Beautiful Sacrifice (5 page)

I finished chewing, and then I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. I wadded it up and let it fall to my lap.

Blaire’s soothing but firm voice echoed in my head.

“Incorrect fork, Falyn.”

“We do not collect our soup that way, Falyn.”

“Stand up straight, Falyn.”

“No man worth having will want you if you’re not behaved, Falyn.”

“We do not discuss vulgar topics, such as your opinion, at the dinner table, Falyn.”

When I was compelled to use the manners so forcefully imposed on me, even after my liberation, I would use bad manners just to spite Blaire. Even if she couldn’t see it, rebellion would make me feel better.

Nearly five years after I’d left, it still made my blood boil that those habits wouldn’t die—just like my parents’ need to control me, to make me fit into their perfect mold of how Colorado’s first family should be.

“Falyn?” Phaedra said, her comforting gravelly voice bringing me back to the Bucksaw and away from my childhood. “Are you all right, kiddo?”

I blinked. “He’s, uh … it doesn’t matter what his intentions are. I just said yes to rile William.”

“Then why follow through with it?” Chuck asked.

“Because he played along when I lied to my parents,” I said with a grin. “He doesn’t care anyway. He’s just looking for an easy lay.”

Chuck stared at me with a blank expression, and then he slowly backed toward the double doors until he was out of sight.

Phaedra burst out laughing. “You’re going to be the death of that man. He loves you like his own. Let him believe you’re a virgin.” As soon as the words had left her mouth, she froze, and her eyes widened. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“I think he already knows I’m not,” I said, making a show of dismissing her apology.

Noticeably shaken, Phaedra went back to preparing her world-famous sun tea.

I stood up and walked around the end of the bar. I hugged her from behind, resting my chin in the crook of her neck. “It’s okay,” I said softly.

“Damn my big mouth”—she sniffed—“and damn my small brain.”

I turned her around, waiting until her eyes met mine. “Damn your soft heart.”

Her bottom lip quivered, and then she pulled me to her chest for a quick squeeze. Her wrinkled hand patted my back. “We don’t have any of our own. You and Kirby are it. Now, get out of here. Get some work done, for Chrissakes,” she said, returning to her pitcher of tea.

I reached back for a napkin and handed it to her. She held it to her face, dabbing her eyes I imagined since her back was still turned to me.

“I said, get,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.” I rushed around the bar and picked up my plate. I stuffed the remaining pieces of pancake into my mouth while walking toward the kitchen.

Pete—round, bald, and frowning—stood next to Chuck, helping with anything else prep-related as he did every morning.

Hector was already at the sink, polishing the silverware. “Good morning, Miss Falyn,” he said, taking my plate. He pulled down the sprayer and rinsed off the round white plate made of something between glass and plastic.

“For the hundredth time, Hector—”

“Don’t say, Miss. I know,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Pete smiled. He was marinating chicken, keeping to himself.

The three of them, in addition to Phaedra whose creations had made the Bucksaw famous, made up the kitchen staff.

Chuck was mixing his special sauce with a blank stare, his mind somewhere far away. He wiped his wet cheek with the back of his wrist and continued chopping. He glanced at me then and shook his head. “Damn onions,” he said, wiping the other cheek.

“Uh-huh,” I said, dubious.

Phaedra wasn’t the only softy in the family.

With a wry smile, Pete glanced over at his boss and then continued with his duties.

I helped Hector roll silverware. Then I refilled the Coke syrup in the soda fountain behind the bar, cleaned the windows, and double-checked that the dining area was sparkling clean.

Gunnar dropped Kirby off at eight o’clock sharp, and she stood at the front door with her arms crossed, like she did every morning. I wasn’t sure why she insisted on coming in so early. We didn’t open until nine.

I opened the door and then locked the door behind her.

“I’m here!” she announced as she walked across the dining room, another thing she did every morning.

“I’ll alert the media,” Phaedra deadpanned.

Kirby stuck her tongue out at Phaedra and then winked at me as she pushed through the double doors, letting them swing violently behind her.

“You’re gonna break those damn doors one of these days!” Phaedra called.

“Sorry.” Kirby was rushed but sincere, her dark ponytail swishing as she carried the salt and pepper canisters.

As she began to refill the shakers on each table, they exchanged knowing smiles.

“I’ve known that brat since she was a latchkey kid,” Phaedra said, shaking her head at Kirby.

“I can hear you,” Kirby called back.

“Good!” Phaedra snapped. “I’d make myself a grilled chicken panini with pickles and chipotle mayo every day, right about the time Kirby would pass by on her way home from Columbia Elementary.”

Kirby smirked. “And she’d always magically lose her appetite.”

“Just because I knew you’d be ravenous by the time you poked your little crow head into my door,” Phaedra said, her tone a mixture of sass and silly. “She would talk nonstop with her mouth full, carrying on about her day, while she annihilated my poor panini, and then she wouldn’t even say thanks before wiping her mouth with her sleeve and walking the few blocks to Old Chicago where her mom waited tables.”

Kirby screwed on a saltshaker lid. “That isn’t entirely accurate.”

“Okay,” Phaedra spit. “She used a napkin. Sometimes.”

Kirby shook her head and chuckled as she detached the pepper shaker lid.

Noticing the time, I began unscrewing lids for Kirby, and she picked up her pace.

“Kirby is the only person in the world, including Chuck,” I said, nodding toward the kitchen, “who could get away with sticking her tongue out at you and live to tell about it.”

“No. I have two girls, and I take shit from both of them,” Phaedra said, arching her eyebrow at me.

I swallowed back the lump that had formed in my throat. Phaedra had a way of making me feel like family when I least expected it and always when I needed it the most.

She picked a hand towel off the counter as she approached me. She swung it over her shoulder and then glanced at her watch. She turned me to face the wall of glass, toward the three parked cars full of people.

She raised my hand with the open saltshaker still in my grip and began to recite her favorite sonnet, “Mother of Exiles! From her beacon-hand! Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command!”

After each verse, she would shake my elevated hand, salt falling over our heads like an erratic blizzard.

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses!”

After Phaedra finished, she let go of my hand, and I shook out the white specks from my hair.

Phaedra sighed. “No one talks like that anymore.”

“You do,” Kirby said.

“God, do I love my country.”

Kirby made a face. “Anyone would know that after seeing your arrest record from participating in sit-ins. What does that poem have to do with anything?”

Phaedra looked dumbstruck.

“It’s Emma Lazarus,” I said.

Kirby’s expression didn’t change.

I continued, “That sonnet is on a plaque at the Statue of Liberty.”

When recognition finally hit, Kirby’s mouth formed an O.

Phaedra rolled her eyes. “Dear Lord Jesus, help us all.”

“I’ll get the broom,” Kirby said, dashing to the back room.

Phaedra grumbled all the way to the kitchen. Failure to know important pieces of history, or ignorance of common knowledge in general made her temper flare.

Kirby reappeared, broom and dustpan in hand. “Shit. I’ve tried to forget all of that since graduation. It’s summer break. You’d think she’d cut me some slack.”

“It’s going to be a long day,” I said, fetching the broom.

Kirby and I worked to clean the mess, and she rushed to the trash can with the dustpan while I flipped it open. People inside the three parked cars in front began to stir, and by the time Kirby returned from taking the broom to the back, the customers were waiting to be seated.

“I didn’t finish the shakers,” she whispered to me.

“On it,” I said, rushing to finish her job.

I looked at the clock, wondering how we’d gotten so far behind schedule. Usually, we’d finish with ten minutes to spare.

Phaedra didn’t reveal her mood to the customers, but Kirby and I had to work extra hard to keep her smiling. An entire pitcher of sun tea crashed to the floor, Hector broke a stack of plates, and I didn’t get one of the saltshakers screwed on tightly enough, so Chuck had to make a Philly cheesesteak sandwich on the double to replace the one with more salt in it than what had been in my hair.

Kirby seated the author and her assistant, their second visit in as many days.

“Afternoon,” I said with a smile. “Back again, huh?”

“It’s so good,” the author said. “I wanted to try the Cuban before we left.”

“This is not what I ordered,” a man said loudly to Phaedra.

Dwayne Kaufman was sitting alone in the corner, licking his thumb after tossing the top bun of his burger to the floor.

“Uh-oh,” Kirby whispered in my ear. “Dwayne’s been drinking again. Should I call the police?”

I shook my head.
Who gets drunk before noon?
“Let Phaedra handle it.”

“I said, no ketchup! And it’s fucking cold!” Dwayne yelled.

“My apologies, hon,” Phaedra said. “I’ll get that fixed right away, Dwayne.” She scooped up his plate and rushed through the double doors.

“I’m not your hon!” he called after her. “Piece-of-shit café.”

I walked over to Dwayne and smiled. “Can I get you a coffee while Chuck grills that up for you?”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, facing me but keeping his eyes on the floor. “I just want a fucking burger the way I ordered it. Is that so hard?”

His cup of tea was over half full, but I wanted to keep him occupied until Phaedra returned. “She’s working on it. Let me get you more tea,” I said, picking up his cup.

He grabbed my wrist. “Get your tater-tot tits outta my face!”

The liquid sloshed from the cup onto my shoes as I tried to pull away, and then it happened again when another large hand encompassed Dwayne’s wrist.

Dwayne froze, and so did I.

Taylor had suddenly appeared next to me. “What did you just call her?” His voice was low and ominous.

I began to speak, but Dwayne let go of my hand and laughed nervously.

“I don’t want more tea,” he growled. “I want to be left alone!”

Taylor let go of Dwayne’s hand and stepped back, making way for Phaedra.

“Here you are, Dwayne. Cheeseburger straight off the grill, no ketchup. So sorry,” Phaedra said, louder than necessary.

She put her body between Dwayne and me, and I took another step back.

“How does that taste? Better?” she asked.

He took a bite. Closing his eyes, he chewed like a wild animal, bread and a piece of onion falling from his mouth. “Yes. Took you long enough.”

Phaedra motioned for me to get busy, and she shot Taylor a look, but I wasn’t sure what it meant.

I escorted Taylor back to his table. He was sitting alone this time.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said. “What can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll have one of your famous Cherry Cokes, please.”

“Coming right up,” I said through my teeth.

“Hey,” he said, tapping the bottom of my elbow before I took a step, “are you mad?”

I paused, glancing over at Dwayne. “I had it covered.”

“I believe you.”

“So, you didn’t need to step in,” I hissed.

“Probably not.”

“Stay out of my business. I don’t need your help. Ever.”

He relaxed back in his chair, unfazed. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

He chuckled. “I understand.”

I could feel him watching me as I made my way to the drink station.

“I’m sorry,” I said, stopping at the author’s table. “What can I get you to drink?”

She shook her head, her eyes bright. “This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks. I’ll have an orange juice.”

“I’ll have the mango sunrise,” her assistant said.

I nodded and continued my trek. Dwayne held out his cup in front of me, and I plowed through it, spilling tea all over him and me.

Instinctively, I raised my hands, palms out, and stopped on my tiptoes even though it was already too late. “Oh my gosh, I’ll get you another one right away.”

“Goddamn it, you bitch!” he yelled at the same time. His chair complained against the tiled floor as he stood, towering over me.

“All right, now, you’ve pissed me off.” Taylor’s strained voice carried from his seat across the room.

In the next moment, he was next to me. He put Dwayne into a headlock and guided him toward the door.

“No! Stop! Please!” I begged.

Each word was mixed with Dwayne’s protests.

Everyone in the room was frozen, staring at Dwayne flailing his arms and trying to push Taylor back but to no avail.

I covered my mouth, and Kirby watched helplessly from her podium. Just before Taylor made it through the door, Phaedra blew her famous two-fingers-in-the-mouth whistle, one that could be heard even in the high school football stadium full of people. I winced at the shrill noise.

“Knock it off!” Phaedra commanded.

The room was silent. Both Chuck and Hector were staring from the window. Dwayne stopped struggling, and Taylor released his neck.

“No one throws my customers out but me!” She marched over to Dwayne, narrowing her eyes. “Did you just verbally abuse my server?”

“She spilled my fucking tea all over me!” Dwayne said, pointing at me.

“This is a family-friendly establishment, and we do not say fuck!” Phaedra said, practically yelling the last part. “Come back when you get some manners, Dwayne!” She turned. “You know what? Not even then!” She looked to Taylor. “Take the trash out, kid.”