Where One Goes(18)

I head over to my tables to check all the salt and pepper shakers and sugar caddies when Misty approaches.

“Listen. If you want to keep your job here you’ll keep your mouth shut about what you saw last night,” she warns, her blue eyes scorching into mine.

“You mean how I saw you sniffing coke?” I counter and Ike groans. He thinks I’m making it worse. He’s probably right.

“Look, bitch,” she chuckles softly in disdain, as if she doesn’t consider me a threat. “Keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way, and maybe I’ll let George keep you on.”

“Are you f*cking kidding me?” Ike yells as he punches her in the face. He’s the kind of man that would never hit a woman, not for real anyway, but I guess since he knows he can’t hurt her, he’s giving it to her. Of course, his blows don’t affect her at all; his hands just go right through her. I can’t help it, I laugh, which causes Misty to glare because she thinks I’m laughing at her.

“Let him keep me on?” I question as I cross my arms. “The sign outside says Ike and George’s. Misty must be in fine print.”

“George and I have an understanding,” she says, simply.

I grin at the absurdity of her words. “Is that what they call f*cking these days?” Misty’s eyebrows touch her hairline.

“Jesus, Charlotte,” Ike mumbles.

“I’m sorry, Misty. I’ll tell you what. You stay out of my way and play nice, and maybe I won’t tell your boyfriend you’re f*cking your boss,” I say as I smile brightly at her.

“George will fire you if he thinks you’re trying to stir up shit,” Ike adds.

Ike is right, but he won’t have a chance. George’s world is officially about to collapse, and Misty will be out of the picture for good. Misty’s eyes go wide as she stares at me blankly. She’s not sure how to respond to my threat.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, bitch,” she bites out. She doesn’t chuckle this time. I guess I’ve moved up on the threat meter.

“Just walk away, Charlotte. She’s probably high right now, and who knows what she’ll do,” Ike warns, and as much as I want to lash back at her, I decide he’s right. Besides, her life is about to drive head-on into a shit storm.

“Can I get to work now, or do you want to continue glaring at me?” I ask casually, as if we’re not in an intense quarrel.

She backs away slowly, her eyes saying everything her mouth isn’t; threatening me in all ways possible. When she finally spins around and walks away, I turn to my table and whisper to Ike, “Stop talking to me. It’s distracting and hard to ignore.”

“Fine. I’m trying to help.”

“I know, but dial it down, please,” I whisper again. “Maybe you could give me some space while I work.”


“As you wish.” He nods and disappears.

I check all of my tables just before George comes out from the kitchen and unlocks the doors. Through the glass pane of the door, I see Mr. Mercer with I assume is his wife, waiting to enter, and George greets them as he holds the door open for them.

“Good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Mercer. How are ya today?”

“We’re good, George,” Mr. Mercer answers. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad,” George replies as he makes his way to the hostess stand. “I got a table ready for you if you’ll follow me.”

“Actually,” Mr. Mercer interrupts. “We heard you have a lovely new waitress working here. Might we sit at one of her tables?” Mr. Mercer’s eyes meet mine and he winks before turning his attention back to George.

“Uh . . . sure,” George agrees, grabbing two menus and two rolled-up silverwares. “You ready for a table, Charlotte?” George asks when he sees me.

“Of course.” I smile brightly. “I can seat them myself.” I hold my hands out to take the menus and silverware from him. When he hands them to me, his fingers skim the skin of my hand, sending tingles shooting through me. Our gazes lock for a moment until he jerks away. What the hell was that? Did he just feel that, too?

Snapping to it, I say, “Right this way, folks.”

As they follow me to my section, Mr. Mercer makes introductions. “Charlotte, this is my wife, Mrs. Mercer. She’s been looking forward to meeting you.” Mrs. Mercer is a petite lady with blonde hair, laced with gray streaks. Her dark eyes look tiny behind her glasses, which are perched halfway down the bridge of her nose.

“I’ve been looking forward to it as well,” I answer honestly as I indicate what booth I’d like them to sit in. As they slide in, I add, “You have no idea what your kindness means to me.”

“Well, Bill here came home and told me about you, and it just broke my heart. But when he mentioned the necklace you gave him to hold and showed it to me, I knew it was a sign. Do you believe in signs, Charlotte?” She stares up at me as I place their menus in front of them.

“I guess so,” I reply. “But how was my necklace a sign?”

“Our daughter, God rest her soul, left us almost ten years ago. She wore a necklace almost identical to yours every day of her life.” Mrs. Mercer’s eyes lower, appearing somewhat pensive, almost as if in reflection. “But she didn’t have it on the day she died and we’ve never been able to find it. You showing up with your necklace . . . it felt right to help you. We’d like to invite you to dinner as well.”