible pursuer, and felt himself fly off the edge of a cliff, falling, falling. He woke up with a jerk and, for the first time in many years, slipped his free thumb into his mouth.
After supper, Anna told the kids she wanted to get to bed early to prepare for her new job. Brian said he was going to bed, too, and Mallory eventually promised to go after she finished her homework.
Locking herself into the bedroom, Anna stared at the beige and green wallpaper Mike helped her put up not too long after they moved in. Her toes curled into the high pile of the light green tweed carpet they’d both picked out at the carpet store and she reached to smooth out the forest green comforter Mike had good-naturedly let her spend too much money on.
Except for buying a truckload of furniture to fill the vast empty spaces of the new house, they hadn’t redecorated any room except the master bedroom, a private place they’d made themselves to spend intimate moments in.
She went to the closet and looked in. Most of Mike’s clothes had been removed by her and Rose after Christmas, except for a few favorite things she’d been unable to part with. She pulled out his robe and pressed it to her cheek. She’d made herself leave it on its hook, unworn, for several weeks. Now she needed its comfort.
Feeling guilty, she put it on. She started to tie the belt, then stopped, removed the robe, slipped out of her clothes, and put the robe back on. Turning the light off, she curled up on the bed and lay there, feeling the warm flannel on her bare skin, and breathing in the tiny hint of Mike's fragrance that clung to the cloth.
The material made her breasts tingle and her senses started to quicken as memories of past lovemaking invaded her thoughts. Her hips moved in unconscious remembered motion, causing the flannel to rub over her skin. For a few moments she let herself drift, aroused, with the feelings the motions generated. Then, horrified, she stopped.
"No, no,"
she cried softly, drawing her knees up to her chin with a sob of grief. "What am I doing? I can’t . . . not without you. I need you. It’s awful without you." She cried harder. "I love you. I miss you so much."
Come back to me, sweetheart. Please . . . please.
Chapter 5
When she woke up to the alarm at five forty-five the next morning, Anna still lay naked in Mike’s robe. She showered quickly, dressed in the uniform that hung on the closet door, folded the apron and cap, and put them into one of the oversized pockets. Next, she awakened the children, and they groused and fumbled around in their dressers for school clothes while she grabbed a quick cup of coffee and nibbled toast as she made lunches for them.
A hurried fifteen minutes later, she ushered them next door to Rose’s, thankful she didn’t have to drive them across town or feed them breakfast. Rose was being wonderful about helping her.
Then at last Anna was in the car, turning toward downtown. She drove down her street, passing the large, elegant homes in the exclusive neighborhood. She knew her family would soon be moving from their dream home. The payments and taxes were too high to maintain for long, even with the insurance money to supplement her income.
She and Mike should never have waited thirteen years to have exactly the right house, especially one that was almost a showplace. They should have settled for something smaller and more affordable years ago. She’d realized too late to live for the present because the present was all anyone really had. Now she was learning, slowly, to try doing that very thing, enjoying her lovely home as much as possible because it would not be hers much longer. Sometime soon, probably before the month was up, she would have to call a broker to put it up for sale. Spring was the best time to sell a house, according to her women's magazines.
There was no parking ramp near the restaurant, and she had to park her Sonata in a metered space a block from the diner. It would mean running out every few hours to put money in the meter unless Betty knew of another place she could park.
Nervous, she entered the diner and Betty looked up, then motioned her into the tiny office in the back. Her curly gray hair was neat and tidy around her plump, cheerful face this morning. Her navy skirt and white blouse were clean and crisp compared to the ones she wore yesterday. Apparently, Betty helped out in the diner during busy times. Yesterday she must have put in a whole shift because they were short a waitress.
"Got some forms for you to fill out, sweetie. The government’s got to know how much of your money it can keep. Sit here in my chair, and when you finish leave them in the middle of the desk and come on out. We’re busy already. I have you helping Lucy for the morning until you get used to the crush."
"Okay. Betty, is there a parking lot where I can keep my car? I had to park it on the street."
"Yeah, there is." She looked annoyed. "And it’s more than two blocks down the street. Down past the old Sears store. Fills up early, too. You won’t get a spot there now, that’s for sure. If it’s full there’s nothin’ but the street, where you are now. The parking ramp is too far away. It’s a pain in the neck, runnin’ out with quarters all day. Unfortunately there’s nothin’ better."
Before long, Anna was behind the counter and Lucy was explaining to her how to use the computerized cash register. Lucy showed Anna how to write up orders, where to get clean dishes, where to stack dirty dishes and what food was kept where.
Harry was the short order cook and handled eggs, burgers, and grilled sandwiches. On older man, Harry worked in the back room and slid orders out onto a shelf to the waitresses in front with a curt, "two over easy" or "burger with."
In between lectures on how everything was done, Anna helped out by running orders. Harry called out when orders were ready to serve. By the time the mid-morning lull came, she thought she was beginning to get the hang of it.
The heavy lunch crowd proved her wrong. Betty gave her only two tables to start with, but she made a hundred trips to those tables between eleven and two. It seemed as if every time she lifted the stainless steel cover off a compartment expecting egg salad, it was tuna salad; and every time she wanted the pickle bin, she got the lettuce bin. When she poured a Coke and a root beer for one couple, by the time she got to the table she’d forgotten which was which and needed to turn her back to sniff one and make sure it was right.
Anna discovered in a flash that in a diner, the waitresses did almost everything except for what Harry cooked on his grill. She gave the customers their menus, filled their water glasses, took their orders, poured their drinks, delivered all their food and condiments, took their money, washed the table, and set it up for the next customer. During slow periods, she mixed fresh tuna salad and potato salad to store in plastic containers for use during busier times. She filled sugar bowls and salt shakers and napkin holders. The only tasks she didn’t do were wash the dishes–a handicapped man came in after lunch—and bake the pastries and cakes, purchased from an area wholesaler.
After running down the street every two hours to put money in the greedy meter, she was determined to get to work early enough tomorrow to get a parking space in the parking lot. Lunch was provided by Betty, but all she had time for was a quick hot dog around two o’clock. Betty assured her when she got used to the routine, she would do less running and would have more free time.
Lucy was a wonder, the kind of waitress often seen in places like this diner. She could easily be categorized as the "stereotype waitress," because if someone had asked Anna to describe what a waitress in a diner looked like, her description would pretty much have matched Lucy.
Fiftyish and divorced, Lucy wore her thinning dyed blondish-red hair piled on top of her head in careful ringlets that must have taken days to arrange. They never looked mussed or disarrayed. Small, wiry and thin as to be nearly emaciated, she ran the diner like she owned it, with everything done almost before anyone asked for it. She could make a tuna sandwich with butter on the bread and lettuce on top in eight-point-two seconds, and she could flip three hamburgers with the flick of a wrist if Harry was on break. She'd been working for years for Betty, before that, for Betty’s husband—and she knew most of the people who came in by name.
All of those details Anna found out because Lucy told her. She talked non-stop, whether she was making an egg salad sandwich or pouring coffee, whether anyone was listening or not. Anna suspected she would know Lucy’s life story from the age of three by the end of the week, and would hear it repeated at intervals forever after.
Betty and Lucy worked around each other like a competent juggling act, and Anna was always bumping into someone or reaching for the same piece of toast. By three o’clock, she felt like an untrained chimpanzee. She also felt as if she’d been working for sixteen hours instead of eight. Her feet hurt as much as if she’d crossed the tundra barefoot, and she wondered what she would have done without the ultra-comfortable nurses’ shoes Betty had told her to buy.
Weary, she retrieved her car and headed for home. At Rose’s house, Mallory was sulking on the couch, watching a mindless episode of
Victorious
. She dragged her body off the couch as if it were an exhausting task, and glared at Anna, who no doubt looked dirty and limp in the hated checkered uniform. "Can I go home now?"
"May I," Anna corrected.
Mallory sighed theatrically. "May I go home? Terry’s supposed to call."
"Yes, you may. I’ll be home in a few minutes. If Brian’s bus gets there before I get back, tell him where I am."
"Yes, Mother. Anything else?"
"No. I think you’d better go before you press your luck too far."
Slamming the door behind her, Mallory was gone in a flash.
Rose shook her head. "Boy, you’ve got a problem there."
Anna nodded. "Don’t I know it."
"I can’t believe how much she’s changed since the accident. She was always restless and on the go. But at least she was well-mannered and cheerful. Has she been like this long?"
"Since day one. As soon as she found out about Mike’s death, she locked the door of her room. I could hear her in there, but she wouldn’t answer me or open the door. It seems like there’s been a closed door between us ever since," Anna replied.
She sank onto the sofa, taking off her shoes and leaning her head back. "It’s almost as if her grief has overwhelmed her so much, she can’t see anything else. She has no interest in anyone’s pain except her own. And I think she actually blames me for being the one alive. She doesn’t see any of her old friends, and she’s gotten involved with this new group of girls who have boyfriends and spend their time in the mall and on the streets."
"It’s worse than I thought."
"Yes, much. What I’m really afraid of is that it may be worse than even I think. Her grandmother spoke to her about the talking back and the attitude at Christmas and I was hoping that would help, but she's reverted right back to her old sarcastic mouth. If anything, she's worse. I can’t get through to her at all. Every time we talk, we argue. I’ve about had it with her mouth. I’m afraid if we have a huge blow-up and I say what I really think, she’ll run away or something. I’d rather have this bad relationship than no relationship at all."
"It’s hard to know what to do in this sort of situation. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know," Rose offered.
Anna closed her eyes and yawned. "Just keep an eye on her when I can’t be here for me, please? And thank your lucky stars your children are grown. It’s a whole ‘nother world out there for our kids these days."
"I’ve heard. I’ve got grandchildren who’ll be old enough to be out in the world soon." Rose’s mouth twisted. She gazed at Anna in sympathy. "You look exhausted."
"You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. I’ll never give a waitress a hard time again. Assuming, of course, I ever get to eat in another restaurant other than Betty’s again. Those girls earn every cent."
Saturday, Anna got her first paycheck. It was only for part of a week so it was even less than the meager amount she’d get the following week. Still, it was hers. Every bit. It was the first money she’d ever earned and, even though she felt foolish, she couldn’t stop taking it out of her pocket to look at it. Every time she saw her name at the top, she grinned, and then felt silly for being inordinately proud of such a tiny amount of money. She’d earned twenty-five dollars in tips, and that pleased her as well.
At last she'd learned the routine of the place and knew where everything was. While she would never be as efficient as Lucy was, she would be competent. Anna wasn’t even sure she wanted to be that efficient. Lucy’s whole life was the diner and the people she saw there were her family. Her efficiency at work seemed to be her only source of pride.
There were a few tense minutes when Rose came into the diner around two o’clock on Saturday, leading a wide-eyed Brian. He’d wanted to come all week, and she’d agreed to let him stop in Saturday afternoon and then go home with her. Mallory was horrified at the thought of visiting Anna at work, and asked permission to spend the day with her best friend, Chris Carlotti.
Rose came through the door, glancing around the interior of the diner, trying to spot her. There were only about a half dozen customers in the middle of the afternoon, and things were pretty slow. Brian spotted Anna behind the counter, wiping up the coffee and sugar spilled by an elderly man who just left.
He ran to her. "Hi, Mom." He slid onto a stool. "You really look like a waitress in here." As if he’d expected her not to.
Rose sat down next to him, a bright smile on her thin face. "You look like you’re doing a great job here, Anna. How’s it going?"
Anna swallowed. "I’m getting the hang of it."
"Can I order a BLT, Mom? I didn’t have any lunch so I could eat when I got here. Can I, Mom?"
"Yes, you may. Would you like a cup of coffee or something to eat, Rose?"
Rose started. "Uh, coffee, I guess." Countless times over the year Anna had been living next door, Rose sat at Anna’s kitchen table while Anna made her coffee or a sandwich. Now, suddenly, she looked uncomfortable with Anna serving her. She gulped down the coffee and got up to leave after mentioning she needed to do some shopping.
After Rose left, Anna felt more at ease. Lucy came over to chat with Brian as he ate his BLT and slipped him an order of fries. Betty came out of her office and saw the three of them talking. A warm smile formed on her lips.
"So this is your little boy. Ain’t he adorable?" Brian’s fair-complexioned face blushed. "We’re not busy. Why don’t you take him to a table and join him for some pie and coffee? You only took a ten minute lunch today."
"I like to sit at the counter," Brian said.
"You do?" Betty grinned at him. "Then you stay right there and your mom’ll join you."
Anna started to move down the aisle to pour herself a cup of coffee. Betty stopped her with a mild slap on her wrist and pointed to the empty seat beside Brian. Anna rounded the counter and sat down. Soon she was warming her hands around a cup of coffee and she and Brian were munching on apple pie.
When they had finished, Anna tried to pay for their food. Betty shook her head stubbornly. "It’s on me." She turned to Brian. "Hey, sport. You tell your mom anytime you want to come in for a BLT, you can get one on the house. Your mom don’t eat her share of food around here. You might as well make up the difference."
"I get too wound up while I’m working to eat much," Anna said in her defense.
"You gotta relax," Betty advised. "You can take a full half hour and unwind enough to eat a decent meal, Anna. You gotta eat. You're losin’ weight."
Anna patted her stomach. "That’s not altogether bad."
"If you’re on a diet to slim down, maybe. However, losin’ weight because you're too tense to sit down to a decent meal’s another thing. You’ll get sick and, much as I’d like to, I can’t afford sick benefits. You’re supporting those kids now. I know what it’s like. After my Ralph died, I came down to this place day in, day out, regardless of how I felt. The boys were in college and I needed the income."
Anna’s heart started to thump. "I never thought about it like that, about what would happen if I got sick now that I’m all they have. I’ll try to eat better from now on."
"Even if you don’t eat," Betty thumped the counter with her forefinger, "you’re takin’ the full half hour anyway.”