“Those tables aren’t going to bus themselves!” shouted Marcie Hardman, a lock of her hair falling out of her hairnet. She pushed it back and reached for the spatula to flip the burgers that had been grilling for what Stacey considered a little too long.

Stacey Murphy sighed and nodded. “Got it,” she called back. Holding a square bucket against her hip, she used her free hand to load dirty plates, mugs and silverware into it.

Milly Hardman, Marcie’s daughter and the heir apparent to the Smokehouse Grill, eyed her, an oily strand of hair over one eye. “Get to it, Stacey,” she muttered, then smirked. Stacey and Milly were the same age. At school Milly had been the quiet underachiever who sat in the back corner, examining her black nail polish and listening to whatever emo band was popular at the time. Ever since Stacey started at the diner, Milly had taken it upon herself to order Stacey around as if pursuing some kind of vendetta. Stacey had no idea why.

“Miss?” A new face turned toward her. He looked like a truck driver, likely on his way through town. The diner was close enough to I-40 to attract its share of truckers. Some were nice enough, others weren’t.

She forced a smile, her face aching with the fatigue of having to brighten everyone else’s day when her own was typically dull. She’d taken this job for temporary income until she got that scholarship to Duke’s engineering program. But she didn’t get it, and hadn’t come up with a plan B. So years later, she was still stuck at the Smokehouse, wearing the same grease-stained yellow uniform with the too-short skirt and too-low neckline. “Yes, sir?”

“Can I grab a coffee refill over here, honey?”

She nodded, her nostrils flaring at the term of endearment. She hated when anyone called her “honey.” It reminded her of her grandfather saying it, and how it was usually followed by his boot in her rear. Biting her tongue to hold back any retorts, she lugged the bucket into the kitchen, pushing the swinging door open with her back.

“How’s it goin’ out there?” asked Phil Owens, the cook who at that moment was taking a break to drink a pint of coffee with a half pint of cream in it. He liked to joke that was the only way to take the beverage, but she liked her coffee hot and in smaller doses.

“Fine, I guess. Full house, and I’m tired from that double shift yesterday. But I’m almost done. Then, I’m headed home to have a long hot soak with some scented bath salts.”

Phil nodded and gulped more coffee. “I hear ya. I think I’ve ‘bout cooked every egg in the whole state of North Carolina this mornin’.” He chuckled, finished the coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Well, guess I’d better get back to it.” They both knew Marcie would be on his case if he took longer than ten minutes for a break, especially with so many customers waiting. Marcie filled in at the grill while he was out, but she didn’t like cooking, and the customers didn’t like her doughy waffles and greasy eggs either.

Stacey stacked the dishes in the sink for the dishpig to wash, set the empty bucket on the floor by the door and headed back out into the diner, grabbing the coffee pot on her way to where the trucker sat. He was shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth as though they’d disappear if he took too long. She poured the coffee into his almost-empty mug with a smile.

He swallowed and smiled back, a glint in his piggish eyes. “Thanks, honey.”

“You’re welcome.” She swallowed her agitation and turned to go.

“Ya sure are pretty, ya know that?”

He was old enough to be her father. Perhaps that’s how she could take it, as though it was a fatherly offering. Nothing sleazy about it. Sure. “Thank you,” she replied stiffly.

“Maybe ya and I could get together when you’re done?” He winked.

Bile rose in her throat. “No. I don’t date customers.”

“Ain’t askin’ ya to marry me, just grab a bite to eat or somethin’. Or perhaps I could grab a bite of ya?” He chuckled.

The coffee still poised steaming in one hand, she rolled her eyes, doing her best to ignore his last remark. “Thanks for the offer, but I work in a diner. Food’s the last thing I want when I leave this place.”

“I wasn’t thinkin’ of food.” That laugh again that sent a shiver up her spine. “We could work somethin’ out, I’m sure.”

Her head began to spin as anger surged through her veins. When his hand landed on her rear and squeezed she couldn’t take it any longer. With the coffee held high so as not to spill, she slapped her other hand against his bearded cheek with as much velocity as she could muster in her five foot four, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame.

His eyes widened, and he pressed his palm to the reddening skin. “What’d you do that for, you little — ”

“Stacey!” Marcie screamed over the din.

Just great, of course Marcie would happen to witness the one and only time in the course of her entire waitressing career that she’d slapped a customer. Maybe she’d see Stacey’s side of things once she had a chance to describe what’d happened.

Her boss loved to gripe, often at full volume in front of the patrons. Half the time it was about something Milly or one of the other waitresses had done, but in her eyes Milly could do no wrong – and seemingly Stacey could do no right.

Stacey marched over to Marcie, whose face had turned a shade of red that was downright scary. “Yes?”

Marcie pointed toward the door that led out back, then set her hands on her hips. She wanted to talk in private this time? This really wasn’t going to be good.

“Yes, ma’am.” Stacey set the coffee pot back on the burner and headed through the door. It wasn’t her fault, she’d been accosted by that lout, and Marcie would see it her way in no time at all, if she’d just let her explain.

She spun on her heel and found herself face-to-face with Marcie. “I can explain…”

“I don’t want to hear your explanations,” hissed Marcie as she slammed the door shut. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Stacey’s eyebrows arched high. “What’s wrong?”

“I told you a dozen times about money going missing from the till,” Marcie snarled. “I finally discovered who the little thief is.”

“Well, that’s good.” But why was she so angry about it? Did she think Stacey knew who it was all along and had hidden it from her? She honestly had no idea. Well, she had seen Milly take money from the till whenever she liked, but had assumed Marcie had told her to for some diner-related expense or another. They were mother and daughter, after all.

“It’s you!” spat Marcie, her nostrils flaring.

“Me? No!”

“Don’t bother trying to defend yourself – Milly saw you do it. Caught you red-handed! I want you to get your stuff and leave – you can bring the uniform back tomorrow after you wash it.”

“What?” Stacey’s brow furrowed. Surely Marcie couldn’t mean she was fired. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Milly was clearly lying. “I never took a cent from …”

“Are you calling my daughter a liar?!”

“Yes! She is lying! It’s her. I’ve seen her take money from the till dozens of times. I thought you knew about it.”

“Don’t try to blame Milly for your crimes. You heard me – you’re fired! And don’t come crawling back asking for your job, ‘cause this was the last straw. You were late twice last week and didn’t give a reason why. Not to mention how many times I’ve had to tell you to make sure the tables stay clear of dirty plates and cups. You know I like a tidy diner.”

Stacey’s mouth fell open. She had been late twice – by three and five minutes, respectively – but Marcie hadn’t said a word until now. She also worked late twice in the last week when Milly decided she was tired and cut out early. As far as the dirty dishes, she’d worked hard on that – and had to, since Milly rarely bussed her own tables. “But … I …”

“I don’t want your excuses. I won’t keep a thief on staff – I’ve had enough.” Marcie’s face was purple and blotchy now.

Stacey’s throat closed. She needed this job, lousy as it was. Even with it, she could barely afford her apartment at Mrs. Welling’s place. But it gave her somewhere to live, and in a nice neighborhood too. After she’d left home it was all she could afford. “Please, Marcie … don’t …”

“You heard me – scram!”

Stacey exhaled slowly, doing her best to keep her emotions in check. She wouldn’t let someone like Marcie Hardman see her upset. It was a setback, but she’d handled worse before and she would again. The one thing that really chapped her was how long she’d worked for someone who didn’t care two pennies for her. She untied her apron, silently handed it to Marcie and walked back into the diner.

As she picked up her purse and coat in the break room, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Phil staring at her, his face puckered as though he was trying not to cry. The tuft of gray hair he usually combed neatly over his bald patch stood straight on end. She sighed. “You heard?”

“I heard. It ain’t true, is it?”

“Of course not. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Bye, Phil.”

He waved silently, then let his hand fall to his side.

On her way out the front door, she glanced at Milly, who watched with a smug smile. She resisted the urge to slap it off her face, after all she was on a roll. Instead, she left slipping her purse strap over her shoulder. Onward and upward – that’s what Dad used to say when he was alive and living with her, Brad and Momma. Back when things made sense and she still had dreams, before her big brother left home to start his real-estate business, before she’d stormed to face the world alone out after another blow-out argument with Momma.

As she walked through town, she studied the people she passed. Most didn’t make eye contact, but the ones who did smiled. A few even said hello. She knew a lot of the locals, but Raleigh was a big city and the Research Triangle was close enough to the small hamlet of Ardensville to keep foot traffic high along the main thoroughfare. Home was a twenty-minute walk away, an easy mile, and there weren’t too many people on the way that she didn’t know at least in passing.

Aggie Welling’s house was on the opposite edge of town from the diner. Renting a room above her garage had its perks – she usually managed to score a couple of dinners a week, since Aggie loved to cook and there was no one else for her to cook for other than her weekly bingo group. Stacey found herself the recipient of various meals, baking and culinary experiments – great, considering how little she felt like cooking after she got home from work.

But what would she do about rent now? It wasn’t as though she had much left over at the end of the month after paying rent and bills. She’d been trying to save, but her beat-up old Corolla had needed new tires and an oil change last month. The month before, she’d had to replace her vacuum; the one before that she’d helped get her mother out of yet another scrape. She had good intentions when it came to her finances, but there was always something to outlay for. Maybe Aggie would let her pay rent a little late this month – after she found a new job. If she did.

She turned the corner onto Oak Lane, shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She loved the street where Aggie lived. Reaching trees lined both sides of the wide country road. Regal old houses set back from the street languished in big, grassy yards like old gentry surveying their estates. If only she’d been able to grow up on a street like this instead of in a trailer park – her life would’ve been so much different.

She glanced at Aggie’s front yard and pulled up short. A red and white square sign sat on top of a raw wood stake, reading FOR SALE, with the name and number of a realtor below. Was Aggie selling? She’d mentioned something about moving to Florida a few times in the past, but Stacey always assumed she wasn’t serious. She’d been saying it for years.

She ran the last dozen steps past the sign, up the stairs and knocked on the front door, then leaned against the frame, her teeth chattering. When the door opened, she blurted, “Aggie, what’s going on? Why is that sign in the yard?”

Aggie smiled. “Hello to you too.”

Stacey shook her head with a half smile. “Sorry. Hello, Aggie.”

“And to answer your questions, I decided it’s time for me to finally move to Florida. I’ve been talking about it so long, I bet you never thought I’d do it.”

Stacey’s eyes widened. “You’re right about that. What brought on this sudden desire for sunshine and surf?”

“You know my son lives down there – he got a new job!” Aggie’s eyes glowed and she clapped her hands in front of her cardigan.

Stacey’s stomach clenched. “Oh.”

“Yup, he’s getting close to retirement and won’t be traveling for work anymore, so he wants me to move down there to join him and his family. He’s going to be a grandfather soon – can you believe it?”

Stacey shook her head. “No, I sure can’t.” Aggie always seemed younger than her years, but she had to be well into her eighties.

“And he’s going to help me buy a condo just down the road from their house.”

“It sounds really great, Aggie. I’m happy for you.” Stacey’s heart hurt. As much as she liked to act like nothing bothered her, the thought of losing the kind old lady who’d taken her in and cared for her more than anyone had before was more than she could bear.

“And, there’s something else you’ll never believe.”

Stacey arched an eyebrow. “Santa Claus is real.”

Aggie giggled and touched Stacey’s arm gently. “You’re a hoot! No, not that. I went down to the realtor’s yesterday to get the paperwork signed, and when they brought the sign by this morning, there was a couple with them who are looking to buy their first house. They’ve already made an offer – isn’t that fantastic?”

Stacey couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Oh.”

Aggie’s smile faded. “Don’t worry sweetheart, you’ll find another place. I’m happy to give you a reference. But I’ll sure miss you.”

“Thanks, Aggie. I’ll miss you too, but I’ll be fine. I’m glad you get to live with your family after all this time.”

She gave Aggie a hug, then trudged down the stairs.

“Oh and honey?”

She glanced back over her shoulder. Aggie tugged her sweater tighter around her thin frame. “You really should wear a coat out. It’s cold today.”

Stacey nodded. “I will, thanks Aggie.”

She strode around the side of the house. As soon as she was out of the old woman’s sight, she let her feet drag along the ground. How could this be happening? First she lost her job, and pretty soon she’d have nowhere to live. What could she do?

God, please help me. I don’t know where to turn. Prayer always helped her feel better, and reminded her Who was in control. Still, she’d feel better knowing where she’d stay until she could find another place to work.

In her apartment, she slumped onto a worn gray loveseat and tugged her cell phone from her uniform pocket. She shivered, then remembered her skimpy outfit. She hurried into the other room, changed into a long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants and a thick wool sweater, tossing her waitress outfit in a corner. She made a mental note to wash it and return it tomorrow, then wondered if she should even bother – what were they going to do, fire her?

Now more comfortable and warming up, she on the loveseat again and dialed.

“Murphy Realty. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Brad.”

“Hey, sis.” He sounded out of breath. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m out for a run.”

“Really? Who’s chasing you?”

Brad chuckled. “Har har. I’m jogging every day now – have to keep myself from getting swivel-chair spread. So what’s going on?”

“Say, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” Stacey sighed. “I need somewhere to sleep for a few nights.”

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Brad’s voice deepened with concern.

“I got fired.”

“What?! Marcie fired you? What for?”

“She says I stole money from her.”

“That’s ridiculous – you’d never do something like that!”

“I know – it’s all Milly’s fault. She’s had it in for me the whole time I worked there. She’s been taking the money, but of course her mom’s not going to believe that.”

“You could go to the police.”

“Yeah, but I can’t prove anything. Really, I just want to put the whole thing behind me. Forget all about the Smokehouse Grill.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Brad’s calm tone soothed her frayed nerves.

“And to add insult to injury, Aggie just told me she’s selling the house. She already has a buyer.”

“I’m sorry, sis. You know there’s a law that says she has to give you at least thirty days’ notice.”

Stacey sighed again. “I know, but I’m not going to hold her to that. She’s always treated me kindly – I don’t want to seem ungrateful. And anyway, what does it matter if it’s now or in thirty days? I’ll be homeless one way or the other until I can find another job.”

“No, you won’t. You can sleep on my couch. Just don’t get used to it,” he teased.

She laughed. “Thanks, Brad, you’re a life saver.”

“And it might be time to give my offer some thought again.”

Stacey sighed. “I don’t know … oh, never mind. I guess I can give being a real estate agent another try. It’s a good job and you’re a kind brother for offering it to me. I guess I should’ve taken you up on it a year ago when I took the realtor exams.”

“I get it. You wanted something different for your life. But there’s nothing wrong with letting family help you out sometimes. And it doesn’t mean you have to give up on your dreams, but this way you can sock away some money for them – and do it from the comfort of your own apartment.” He chuckled.

“Thanks, Brad.” Stacey wrapped up the call and set her phone on the old coffee table. She glanced at the cardboard Smokehouse Grill coasters shoved under one leg to keep it stable, rolled her eyes and glanced around the apartment, her head leaned back against the couch.

Every surface in her living space held some construction project she’d undertaken over the past few years – a half-built replica of New York’s Chrysler building on the round dining table, a miniature Eiffel Tower on the kitchen counter, a plastic naval submarine on her dresser. Her dream of becoming an engineer was something she’d clung to, even without the money or scholarships to make it happen. Frustration had fueled her projects — one model kit after another.

She stood with a scowl, yanked an empty trash bag from beneath the sink and pushed the Eiffel Tower into the bag. The skyscraper and submarine followed, and soon she’d shoved every last project into the bag. She lugged it out to the curb and set it by the side of the road, ready for next morning’s pickup.

Stacey’s throat ached, and she wiped away a tear that threatened to spill from the corner of her eye. No more looking back. It was time to let go of her dreams, to forget about her past. She would be a realtor, not an engineer. She sobbed and scurried back inside, hugging herself tight.