Changing Tides, page 6
But it was one o’clock, and she still had thirty minutes to go before her shift ended. Lunch was in full swing, and Mandy left at noon. Replacing her was a twenty-year-old named Zeke.
He burst into the kitchen, clapping his hands together, his voice loud even above the clanging of pans and hubbub of the kitchen. “Rachey, Rachey, you have five people waiting. Table Two. Oh, and a single at One.”
Rachel grimaced. So far, Zeke was not her favorite colleague.
“Come on! Pick up the pace,” he chirped as he rushed past with several empty glasses.
Rachel hurried back out to the dining room with two crab cake sandwiches, set them in front of the customers at Three, then turned for the bar. She’d get the single order first, then take the large party and place their orders with the kitchen.
She hurried toward Table One, flipping to a blank page in her notepad. So far, she’d proven to be useless without it. Then she pulled the pen out from behind her ear when she glanced up and froze.
Bright blue eyes and a particularly smug smile stared back up at her, and her stomach dropped.
Carter.
She opened her mouth, only for a hiss of air to escape her lungs.
If the ground swallowed her up, it wouldn’t be a moment too soon.
“Well, well, well.” Carter steepled his hands in front of him, a grin curling the corners of his lips. “The last person I expected to see here was you.”
Rachel glanced down at her feet, to the broken heel of her pump as embarrassment burned in her cheeks. “What do you want?” she asked, pen poised on her notepad.
“Well, now, that’s not a very friendly way to greet your customers, is it?”
She met his eyes for a hot second, shooting daggers at him before she lost her nerve, and dropped them back down to her notepad.
When she said nothing, he continued in a softer tone. “So, the rumors are true.”
Her throat bobbed.
So Carter had heard.
Her nostrils flared as she glanced up at him, mustering the courage to look him in the eye, the truth settling between them with all the subtlety of a rotting corpse, knowing how she looked: hair in a messy pony, dress stained, heel missing, with the glow of sweat on her brow, willing herself to be strong. “I have other tables, so if you’d hurry and give me your order, I’d appreciate it.”
Carter chuckled and rubbed his nose. “All right. I’ll take the fish special, blackened, with a baked potato.”
Rachel wrote it down, while biting the inside of her cheek. “And to drink?”
“Pellegrino with lime.”
Rachel had no idea if they had Pellegrino and suspected Carter was just messing with her. Still, she wrote it down. He’d get whatever they had and like it.
She tucked the pad back in her pocket, but not before Carter grunted a sympathetic sound and crossed his arms over his chest. “I never thought I’d see the day that a Beaumont would be waiting tables, serving fish and chips. It’s sad, really.”
“Yeah, well, if you’re done, I gotta go.” Then she turned quickly and made her way to Table Two, fighting back the sting of tears because crying would do nothing to help her.
Shoulders back, she took Two’s orders, her voice thick with emotion, feeling Carter’s gaze on her the entire time before she disappeared into the kitchen and placed their orders.
When Zeke brushed past, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, her expression earnest as she asked, “Will you, please, deliver drinks to One and Two?”
“What?” He wrenched her hand off him. “No. Take care of your own tables.”
Rachel sagged, her eyes damp. “Please.”
Something about her expression must’ve warmed him to her because he sighed and said, “Okay, but I get half your tip, and you’re delivering their food.”
It was highway robbery, but Rachel needed a moment to collect herself, so she bit her lip and nodded.
“In the meantime, make more coffee.” Zeke motioned toward the coffee pots. “There’ll be men coming in off the boats at two, and they either go one of two places. The O for a beer or here for a cup. But this time of year, a lot of ‘em come here first to warm up.”
“Fine, sure,” she said, already making her way toward the drink station.
Zeke loaded his tray with drinks, eyeing her warily before he asked, “You okay?”
Rachel glanced up at him, oddly grateful for the concern.
Maybe Zeke wasn’t so bad after all.
“Yeah, fine.” She inhaled, taking a deep breath.
Or at least she would be.
“Okay. See ya back out there,” he said, then vanished through the kitchen doors.
Ten minutes later, Carter’s food was ready.
Rachel gripped his plate, steeling her nerves as she prepared to face him again.
She could do this. No big deal.
Heading back out into the dining room, she noted a new couple at one of her tables, and for the first time today was grateful to be busy because it meant a distraction and an excuse to leave Carter as quickly as possible.
She set his plate down in front of him, but instead of eyeing his food, his gaze stayed focused on her face, and when she went to pull away, he caught her hand. “You’re too pretty to be working here.”
Rachel straightened, pulling her hand away, and ignored him.
“Come on, Rach. I can help you.”
Rachel half-laughed. “And how can you do that?”
“I can talk to my father, but if you’d just give me a chance—”
“That ship has sailed, Carter.”
“Come on. We were eighteen when we started dating. Twenty-one when we broke up. We were just kids.”
Rachel arched a brow. “Yeah, and you haven’t changed.”
“I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” he said, his tone fierce. “I don’t know the details of what’s happened, but I can give you your life back again, everything you’re accustomed to. You can live on the water in a house that’s fit for a queen. You’re too good to be working yourself to the bone.”
Rachel huffed out a breath, but he ignored her. “You deserve better.”
The picture he painted was a nice one. She’d like to believe she was better than her grease-stained apron, but that would be a lie.
“I won’t sell myself for a house on the beach and weekly spa appointments.”
Carter sighed and raked a hand through his hair.
“Yo, Rachey,” Zeke called out. “Get your orders before they get cold.”
Rachel turned to see Zeke coming at her, balancing an overloaded tray by his shoulder.
“I’ve gotta get this,” she said, ducking her head as Zeke lowered the tray down for her to take.
Placing one hand under the tray, she reached the other one out to grip it when Zeke let go a moment too soon. Rachel watched the tray slide in slow motion and crash to the ground, two of them landing on Carter’s lap.
He jumped up, eyes wide, and his face turned so red it was nearly purple. No doubt, Carter Fleming wasn’t used to having clam chowder and fish and chips dumped on his lap.
He raised his hands, breathing heavily when Boggs appeared out of nowhere.
His eyes flickered in shock at Carter’s disposition, then to Rachel, who now held the empty tray, jaw dropped in shock.
“That’s it!” he barked, hooking a thumb toward the door. “You’re outta here.”
Rachel blanched. “But it was Ze—” Her words died on her lips as she swiveled around to find Zeke gone. The rat. He must’ve scampered off the moment the tray crashed to the floor.
Turning back to Mr. Boggs, Rachel was on her own.
She fisted her hands by her side as she tried to explain, but Boggs wasn’t budging. “You’re fired,” he said again. “Don’t come back.”
Carter glanced up at her, his expression pinched as he used the napkin Boggs offered him to sop up the soup on his chest while Boggs muttered on, apologizing for her incompetence.
Rachel opened her mouth to plead, to beg for her job back, when Boggs said, “Silly, girl. I should’ve known the second I laid eyes on her that she’d be a flop.”
Anger burst in her veins.
“You know what . . .” She seethed.
Fumbling with the apron strings, she worked to untie them with shaking hands, then tore it off her waist and flung it at him. “Take it! I didn’t want this stupid job anyway. It’s awful, and the pay is terrible. And . . . and . . .” Rachel noted Carter’s mouth rounded in shock, which somehow fueled her indignation even more. “And your fries are greasy!”
Boggs gasped and pointed at the exit. “Get out.”
“Gladly.” And with that, Rachel lifted her chin and limped her way out the door on one heel with as much dignity as she could muster.
Chapter Eight
Rachel hobbled to Andi’s old Honda and wrenched open the door, then sunk inside. How dare Boggs blame her for Zeke’s mistake. It wasn’t her fault he let go of the tray before she had a handle on it. And Carter . . . Him and his “God’s gift to women” attitude could shove it.
She was done with Boggs and Carter and waitressing and the stupid yacht club crowd. So done.
Flipping the visor mirror down, she glanced at her reflection and shrieked.
The woman that stared back at her was unrecognizable. This was not the same coiffed, well put together woman Rachel had known herself to be. No. This woman looked like she’d been through a war zone.
Her forehead was shiny with sweat and black smudges of mascara ringed her eyes. Stray strands of blond hair formed a halo around her head, and her once beautiful dress was stained.
She was a veritable train wreck, and she felt every bit as awful as she looked.
How did people do this day in and day out? And why? Rachel couldn’t possibly fathom why one would willingly wait tables for a living. She’d rather do just about anything else, like pluck her eyelashes out one by one, hold her hand over a hot burner, or eat generic mac and cheese for the rest of her life. Maybe she’d sell her platelets. They could have it all, take every last drop of blood if it meant not having to work a job like this again.
Stabbing the keys into the ignition, she turned the engine over, glanced at the dash, groaning at the sight of the needle on empty. Annoyed, she shot out of the parking lot faster than she intended, squealing rubber in the process, and headed toward the closest gas station.
Luckily, getting gas was one thing she knew how to do.
She pulled up next to the pump and took a moment first to wipe underneath her eyes with her fingers, then smooth down her hair and readjust her ponytail before getting out.
After she slid her credit card through the reader, she waited for the pump to turn on, but instead, the little screen beeped, then flashed at her. Leaning closer, she read: declined.
What?
She stared in openmouthed astonishment. The last time she used this card at the grocery store, it still worked. And though she should have suspected this eventuality, considering her parent’s financial predicament, she hadn’t.
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. Fumbling back inside the car for her wallet, she pulled out her debit card, knowing her meager balance would take a hit, even with forty dollars in gas.
She no longer had a job though. Maybe she didn’t need the car so badly after all?
Regardless, she pulled out the card and swiped it. The right thing to do was fill the tank, considering Rachel had been the one to use the gas, and Andi was already doing so much for her as it was. By letting her borrow her car and stay at her place, she allowed Rachel to reside in Bayshore when she would otherwise be castigated to her parent’s care like a two-year-old.
Things could always be worse, she mused. Though her situation looked grim, she was still there in the town she loved, even if she was just barely hanging on by her fingertips.
The card reader beeped, and the pump lights turned on. Rachel pushed the appropriate gas button, then began to fill the tank, wondering how long it’d be until her balance was down to zero and what she’d do then.
A minute later, the pump shut off, and Rachel hung it back up, then snagged her receipt, and got inside her car. She should really buy some groceries. After all, she’d been staying at Andi’s place a couple days now and would be for the unforeseen future. Maybe she’d stop by the grocery store and get just a few basics. But first, she’d better run by the ATM and check her account to see exactly how anemic it was.
She swung by Bayshore Bank and waited her turn to pull up to the drive-thru ATM. Once she swiped her card, she put in her pin, then hit the button to get her account balance. The receipt printed with excruciating slowness.
She ripped it out and stared at the number printed in tiny black ink.
Seven hundred dollars.
Her hand shook as she stared at the little slip of paper, sure it must be wrong.
How could she only have seven hundred dollars?
She swallowed hard as the realization hit; she just got fired from the only open position in town. She needed to feed herself, pay for gas, and her cell phone bill, all with only seven hundred dollars, which meant she’d have a couple months before she’d be down to nothing. Zero. Zilch. And that was while mooching off her best friend.
She lowered the receipt and stared out her windshield.
Then what? What would she do once she had only a dollar to her name?
She couldn’t expect Andi to pay for her everyday living expenses. Andi was her friend, not her parent, and Rachel was no longer a child.
A horn blared behind her.
Rachel jumped at the sound, then glanced in her rearview mirror to see the driver of the car waiting lift his hands impatiently in the air.
Smashing her lips together, Rachel twitched as she fought the insatiable urge to flick him the bird—something she hadn’t done since high school.
Instead, she gritted her teeth and pulled away from the ATM, back out onto the main road.
She’d skip the grocery store for now, but in a few days, she’d go shopping. She couldn’t eat someone else’s food forever. It just wasn’t right.
By the time she arrived back at Andi’s place, the weight of her day had pressed down on her shoulders.
She’d spent weeks looking for a job, and once she finally got one, she’d blown it, all because of that twerp, Zeke. Or, at least, she was blaming it all on him, despite the fact she had flubbed up plenty today all on her own. Regardless, there was no way she could’ve set her pride aside in front of Carter and beg for her job back. Not when he was staring at her like that in righteous indignation, and worse, pity.
Rachel parked, then headed inside.
Maybe Carter was right. She wasn’t cut out for a life of labor. She had no clue what she was doing, and every time she turned around today, she was screwing up. It was hard work for little pay and zero recognition. Well, unless you counted the meager tips she earned. But by meager, she meant downright emaciated. The three bucks from the fishermen that morning was the highlight. No-Pepper-Lady gave her nothing, and after screwing up drink orders, spilling one customer’s water, and taking too long to deliver food and orders, she’d come home with a measly twelve bucks.
She closed the front door behind her and headed for the kitchen, needing something fattening—preferably chocolate—to comfort her in her time of need.
She was halfway to the pantry cupboard when Andi entered and halted in her tracks. “What the heck happened to you?”
Rachel glanced down at her broken heel. She’d been so intent on rummaging around for a treat, she forgot she was still wearing it.
Reaching down, she slid the mutilated shoes off, then headed to the trash can where she chucked it inside with an ominous thud. Only then did she turn to face Andi again. “I got fired,” Rachel blurted.
“What?” Andi’s gaze darted around her as if the explanation could be found floating in thin air. “Why? How?”
“Ah, where to start?” Rachel asked, drumming her fingers over her lower lip. “Let’s see. . . I brewed an entire pot of coffee onto the floor, then I knocked an entire tray of food out of Mandy’s hand, all over her, and all over the kitchen. I was slow as molasses trying to keep up with my tables. I spilled someone’s water, screwed up food orders. Messed up drink orders. You name it, I did it wrong.” Rachel headed for the pantry and flung the doors open, reaching past several bags of chips before she got to the chocolate covered peanuts stashed in the back. “And to top it all off, Carter showed up.”
“Carter Fleming?” Andi asked, watching Rachel cram peanuts in her mouth.
“Mmm,” she murmured through a mouthful of chocolate nuts. “It was lovely. He tried to convince me I should marry him for money. Then, my coworker dropped a tray of food all over him, and let me take the blame for it.” Close enough. “So, when my boss started expressing his fury, instead of explaining or apologizing, I gave it right back to him.”
“You did?”
Rachel nodded vigorously. A bitter and slightly hysterical laugh bubbled from her chest. “I told him his fries were greasy.” She laughed more, until her stomach ached, and then the laughter turned into a sob. She raised her hands, along with the bag of chocolate peanuts, and covered her face with them to hide the tears filling her eyes.
“Oh, Rach.” Andi stepped forward and drew her into a hug. “It’ll be okay.”
“Will it though?” Rachel croaked. “I looked like an idiot. And it was hard,” she wailed. “So hard. Who knew serving food and taking orders would be the thing to break me?”
Andi gently guided her to the table, where she gradually pressed her down into a seat, then took the chair across from her.
Rachel dropped her hands and wiped her damp cheeks. “How am I going to support myself if I can’t even get coffee right? Coffee, Andi! I screwed up coffee. You should’ve seen the men’s faces once I finally perked it. They had to choke it down.”
“It was your first day, Rach. You’ll learn. Tomorrow you’ll do better, and then it’ll get easier.”
