Deep Down (Lockhart Brothers #1) (6 page)

LESS THAN A WEEK
after arriving in Lovely I’d found a place to live. My new home had a combination kitchen/living room, a bedroom and a small bathroom. The landlord had rented it to me without a deposit since it was a mess and I agreed to clean it up before moving in. Two full days of scrubbing, carpet shampooing and painting had transformed it. I didn’t have furniture, but I had a place that was all mine. The furniture would come later.

As I looked out the window at the cornfield that bordered the property, I heard the rumble of a train punctuated by the burst of its blowing whistle. The tracks were only about a quarter of a mile from my efficiency apartment–just another reason for the bargain rent of $250 a month.

For now, I was focused on finding a job. I’d filled out applications all day yesterday. Lovely wasn’t a big town, and I hoped I’d find enough places that were accepting resumes. I planned to hit the pavement again today.

I had less than fifty dollars left. I was trying to eat as cheaply as I could while still nourishing my growing baby. A bag of apples from the local grocery store had set me back more than five bucks yesterday. One of those apples and some peanut butter had been my dinner last night after a full day of job hunting.

It was less than a mile from my apartment to Lovely’s downtown, so I packed an apple for lunch and decided to walk into town. I planned to splurge on breakfast at the diner I’d walked past several times yesterday during my job search.

About ten minutes later the diner came into view. An unlit neon sign for ‘Gene’s Diner’ hung in the front window and a buzz of activity greeted me when I walked in. Several heads turned in my direction when I walked in. The regulars were giving me a friendly once over.

All the tables were filled, so I crossed the black and white checkered floor and slid onto a stool at the counter. The day’s specials were written out on a chalkboard. Two eggs, two pieces of toast and two pancakes for $3.99? Sold.

“Hi, hon,” a middle-aged woman greeted me, stopping for just a beat. “Be right with you.” She flew past with a platter in hand, raising it into the air just in time to avoid running into another waitress.

Gene’s was filled with lots of gray-haired women, and men wearing ball caps with seed companies or tractor logos stamped on the front. I was definitely the youngest person here.

Five minutes later, the woman who had greeted me was back, pad in hand. “Sorry, hon. We’re short on help. What can I get you?”

My ears perked up. “Short on help? I’m looking for a job.”

She scanned me quickly. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Turning nineteen in a few months.”

“Any waitressing experience?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner and a hard worker.”

She shook her head. “This place is a zoo every morning. It’s no place to learn how to waitress.”

“If I could just talk to the owner—”

“You are. I’m Margie. My husband Gene and I are the owners.”

Her sharp tone told me that I was at Strike Two.

“Of course,” I said. “I really need a job. I promise if you just give me a chance, you won’t be sorry.”

“You from Lovely? I don’t recognize you.”

“No, ma’am. I just moved to Lovely recently.” I held out my hand. “I’m Ivy Gleason.”

She eyed me silently, not shaking my hand.

“I just need a chance,” I said, my voice unsteady. I cleared my throat. “I’ll learn fast and work hard.”

Margie looked to be around fifty, and I could tell she was a practical woman. Her light brown hair was cut short and she didn’t wear any makeup. Her lips thinned as she pressed them together, considering.

“You’d have to work early,” she said. “Five am to one pm. And two of your days would be on the weekend.”

“Sounds perfect. I’m a morning person.”

Her skeptical look faded. “Okay, Ivy. We’ll try it. We could sure use a fresh young face around here.”

I wanted to leap off the stool and hug her, but I contained myself and settled for a smile. “When can I start?”

“Tomorrow? Can you come back at two this afternoon and we’ll do the paperwork?”

“I’ll be here. Thank you, Margie. I won’t let you down.”

“Well, employees eat free, so how about some breakfast?”

My stomach rumbled with approval. “I’d love some. The special would be great. Eggs over medium and wheat toast. And some orange juice.”

She scrawled my order in her notepad and set off again.

When I returned that afternoon, Margie took me back to the kitchen to meet Gene. He was a tall, lanky black man with a warm smile. When Margie introduced us, he smiled, nodded and grabbed the bill of his baseball cap, tipping it down just a bit in a greeting.

“Do we have enough eggs to get through tomorrow?” Margie asked her husband.

“Reckon we do,” he said, not looking up from the grill he was scraping clean.

“Our deliveries have been off a few times lately,” she said, looking at me. “They shorted us on eggs and brought us too much butter.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” I said, although I was pretty sure Margie and Gene wouldn’t let a problem like that slow them down.

“Let’s go sit in the office in the back and get your paperwork filled out. Just get a drink if you . . .” Her voice trailed off and when I turned to see why, she was staring at my midsection. “Are you pregnant?”

My hand instinctively went to my slightly swollen belly. “Yes, I am.”

She sighed deeply and folded her arms across her ample chest. “If you’ve got a boyfriend who thinks he can sit in our restaurant all day and visit with you, this ain’t gonna work out.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s just me. Me and my baby, that is.” I rubbed my tiny bump. “Besides my landlord and the lady at the grocery store, you’re the only people I’ve spoken to in Lovely.”

“Are you just passing through? Planning to leave soon?”

“Margie,” Gene said. “You need the help.” He’d obviously overheard our conversation.

Margie pursed her lips and turned to lead me back to the office. I turned to give Gene a grateful glance, but he was absorbed in cleaning the grill. The paperwork was quick and easy and Margie was really nice. I was relieved to have a job. I’d work my tail off to prove to them that they had done the right thing in taking a chance on me.

Later that night, excited anticipation made it hard to sleep. I thought about what to wear, and when to arrive, and when I would receive my first paycheck. I must’ve exhausted myself because the next thing I knew it was 4 am.

But by noon that day I knew I’d have no trouble sleeping in the future. I’d been in motion since five am. Margie didn’t take it easy on me because I was new, or because I was pregnant, and neither did the customers. I was sweaty, frazzled and exhausted by the end of my shift. But I had $52 in tips in my pocket, and that felt good. I ate a plate of food before leaving, hardly even tasting it, and then I went straight home to bed.

That was how my weekdays went for the next five months. On my days off I grocery shopped, hit all the local garage sales to furnish my apartment, and went to the library. I would always take a book with me when I did my laundry at the Lovely Tub-o-Suds.

I was two days from my due date when a contraction woke me up at three am one late September morning. I called Margie so I could leave a message that I wouldn’t be in because I was going to the hospital. Even though it was the middle of the night she answered the call.

“Hello?” she said in a groggy tone.

“Margie, it’s Ivy. I’m sorry I woke you. I just wanted to tell you that I won’t . . . ah . . . hang on.”

I gritted my teeth through the pain of the contraction.

“Are you in labor?” Margie cried, wide awake now.

“I think so.”

“I’ll be right there to pick you up.”

“Just meet me there. I can drive myself.”

“Are you crazy? I’ll be there in five minutes, Ivy. Sit tight.”

It was the scariest, most painful and amazing day of my life. Margie stayed with me through the nine hour labor, telling the nurses to “get their asses in gear” when I needed pain medication. She put cold cloths on my forehead, commiserated with me and told me a hundred times that I could do this.

And, somehow, I did. My exhausted tears became joyful when a nurse put my newborn son in my arms. He was tiny and wrinkly and completely perfect.

I longed for my mom more than ever. She would have loved her grandson as fully and immediately as I did. But as much as I missed her, I was grateful to have a family again.

“It’s just us,” I whispered to the warm bundle in my arms. “It’s you and me against the world, Noah.”

LOVELY HADN’T CHANGED SINCE
I’d been away, but I sure had. While I’d enjoyed my life in the big city of St. Louis, it had given me a new appreciation for my hometown and I was beginning to realize it was the small things that were making the biggest impact on me. In high school, my favorite place to get a sandwich after high school basketball games was the Corner Deli. It was still there on the corner and it still had colorful painted ads on the windows, many of which were wrought with misspellings.

The deli owner, Mack, wasn’t much for spelling, but he made a hell of a sandwich and I was here to get four orders of my favorite menu item—the signature Mack Attack.

Mack was working the front counter when I walked in. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he pretty much looked the same. His belly was a little bigger, his hairline was a little further back and his face was a little more wrinkled.

“What’s it gonna be?” he asked when I got to the front of the line.

I opened my mouth to order but he cut me off.

“You one of the Lockhart boys?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which one? I know you ain’t the surgeon ‘cause he took out my gallbladder a couple years ago and he’s older than you. Tall son of a gun like you, though. How many of you boys are there, anyway?”

“Five.”

“Huh. One of your brothers is the accountant, right?”

“That’s Austin.”

His eyes widened and he hiked his brows up. “You the one that got left at the altar?”

I cringed inwardly. “Yep, that’s me. I’m Reed.”

“That was a hell of a thing. What kind of a woman leaves a Lockhart at the altar?”