Chapter 19

Haylee

“You’ve got to tell him, darlin’. He’s got to hear it all from your own lips or the two of you don’t even stand a chance.”

Dixie’s right. We’re sitting on a leather sofa inside Grounds Lover, my favorite place for iced chai. It just so happens to be inside the Armonico, attached to Manzo so we know the staff. The onsite pastry chef even uses the Manzo kitchen. We meet for a coffee and girl talk before our shifts whenever we can make it work. Dixie sips her dark roast and looks at me over the rim of her paper cup. We sit for a long while, each of us silent, thinking and drinking. Once I’m ready for a refill, I feel like I’ve processed enough to continue using my best friend as a sounding board.

“Can I get you another?” I ask, holding out my hand to take her empty cup.

“Sure thing, sugar.”

Once I’m back with the fresh drinks, she spears me with a glare. “It has to be done today, Haylee. You can’t wait another second, or that nasty Dante will rat you out, just for the thrill of hurting people. Can you imagine how Ford will feel if he hears about his only child from his arch enemy? The same man that had a hand in killing his father? That’s the kind of thing that even a good man might never recover from.”

Part of me likes the idea. Good, then we’ll be even. An eye for an eye. He ran from us so he can find out about what he left behind from someone he hates. But when I dig deep, I find that’s not what I want at all. I still want Ford as part of mine and Atlee’s future, even if I’m still madder than a wet hen.

“I’m scared,” I mumble, taking a sip of my chai and letting the spices travel down my throat to calm my stomach. “Last time we talked, I told him I didn’t love him.”

“And does that make you a liar?”

Very slowly, I look her in the eye. “Yes.”

I snuggle deeper into the leather of the sofa, wishing it would swallow me whole and take me away from this life that I’ve fucked up so badly I fear it might never get better. And if it were just me, I wouldn’t care. But it’s not just me. My daughter’s involved and so is her father. For better or worse.

I frown so hard my cheeks ache under the effort. It feels like years since I made my deal with the devil and then broke a contract written in blood. And now it’s time to pay the price. I’m not sure I can afford it.

“Why don’t we see what the cards have to say about it?” she says, breaking out the deck that I’m sure was right in plain sight at the top of her oversized Kate Spade bag. I’ve come to love the Tarot even though I’m not sure I’m a true believer. I indulge it because the Tarot’s attached to Dixie and she loves me more than anyone else I know.

Dixie goes into the old routine, shuffling, fanning out the cards and asking me to pick three. I think about my instincts and wonder if they’re any good. They haven’t been where men are concerned, but the cards always seem to be dead on. I’m not sure if it’s their wisdom or Dixie knowing me better than I know myself. She can read me like a book without the benefit of any existential magic.

“Hmm…two of cups. That card means that two people are meant to be together inside of a monogamous relationship. Make a family. Become one unit.”

“Let’s see the other two before we go jumping to any spiritual conclusions,” I say, reaching to flip the next one. She slaps my hand away.

“Don’t you go jumpin’ the gun Haylee-berry Pie. I’m the clairvoyant here.”

I’m not sure she’s clairvoyant, but I am sure that the purplish shade of red she’s dyed her hair this month came from a box of Clairol. That’s the closest Dixie’s going to get to seeing into any future outside of her own.

“Okay, okay,” I say, hands up in the air in a defensive posture. “Flip the next one.”

She grabs the card and twists it with a snap so we can see the face. “Well, isn’t this the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”

My heart stops beating for a split second, and I lean forward as if I’m going to figure it all out on my own. Holding my breath, I ask, “What? What does it say?”

“Why, just look at him, girlfriend. He’s got black hair, piercing blue eyes, and he’s riding a white horse into battle with his suit of armor. Have you ever seen anythin’ so handsome in your whole life?”

I stare at the card that does kind of resemble Ford in a renaissance sort of way. I imagine myself in a stone tower, waving my kerchief until he rescues me. Never gonna happen. I pull the card toward me and mumble a few curse words under my breath. Dixie’s just showing off and bending this reading toward her own agenda.

“Is that for real?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, and puffing out a breath.

“Everyone knows that the Knight of Cups represents a knight in shining armor just like Walt Disney created. He appears in a reading when romance is in the air. He’s said to be handsome, creative and in touch with his feelings like a sensitive alpha man. Kind of like someone we both know. Hmm?”

I can’t deny she’s right, but I also don’t want to add fuel to the fire. Just as Dixie flips the third and final card over, a scream peals out from the bowels of the kitchen.

“Holy mother of God!” Dixie grabs the third card she was about to read and trots toward the sous chef, Juan. He’s wearing some kind of a cardboard contraption, and he’s on fire from the top of his head to his junk. This can’t possibly turn out well.

I jump to my feet and run toward the fire extinguisher. Breaking the glass, I grab it and turn around, ready to spray the chemical all over Juan and Dixie.

“Stop, drop and roll, Juanie!” she screams, pushing him down onto the tile floor and straddling him with her wide hips. Using her hand with the large Tarot card in it, she proceeds to slap him hard all over his body until not one little spiral of smoke remains.

Setting down the fire extinguisher, I exhale a huge sigh. Catastrophe averted. Ginny flings the door to her office open and pokes her head out.

“What’s going on out here?”

“You better come on out here, Ginny,” Dixie says, her large breasts heaving under the effort of saving Juan’s skin. “We almost had our first casualty of the year in poor Juanie. I’m not sure why he was standin’ in front of a gas oven wearing a paper suit, but it appears he’s gonna be okay.”

She reaches up and cups his face in her hand. Juan looks shocked, and I’m not sure if it’s from his brush with death or because Dixie has him in a redneck version of the half nelson.

He throws his arms up in the air and tries to buck her off.

Ginny walks up to the scene, arms crossed over her chest, and peers down at Juan and Dixie. “Juan, why are you wearing a cardboard box in the kitchen?”

He sits up, and Dixie finally extricates herself and stands next to his prone body.

Juan looks sheepish and casts his eyes downward, avoiding eye contact. “I saw it on YouTube.”

Ginny snorts and rolls her eyes. “My ten year old watches that crap. Is it like Jackass or something? You step as close to a hot stove as you can before you catch on fire?”

“No, it’s a home chef that sells this product to protect yourself when you’re frying bacon from the splatter.” He glances at me. “Since someone likes their bacon extra crispy, you have to have the pan on really high heat. His is more like an acrylic shield. My homemade version protected me from the grease splatters, but I guess I stepped too close to the flame wearing a flammable material.”

I wish I’d been recording a video of this entire thing because it’s the craziest damn accident we’ve ever had in all the years I’ve worked at Manzo. Crazier than when Dixie almost sliced the tips of her fingers off using the mandolin. The video of Juan wearing a cheap cardboard copy would probably go more viral than the chef’s original.

Dixie brings the charred Tarot card up to her face and fans herself. “Why, it’s hotter than a billy-goat with a blowtorch in this kitchen. Haylee, can you fetch Juan a bottle of water before he expires right here on the floor.”

Ginny and I share an eye roll before I move to the huge cooler and grab a chilled bottle of casino water. Screwing off the cap, I hand it to Juan, who still won’t look anyone in the eye. I wish I had my phone camera to capture the scene of the giant Hispanic man wearing layers of soot, charred cardboard, and regret.

He looks so sad, I’m not going to mention the smell that’s something between a barbecue gone wrong and a toilet paper factory. The stench tickles my nostrils until I sneeze.

“Holy shit!”

Dixie turns and starts flailing her arms around. “Shoo! Brad, you can’t be back here!”

He rears back and lets out a low whistle. “Should I call the fire department? Does Juan need a medic? Wow, this looks really bad. I’m sure I can be late for work if you guys need help back here.”

“No!”

Three voices scream the word in unison. I’m not sure why Brad thought it would be a good idea to stick his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

“Just go on back to your supper now, would you, Brad?” Dixie says, batting her long, fake eyelashes at him. That tactic usually works but not tonight when we’ve got an episode of Rescue Me being witnessed right in the kitchen of Manzo at the Armónico.

“No way, Jose,” he says, shaking his head. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s even better than that time that Jake Malone got his you-know-what stuck in the shredder.”

Ginny’s eyes widen into saucers. “The shredder? Is he okay?”

“I guess you could say that. There was blood everywhere, Jake was screaming like a pussy, and he finally passed out cold right there on the cement. He pees sitting down now, but I guess there could be things worse than that? He could have been married to Lorena Bobbitt and had the damn thing sliced right off instead of just pulled apart a little.”

I clamp my eyes shut because this conversation has just derailed off the tracks so far it’s in Nebraska while the train’s still in Kansas.

Brad’s eyes move to Dixie’s hand, and he hisses in a breath. “Hey, were you in the middle of doing a reading? What’d it say?”

As Brad points in her direction, Dixie looks down at the card and then up at me. She smiles so wide I swear I can see down the back of her throat.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s the Hierophant. Oh, Haylee-berry pie, you’re gettin’ married.”

Brad jumps and claps his hands. “Sweet. Did you hear that everyone? Haylee and I are getting married!”