She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,16

slammed!”

Although not even five o’clock, someone sat at every booth, table, and stool. About a half-dozen people stood around the front door, waiting for something to open up. Lurline Waldrip was behind the counter, wiping up what looked like a coffee spill. She looked up at both of us, shook her head, then went back to it.

I saw the woman’s coat first.

When you bus tables, you quickly learn to seek out dirty dishes and glasses upon entering a room, hone in on them like a radar. My eyes began that involuntary exercise the moment we stepped inside, taking in the people second, and the various eating utensils, plates, and bowls first. Full versus empty, half-full waters in need of refilling. Her coat, though, her coat caught my eye.

I saw the white coat draped down over one of the stools at the counter, and all other sights and sounds left the room as my eyes followed the lines of that coat up the stool to the woman sitting atop it with her back toward me, her long, white hair falling over her shoulders. A newspaper sat folded neatly beneath her left hand on the counter, and I watched as she raised a coffee cup to her lips with her right.

She must have felt my eyes on her, because she turned around, spinning slowly on the edge of the stool. I think I stared at her for a full ten seconds before I realized this wasn’t the woman from the cemetery, Ms. Latrese Oliver, as she had called herself, this was someone else, someone I had never seen before.

I pushed passed Auntie Jo and ran toward the bathroom. Somehow I managed to close and lock the door and get to the toilet before my meager breakfast and lunch came back up.

I stayed not only for my shift but through the end of Auntie Jo’s shift, too. Mr. Krendal told me I could go home more times than I could count, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to be alone. The rush didn’t end until after 9 p.m. Lurline said it was because it was Friday, payday for most, and half the city decided they didn’t want to cook. She said a pocket full of cash led to the trifecta—hot meal, bar, strip club for nearly every single guy in the city, of which there were many. I knew what a bar was. There were three on every block. I had my suspicions about strip clubs, too, my limited knowledge having come from Dunk’s slightly less limited knowledge. Auntie Jo tried to keep up with the crowd, but she was moving slow, and Lurline stayed more than an hour after her shift to help out.

We had left the windows open, and some of the papers from the dining table had blown around the apartment. I scuttled around and picked them up as Auntie Jo turned on lights, closed both windows, and dropped down into her chair. “I’m getting too old for this.” She pulled off her shoes and rubbed at her swollen feet. She then counted out her tips and swore under her breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re still thirty-eight short for rent. I thought for sure…” she trailed off, closed her eyes, and pressed her calloused palms against her temples.

I made six dollars in tips. I placed the money in her hand. She opened her mouth to argue, then smiled weakly. “You’re a good kid. I’ll pay you back, every cent.”

“Hang on.” I ran to my room to get the rest from my savings. She’d take my money now, and I wanted to give it to her. I lived here, too. I wanted to help.

I saw the envelope on my bed when I turned on the light.

The envelope sat atop my sketchbook, also on my bed—not where I left it.

I glanced back at Auntie Jo through the open doorway, still in her chair, then stepped cautiously into my room, searching every corner and shadow.

The envelope was white, letter size, about half an inch thick. A single word was printed across the front in neat handwriting—

Pip.

The envelope contained five hundred dollars in cash.

4

That night, I had a bad dream. I had a really bad dream.

I was four.

Daddy fastened me into my car seat.

“All secure, Captain Jack?”

“Yep.”

“Your momma hooked you up with a road soda.”

I took the sippy cup from him and brought it to my lips, careful not to spill. Chocolate milk, my favorite.

Momma got into the car.

I remembered this trip.

I remembered every second of