The Highway Kind(21)

Turkey Club was back too. Staring at a menu, a faint frown on his face. She said, “We have a great turkey club.”

He looked up at her and smiled. She could see that he was pleased that she’d remembered him, which was what she’d intended. “I know. I’ve had it for four meals in a row, except breakfast. What else is good?”

She shrugged. “Chicken Caesar salad?”

He groaned. “Do you know how many chicken Caesar salads I’ve eaten over the years? Caesar salads, turkey clubs, western omelets. It all tastes the same.”

“It all comes off the same truck,” Caro said.

“Sometimes, I think one more day on the road is going to break me.” He rubbed his face. “I am going to literally turn into a preservative. A living, breathing molecule of BHT.”

“There’s a pesto-tortellini thing,” she said. “Occasionally they put actual prosciutto in it.”

He closed the menu. “Sold. One pesto-tortellini thing with occasional actual prosciutto in it, please.”

She put in the order and brought him a basket of bread. “More chemistry?” he said, and at first she thought he was talking about the bread but then he nodded at her books.

“Algebra.” She wondered if that was a mistake, if chemistry majors in college didn’t have to take algebra. She tried to remember if she’d actually told him she was a chemistry major. Then she decided that it was all too much work on her last day. “I lied to you before. I’m still in high school,” she said, feeling faintly reckless. The truth. What a novelty.

His eyes widened. “I would not have thought that.”

“It’s the makeup. I am a senior, though.”

“Big plans for after?”

She thought about saying Taking care of my schizophrenic mother—but there was such a thing as too much truth. “Probably what you said. Community college, then transfer.”

“It’s still a good plan.”

“Sure, if I can afford it.”

“Is this a good job? It seems like it should be. But I never see anybody here.”

“They’re closing the restaurant,” she said. “This is my last shift.”

“Oh,” he said, and then, “Oh.”

She heard the bell ring from the kitchen. “One pesto thing with occasional prosciutto,” she said when she came back, setting the plate down in front of him. “Sorry, though. You didn’t get the prosciutto.”

“That’s a shame,” he said.

“They must have run out.”

“No,” he said, picking up his fork. “About your job.”

“It’s okay. I have another one.”

“She said grimly.”

That made her smile. “Well, I didn’t say it was a great job.”

“I’m surprised your parents let you have two jobs while you’re in school,” he said. “You must get spectacular grades.”

A thousand things were on the tip of Caro’s tongue but what came out was “I’m saving up to buy a car.”

“Still, two jobs? Is borrowing your mom’s car really so bad?”

“Walking is,” she said.

He blinked. “Walking. In this weather.”

Because the wind was biting and harsh even though it wasn’t yet November. Caro shrugged.

“None of your friends can give you a ride?”

She shrugged again. “I get off so late.”

“And your parents are okay with all of this.”

“Don’t make me keep shrugging,” she said.

He looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Life is complicated. Sure.”

He ate his pesto thing, said good night, and left the restaurant—presumably to go upstairs. He left her a big tip, but not big enough to make a difference. She fantasized briefly about being that lucky one-in-a-million waitress who got the lucky one-in-a-million tip: five hundred dollars, a thousand. Ten bucks was nice, though. She wouldn’t argue with ten bucks.

Finally, her shift was over. She walked out into the lobby, past the potted trees that nobody was supposed to notice were made of plastic. There was a twenty-four-hour coffee station set up near a small sitting area with a couch and a coffee table, but it was right in front of the door, so she couldn’t imagine why people would choose to sit there when they had an entire hotel room all to themselves upstairs. Someone was sitting there now, though. It was Turkey Club. He stood up when he saw her.

“I thought you might like a ride,” he said.

She felt her back go stiff and her guard go up. “No, thank you.”

“It’s thirty-eight degrees outside.”

“I like the cold.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. You’re probably right. You shouldn’t take rides from somebody you barely know. If I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want her to do it either. I just thought—it’s so cold and so late. I thought I’d offer, is all.”

“And I appreciate it,” she said briskly, “but no.” She was waiting for him to turn around and go away so she’d know he wasn’t going to follow her out to the parking lot. He wasn’t turning around or going away. He was standing by the couch, chewing his lip.