Chapter 13: Racist generals and cryptic fortune cookies.
I tilt my head, grin at Amy. “It’s not bad,” I say. “I hear there’s a better place in Cleveland, but, you know, for a small town, Soul Mountain’s pretty good.” I grab a menu. “So… you really want some lunch?”
“Well, I hear eating when you’re at a restaurant is the thing to do, and I didn’t have breakfast, so… yeah. I do want some lunch.”
I wave my arm at the dining room, which is empty except for Jodie and Ben. “Where do you want to sit?”
“Anywhere in the sun,” she answers, and I grin again because Basel was grey, cold, and rainy when we left a few days ago, and so far, Ohio has been warm and sunny. At least it has that going for it.
“Lead the way,” I tell her.
She sits down at a table across from Jodie and Ben and asks me for menu suggestions. I give them to her, and fifteen minutes later, after running a few more credit cards and taking a few more take-out orders over the phone, I’m bringing her a bowl of thupka with sides of collards, cornbread, and my mother’s pimento mac ’n cheese.
Jodie gives me a curious look when I sit down across from Amy and rest my elbows on the table.
“So how’s Marcine so far?” I ask.
She butters her cornbread. “I’ve only been here for about sixteen hours, and this is the first time I’ve actually made it out of my hotel room, but… so far, so good?”
I chuckle. “When’s your friend’s wedding, again?”
“This weekend.”
I think for a second. Today’s Tuesday. “And what are you doing between now and then?”
“Helping out, mostly. She’s got a dress fitting tonight after work, I’m helping the wedding planner down at the church where they’re holding it tomorrow, then there’s a bachelorette party Friday night, the rehearsal dinner Saturday… blah, blah, blah.”
“Too bad,” I say. “If you weren’t going to be so busy, I thought I’d show you around the bustling metropolis of Marcine. Show you all the most exciting places. Like the statue of George Custer in the park across from the courthouse.”
She frowns. “George who…?”
“Custer. You know, famous dead general? Responsible for the deaths of thousands of Native Americans? Battle of Little Bighorn? Custer’s Last Stand?”
“Oh, right,” she says. “That Custer.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is there another?”
She laughs. “Quit busting my chops. I only just woke up a couple of hours ago, and my body hasn’t figured out what time zone I’m in yet.” She takes a bite of her cornbread and closes her eyes. “Oh — this is good.”
“Toldya. You won’t find cornbread like that anywhere else in the state.”
“I believe you,” she says. She swallows, washes it down with a mouthful of water. “So — about Custer.”
I chuckle. “About Custer? You just started a new topic of conversation with ‘about Custer’?”
Her pale cheeks redden immediately, and I like the effect. “Didn’t I tell you to stop busting my chops? But it’s not about Custer per se. More about going to see his statue. And all the other ‘big sights’ of Marcine. If you’re not too busy, I was wondering if you — ”
The phone rings at the podium and I lift up a finger. “Hold that thought. I gotta get the phone.”
I take another call-in order, asking the guy to repeat himself five fucking times because the connection is so bad, and I feel Amy watching me the whole time. It’s distracting, so I turn my back and lean against the wall, putting my palm over the ear that’s not against the phone so that I can finally hear him.
I go back to the kitchen to give the order to Becker and am not at all surprised to find Gerry sitting on his ass in the office, smoking a cigarette. I think about leaving it, because I still have a headache and I still think it’s too fucking early for sibling rivalry games, but I’m also stinging from the conversation with Momma this morning, so I fling the door open and step inside.
“You’re fucking smoking in the kitchen.”
He looks up from the stack of paperwork he’s got in front of him. “I’m in the office. And the door was closed,” he grumbles, but he stabs the cigarette out in the coffee saucer sitting in front of him anyway.
“You know we don’t smoke in here.” I wave my arm around the hazy office. “God, Gerry,” I say, and then I quote the ominous fortune cookie I’ve been carrying in my wallet for the past ten years. “Take the time to think before you act.”
“Think before I… Jesus Christ, Anika, since when did you become such a law-abiding tight-ass?”
“Since I didn’t want our customers’ food to taste like licking a fucking ashtray!”
“Sorry — I smoke when I’m stressed out, okay?”
I cross my arms against my chest. “And what the fuck do you have to be stressed out about? You live with Mom and Dad for free. You have the same fucking job you’ve had since you were sixteen. When you were sober enough to show up for work, that is.” I gesture at the desk. “But apparently you don’t have to work even when you are sober since you’re sitting back here on your — ”
“Come on, it’s been slow. I came back here to work on payroll. Thought I’d surprise Dad by getting it done today so he doesn’t have to worry about it this week.”
“Whatever,” I huff, even though it’s a legit excuse and I’m a little jealous that I didn’t think of it myself.
“Except — look.” He pushes a paper across the desk at me. “I don’t know if there’s enough money in the bank to make payroll this week.”
“Wait — what?”
I snatch the paper up, which turns out to be a bank statement. He’s right — the balance is much lower than it should be. He points at the computer screen.
“And look at this.”
I bend over his shoulder, read the figures in the accounting software he’s pulled up.
I’ll be damned. He’s right. We’re barely going to be able to make payroll — if we make payroll. And after payroll, there’s not going to be enough cash in the bank for the week’s groceries. Dad can always charge them, but the cashflow situation…
I drop the bank statement back on the desk, shaking my head. “I’m sure Dad’s got it figured out. There’s probably another account we don’t know about or something.”
Gerry shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Anika.”
His pronouncement echoes in the small office.
“I’ve got a customer waiting on me,” I tell him after a few seconds of tense silence, during which time we sit there and stare at each other like confused mutes. I walk out of the office, out of the kitchen, and drop back into the seat across from Amy, where she nibbles at her mac ’n cheese.
“It’s good, right?” I say, hoping I don’t smell like cigarette smoke. “Baked mac ’n cheese with pimento and paprika. My mom’s secret recipe.”
She sets her fork down. “Every bite I take, I swear I’m probably gaining another five pounds.”
“I don’t think that math really works.”
I start my next sentence at the same moment she says “I was — ”
We both laugh. “You go ahead,” I say.
“Before you went to answer the phone, I was going to ask if you — I’m not busy tomorrow night, and I don’t have anything else to do when I’m not with my friend except sit in my hotel room and watch Pay Per View, so I thought… maybe you’d like to do something? Grab a coffee? Look at statues of dead generals?”
My heart speeds up, does a little happy dance in my chest like I’m eighteen again and holding Jenny’s hand in public for the first time. “Amy Ellis. Did you just ask me out?”
More red cheeks and it’s adorable. She lifts both eyebrows. “Only if you’re going to say yes. If you’re going to say no, then I was just asking because I was bored and I don’t know anybody else in town and my friend’s going to be too busy to hang out tomorrow night.”
Before I can answer her, the phone rings again.
“Hang on, okay? I need to answer that.” I get up, push the chair back in.
She groans and shakes her head. “You’re killing me.”
“Just — hold on a sec,” I say over my shoulder, laughing.
But Amy doesn’t have anything to be worried about. Of course I’m going to go have coffee with her tomorrow night. My only disappointment is that she asked me out before I got a chance to ask her out.
I feel fucking lighter than I have in weeks when I strut to the podium.
Still got it.