Madeline
***
I’M GOOD AT A LOT OF things. Okay, not really a lot. But waiting tables isn’t one of them. Lord knows I try, though. I hate being on the receiving end of Big Mac’s tirades.
I’m pouring fresh water for table four when I hear Mac from the kitchen. “Madeliiiinne!”
I flinch. And knock over the water glass. Which of course lands in the lap of my customer. Who jumps up and starts yelling at me. Which causes their baby to start crying. I should be grabbing a towel or apologizing or running to the exit never to return. Instead, I stand there. With my mouth open at the havoc I’m causing.
I am the worst waitress in the world. It’s not news to anyone that eats here. And Big Mac is pretty aware of my shortcomings, too. He only keeps me here because his wife won’t let him fire me. Not that Vera cares about me all that much, either. It’s just that she has misplaced loyalty to me. Or maybe it’s guilt.
Strangely, as I’m trying to apologize to the people at table four, everything in the diner gets quiet.
Like those old westerns on TV when the gunslinger enters the saloon and all heads turn and the music stops, everyone in Big Mac’s Diner pauses in mid-action like we’ve been practicing the mannequin challenge for a week. The radio is still kicking out a classic rock song from the ‘80s, and something sizzles loudly on the grill, but those are the only sounds. Even the baby snuffled up her last wail.
We’re all looking at the door—just a regular glass door, not the swinging shutters from an old-time saloon. Standing there, blocking the sun, is the Hulk, I think. Well, he’s not green. He’s just huge. Muscles bulge out from places mere mortals don’t have muscles.
I’m equal parts in awe of him and in fear of him. In fact, I’m mapping my way to the kitchen exit and looking for cover in case there’s violence. His expression doesn’t exactly say he’s here for a cheeseburger and a Coke.
Oh my God.
I recognize him. That’s Boone Barker. Word is that he was released from prison last week, but sightings have been scarce. Not that anyone could blame him for staying away since nobody got out the welcome wagon for the poor guy. The opposite, in fact. It would have made everyone feel a whole lot better if he’d just never come back. Then they wouldn’t have to face how badly they treated him. How everyone just forgot about him and left him to rot in that cell only to find out he’s not guilty after all.
Which is pretty shitty, when you think about it.
He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he starts walking the rest of the way inside. When he takes a seat at a booth, I realize maybe he really is here for a cheeseburger and a Coke.
Shit! He’s in my section.
I shoot a pleading glance at Marion to cover me, but she shakes her head. Most days, I expect her to say things like, “Kiss my grits,” with that nicotine voice she’s got. But despite the hard lines on her face, she’s usually pretty nice to me.
I mouth the word “please” but Marion shakes her head.
Damn.
I already suck at this job when I’m not half scared to death. I can’t imagine how many ways I’ll find to screw this up.
Boone Barker is seven years older than my twenty. I remember following his championship football season when I was in middle school and he was a senior. Every girl with a beating heart had a crush on Boone Barker. He was the quarterback, the prom king, the valedictorian—basically he was the kind of guy that nobody believes exists in real life. Perfect. Handsome. Smart. Friendly. Talented.
They took his picture out of the trophy case at the high school when he was arrested.
I just assumed he was guilty. Otherwise, it would have been unbearable to think about—our hometown hero in prison for no reason. It was easier to believe he’d gone rogue than to accept that life could be that unfair.
Turns out life really is that horrible.
He was innocent the whole time.
His sentence has been overturned, and he’s a free man now. He should look a lot happier than he does. If I were him, I’d have settled someplace new. Where they didn’t used to know and supposedly love me and then turn their backs on me. Where they wouldn’t turn their eyes away in guilt at their own shame whenever I come near.
But I don’t have a family of my own anymore, and Boone does, which is probably what brought him back. He’s got his dad and that farm. Both are a mess from what I hear, but at least it’s something. Me? I’ve got a crappy room above Big Mac’s garage out back, a job I’m no good at that makes less than nothing, and a family of me, myself, and I.
I swallow hard against the ball of fear in my throat. Everyone around me gets back to their business, though their tones are hushed. Marion brings out a towel for my soaked customer, and I shuffle slowly to Boone’s table.
I pull the pad out of my pocket and the pen from behind my ear. “Welcome to Big Mac’s,” I say, too loudly I bet because my ears are ringing, and I’m probably going to throw up on him or faint dead away on the floor, “What can I get for you?”
He studies me for what seems like a really long time. He’s still handsome, but it’s grittier now. My heartbeat fills my ears, which is better than the ringing, I guess. His stare is so intense, though. Like I can physically feel the testosterone emitting out of his gaze.
I break eye contact, but there’s no safe place for my gaze to roam. His square, stubbled jaw. The thick column of his throat. His broad shoulders stretch the very limits of his T-shirt seams. His barrel chest. His...
He coughs, and I blink back my perusal. Is he smiling at me? Just a little? You can’t really tell by his mouth, but his eyes soften just a bit. “A menu.”
“Huh?” I sputter.
“You asked what you could get me. I’d like to start with a menu.”
“Of course.” Stupid, Madeline. “Sorry. I’ll...” I point to the counter. “And then...right back I’ll be.”
Right back I’ll be?
I repeat my stupidness all the way to the counter, where I manage to remember to grab a menu and the coffee pot in case he wants some, and back to his table. Right back I’ll be. I really am hopeless.
I hand him a menu and ask if he wants coffee. He eyes my shaking hand and says no. I leave him to take care of my remaining tables and try to compose myself.
Why am I so flustered? He’s the one who is trying to get his life back after a horrible mistake. Everyone should be trying to make him feel at home instead of ostracizing him because they feel bad they weren’t on his side when he needed them most.
“Have you decided?” I ask when I work up the nerve to go back to his table.
“Cheeseburger and a Coke.” He did not just say that. Did he really? “You have a nice smile,” he adds.
I hadn’t realized I was smiling. “Thanks. You have nice hands.”
Oh. My. God. Seriously, I need a muzzle. I’d just been looking at his hands, and so it came out. I can’t even fathom what I’d meant to say.
“Thanks.”
Count it off, Maddy Mae. Three. Two. One.
I take a breath after my silent counting and try again. “I’m sorry. I’d love to say that I’m not usually so awkward, but this is pretty much how I just am. So, I’ll just go and put your order in.”
“And right back you’ll be?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Something like that, yeah.”
When I bring his Coke, he’s staring out the window. It doesn’t seem fair that he looks so sad when he should be happy to be out of prison. “Has very much changed? It always looks all the same to me. Day in, day out.”
He blinks at me. Wow. I don’t know that I ever realized how deep a green his eyes were. Probably not since this is the closest I’ve ever been to him.
“It’s kind of weird. It’s the same but different. That probably doesn’t make any sense.” He slides his drink closer. “Thanks for asking. Not many people have acknowledged that I’ve been gone or that I’m back.”
“You deserve better than that. I’m sorry, Boone. I’m so sorry that you had to go to prison and that it took so long to find the evidence to prove your innocence. I’m sorry for all you’ve lost. And I’m really sorry that people don’t know how to treat you now. It’s not your fault.”
“Well, it’s not their fault either. I’m not the same man they knew.” Something about the way he looks at me makes my heart do a little flip. “On the bright side, I do have nice hands, though.”
My cheeks flame out. “You like teasing me.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to tease a pretty girl.”
“Now I know you’re teasing.” Pretty girl. Ha. “I’m not beating off the boys from my front door.” Oh. My. God. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” He nods. “I’ll go check on your burger and maybe sew my mouth closed so I stop saying stupid things.”
He laughs through his nose. “I like the way you talk. You say what you’re thinking. It’s not a quality a lot of people have these days. A person knows where he stands with someone who doesn’t hide what they’re thinking in words they don’t mean.”
“Well, what I’m thinking right now is your lunch must be close to ready. I’ll go see if I can add some extra fries to your plate without anyone noticing.”
He winks at me, and I concentrate on my steps so I don’t humiliate myself further by tripping.
Marion stops me behind the counter. “Is he going to start trouble?”
“What? No. He’s minding his own business. Which is more than I can say for all the gawkers in here. Hasn’t the poor man been through enough?”
Marion shakes her head; her stiff updo never moves, though. I wonder how much of her paycheck goes to hairspray. Whatever is left from her Menthol Mores. “Look at him, though. He looks like those guys from Sons of Anarchy.”
“He does not.” Except in the very best way possible. “He looks like he’s lifted a lot of weights and is ready to take care of his farm.”
The bell rings and Mac shouts, “Order up!” I grab the burger and make my way to Boone, but not before I hear Mac bellow my name again. Great. What did I do now?
I’ll...just ignore him for a bit.
“Madeline, how come I don’t recognize you?” Boone asks me, reading my name tag when I set his plate down and pull the ketchup from my pocket.
“It’s Madeline, with a long I, actually. And we didn’t go to school at the same time.” Not that he would have recognized me if we had. I had an awkward stage more awkward than the one I’m in now. And it lasted a good long while.
“Wait,” he grabs my wrist, his eyes lighting up with curiosity, “are you Mad Maddy?”
Fuck. Me. I hate this town.
Tugging my arm away from him, I knock the ketchup bottle over. “Will that be everything?” I ask through clenched teeth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck
Boone rights the bottle. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” I shrug and turn, but he grabs my wrist again. “Madeline, I’m sorry.”
“It really doesn’t matter.”
“No, it does. It’s just that there aren’t many people in this town more notorious than me. I didn’t mean to be rude, though.”
There’s nothing I can do about the hot ball of tears working its way up. “Nobody has called me that to my face in a long time.”
It was my dad who was notorious. Every town has one. I just drew the lucky lottery ticket and got to be the daughter of the crazy guy who would stand on the street corner and rail at all the sins of man, prophesizing doomsday. My mom left me with him when I was too small to remember her. I don’t begrudge her escaping him. I just wish she’d taken me with her.
Every weekend, I had to stand on the corner with him, holding up my sign. I didn’t know what they even meant for a long time. I didn’t know we were abnormal. That all fathers weren’t so stern, so full of hate. He was probably mentally ill, too, but it’s hard to work up compassion for the man who kept me prisoner to his strict religion.
We’d lived on the outskirts of town, off grid. He did odd jobs and I did the housework once I was old enough. When I questioned his anger at people we didn’t even know, I had to write pages and pages of bible verses. So I stopped asking questions. As I got older, I realized people called us Lunatic Larry and Mad Maddy.
I had to wear long dresses that looked like I was a frontier girl and was home-schooled until junior high when the state forced him to put me into the system he so hated. Going to public school, as you might imagine, was not a picnic. Kids are cruel. And so was my dad. But little by little, I was able to loosen myself from his tight grip. I made a friend. Then two. They would help me change in the bathroom before school started, into clothes they brought me from home. A teacher took pity on me and would sneak me books that I could escape into as long as I kept them hidden from my father.
“Will you forgive me for being such a douchebag?” Boone asks.
“It’s no big deal.”
“No, it really is. I got mean in prison. I don’t want to stay that way. Please tell me what I can do to earn your forgiveness.”
“Madeliiiiine!”
We both look toward the kitchen. “I have to go. Enjoy your meal.”
With any luck, I’ll never see Boone Barker again. Of course, the only luck I’ve ever had is bad.