Home.
This may have been home once. In prison, she used to lie in her cot and dream of Cainsville the way others dreamed of Hawaii and Acapulco. Paradise.
Only she'd soiled her paradise years ago. Shit on it every chance she'd gotten, and people here had long memories. When she came back, they didn't see the new Margie. They only saw the kid who'd broken into their homes, threatened little kids in their park, stolen cars from their driveways.
It'd been the dope--she'd needed money for more and had been too stoned to care what she did to get it. That didn't matter. She'd made them lock their doors. She'd made them call their children in before dark.
They'd get past it, her mother said. Margie just had to hang in there.
She could. She would.
If only the universe would see fit to recognize her efforts and give her a break.
Being a waitress had seemed easy enough. There was a learning curve, and she expected that. What she didn't expect was that she seemed incapable of getting around that curve. No matter how hard she tried, things were always going wrong. Plates dropped when she was sure she had them balanced. Cream curdled weeks before the sell-by date. Salt turned up in the sugar dispensers even when she'd taste-tested it before putting them out.
Then there was the nurse. After her mother's hip replacement last month, they'd hired someone to come in while Margie was at work--it cost almost as much as Margie made, but it kept her job safe. The damned woman phoned her several times a shift. Margie had complained to the agency, but they had no one else within commuting distance. So she was trying to keep the calls as short as possible.
And speaking of unwanted interruptions...
"Margie," Patrick called as she came out from behind the counter, weighted down with plates. He lifted his empty mug.
She pretended not to see him. Damned parasite. Took up one of the best tables for hours every day. And what did he buy in return? A single cup of coffee. She wasn't even sure he paid for it. She'd tried to give him a check her first day on the job, and Larry came roaring out of the kitchen so fast you'd have thought his shorts were on fire. He'd snatched it from her and said Patrick paid monthly for his coffee.
Like hell.
Patrick had something over Larry, something that made the poor guy break into a sweat when Margie suggested they kick him out if he didn't buy food.
Larry didn't deserve that, and she wasn't putting up with it. She wouldn't jump to refill his coffee every time he raised his mug. If they were lucky, Patrick would get the hint and take his damned novel to the coffee shop. Isn't that where writers were supposed to work?
Until then, she'd just keep ignoring him and otherwise do her best. Because she couldn't afford to lose this job, not when she was so close to turning her life around.
Chapter Twenty
As I walked into the diner, the first people I saw were the elderly couple from the day before. Ida and Walter.
"Thank you for yesterday," Ida said, giving my arm a pat. "I had my silk blouse outside. The rain would have ruined it."
"Any more predictions?" Walter asked. "I'm taking the boat out tomorrow. Hate to drive all the way to the lake and have the weather turn on me."
He smiled when he said it, but the look in his eyes was dead serious. Across the aisle, two old ladies leaned closer, listening.
"No predictions today," I said. "I don't even know why I said that yesterday. Just a hunch, I guess."
"Hun
ch?" one of the women called over, loud enough to make me wince. "That's no hunch. You read the signs. Some people can."
Ida nodded. "There are always signs, dear. You just need to pay attention." She moved over in the booth. "Come sit with us. Don't worry. We won't pester you for any more predictions."
As I was sitting, the would-be novelist caught my eye and lifted his coffee cup. I hesitated. There was no sign of the server, but he was closer to the coffee station than I was. He could damned well get his own refill. And yet ... Well, he gave me this feeling that said ignoring him would be ... unwise. I wouldn't mind a job here, so showing my willingness to work wasn't a bad thing.
I got the pot and filled his cup.
"Looking for a tip today?" he said.
"Sure."
He leaned over, voice lowering. "Larry's in a foul mood. Breakfast isn't even over and Margie's already dropped two plates, including the one for Peter Marks, which landed on his lap, right before he took off for a big meeting in Chicago. Marks is the landlord--gives Larry a good deal on the place. Larry said if she screws up again, she's gone. And he just might mean it this time."