Who’d helped me lie.
And then insulted me straight after.
“Chin up.” She slapped her rag against the countertop. Droplets of water hit her black pencil skirt. “And thanks for taking a double tonight. We would have been swamped without you.”
“Of course,” I murmured, as I forced my thoughts back to the present. Another waitress, Stella, ran around the corner, her eyes wide as saucers.
“Liza!” Stella’s eyes watered as she glanced between the two of us. “She’s here.”
“She?” I asked.
“Damn.” Liza scratched her head. Her sleek honeyed hair was pulled back into a tight, low ponytail. “Marcus is sick, and she always requests him for her table.”
Stella nodded dumbly. Was she starting to cry? “What do we do?”
Whatever. I’d dealt with the worst of the worst customers; nobody could be as bad as Mr. Gluten-Free-Crouton man. “I’ll take the table.”
Stella paled.
I let out a non-committal shrug. “Guys, how bad can it be?”
“She set Marcus on fire,” Stella whispered.
“Twice,” Liza added.
“Why?”
“Because she could.” Stella shook her head slowly then repeated. “Because she could.”
Liza rolled her eyes. “Stop being dramatic. Maybe she’ll take a liking to Maddy? Either way, we have to serve her. It’s the law.”
“Great.” Stella rubbed her hands down her black knit dress. “I’ll be sure to remember that when I end up in prison because I strangled the old bat.”
As if on cue, a busboy rounded the corner, his cheeks red, his hands shaking. “Does anyone have the right water for the witch? I’m pretty sure she thinks I just offered to poison her.”
“Why would she think that?” I asked, getting seriously irritated with the snotty customer I’d have to serve.
“Because she said so…” He gulped. “…after she spat it back in my face.”
“Oh, for the love.” I swiped some pink lip gloss across my lips, glanced at my reflection via the window to make sure my wild hair was tamed, and straightened my back. “I’ll take care of this. What table?”
“Six.” The busboy made a cross motion in front of his chest then lowered his head. “As in six-six-six, you know?” He was either Catholic, or thinking of converting — all because of some insane, needy individual who had a God-complex.
Well, not tonight.
Because I was in a hell of a mood.
My feet hurt.
My heart ached.
And I couldn’t stop thinking of the only love I’d ever had — and lost. I took long, purposeful steps toward the new table.
An elderly lady with gray hair was sitting regally with her chin lifted high, her jeweled hands holding up a white napkin as if inspecting it, and her red lipstick perfectly drawn across her pouty mouth. She looked to be around eighty, but I wasn’t sure because of all the makeup she had on.
Her red dress wrapped tightly around a fit form, and her black shawl was snugly circling her neck, falling over her left shoulder.
“Good evening,” I said in the bravest voice I could muster. “And welcome to Terra. I’m—”
The young gentleman with her turned around slowly.
“J-Jason?”