Split(16)

Dorothy sighs and returns her coffeepot to its warmer, then turns with her hands propped on her hips. “Boy, you never eat. What would your momma say about you skipping a healthy breakfast?”

His frame locks. “I . . . I don’t have a momma—” The thermos drops to the floor between us, spilling its heated contents all the way down. We both jump up at the same time and I swoop down to grab the thermos, colliding with the guy’s shoulder.

He jerks away, as if my touch burned like the coffee would. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“No problem.” I put the rustic metal container back on the tabletop and dry my hand on a napkin.

Dorothy scurries around the counter with a handful of towels. “Don’t worry about this. Sometimes I think if we never spilled anything on the floor it’d never get cleaned.”

The guy grabs the towels and bends to wipe up the mess. “I got it.” He cleans the spilled liquid with a speediness I’ve never seen, as if he can’t finish fast enough.

Dorothy refills his thermos, screws the top on, and wipes it down. She looks at him, her lips turned downward. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know.”

He nods and slides a few dollars onto the counter, but I don’t miss how his eyes dart to mine before he quickly walks away.

He lost his mom too.

It’s then I realize I still have my phone in my hand. I press it to my ear.

“. . . so the redneck said, ‘Why would I do your cousin when I got my own?’”

“Trevor, listen, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I have to go.”

“If you get bored, call me. And really, honey, come on down for a visit. I miss you and—”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.” I end the call and watch the guy who spilled his coffee move across the parking lot to a faded blue truck, the tires and wheel wells coated in dried mud. There’s an invisible string that connects us, a kinship in the pain of losing a parent, and although I don’t even know the guy’s name, he feels like a friend.

“Can I grab you a refill?”

I turn to find Dorothy smiling with her hot pot of coffee in hand.

“No, I’m good.” I pull my wallet from my fake Versace purse.

She places her hand over mine. “Don’t even think about it. Breakfast is on me.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

She nods and smiles sweetly. “I know, but I want to.”

I hide a few bucks under my bowl when she’s not looking. “Thank you.”

She comes around and pulls me in for another hug. “Don’t be a stranger, okay, Shy?”

I nod into her shoulder, feeling a little awkward. After all, it’s been a long time since I’ve been hugged like this. It feels maternal and makes my chest ache.

Just another reason why I hate this town.

Everyone here makes me miss my mom.

“Well I’ll be dipped in dog shit and crowned prom queen.” Sam stares at me, her arms crossed under her chest, plumping her breasts up to her neck and accentuating her already extreme cleavage. Judging by the scowl twisting her pretty face, I wonder if I should’ve taken a day to think about how I’d approach my old friend rather than coming directly from the diner. It’s pretty obvious she’s not happy to see me.

Her heavily lined and painted eyes roam the length of my body and her thick lips purse with disgust. “What in the hell happened to you?”

Note to self: Dig out some old jeans and flannels from my closet and pray they still fit.

“Good to see you, Sam.” We give each other a quick hug that lacks the warmth of friendship.

Her tiny cutoff denim shorts and cowboy boots make her look like every dime store cowboy’s wet dream. She doesn’t look to have changed much since high school except for maybe a little sluttier, which is saying something since she already took the prize for most likely to end up pregnant at eighteen.

“You look good.”

She waves me off. “This place makes me dress like a whore for my shifts. If I were home, my shorts would be, like, a half inch longer.” She winks. “You in town for the weekend visiting the boys?”

“Eh . . . I mean, yes and no. I’ll be staying for a while.”

She tilts her head, the mahogany corkscrew curl of one of her pigtails dipping down between her breasts. “No kidding, you’re back?”

“It’s temporary. But um . . .” I swing my gaze around the dark bar, the stench of booze-stained wood and dry roasted peanuts competing with Sam’s pungent perfume. “I could use a job.”

Her eyebrows pop. “Here?”

“What can I say? I’m desperate.”

She chuckles low and throaty, like maybe those years of sneaking off to smoke cigarettes when we were sixteen became more of a habit for her. “City life made you bitchy.”

I can’t help but grin. “Huh, and here I thought I was just being direct.”

She ties on a short apron and shakes her head. “I’ll talk to Loreen and see what she says. We might be able to use you for backup on the weekends, but during the week we’re already fighting for hours.”

Shit. A few weekends here and there, it’ll take me twenty years to save enough money to leave town. I drop my chin and ignore the tiny voice that whispers I’ll end up at Jennings eventually.