The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,23

I saved up to have lunch. Even then it was too expensive for us to have anything but entrées and water. Neither one of us even had the steak which is obviously what they’re known for.

“Is this okay? We can always go somewhere else if you’d prefer.”

“No, no,” I quickly assure him. “This is great. I’ve never had dinner here.” And while it might cost me more than I make in an entire shift at Shuckie’s, suddenly I don’t care. I want to eat here with Davis almost as much as I want to move out of Shady Acres.

While we find a parking spot, I ask, “Don’t you need a reservation to get in?”

“Usually, but a lot of people have their big Sunday meal after church, so suppers aren’t too busy.”

The restaurant is dimly lit which lends to a romantic atmosphere. The tea lights on every table and the fire roaring in the fireplace help set that mood, as well. The hostess says, “Heya, Davis, table for two?”

He must come here often to garner such a familiar greeting. “Hey, Christy. Something with a river view, if you have it.”

“Right this way.” We follow behind the girl who can’t be more than twenty-two or so. I wonder how she and Davis know each other. She seems pleasant and professional, so I don’t imagine it’s a romantic past. Christy seats us at a table with a spectacular view of the Mississippi River.

I always thought I was more of a lake girl coming from Chicago, but there’s a power in the Mississippi that’s truly inspiring. Even though it only flows slightly more than a mile per hour, it seems a lot faster when you’re standing still.

“Would you like some wine?” Davis asks.

I could buy a nice bottle for what they charge for a glass here, but what’s the old saying, in for a penny, in for a pound? I answer, “That sounds good. I’ll have a glass of merlot.”

“The filet is my favorite.” He explains, “They wrap it in bacon and serve it with an herb butter that’s so good I could roll in it.” My mind flashes to an image of Davis rolling in anything, and my mouth goes dry.

I look at the menu to find the filet and see it’s served with sautéed mushrooms and spinach. While it sounds delicious, it’s also forty-two dollars. I suppose I could eat half of it and have the other half for dinner tomorrow night. Before I can decide, Davis suggests, “Do you trust me to order for us?”

“I guess,” I answer cautiously. While I’m prepared to spend more than I ever have on a meal, I’m not sure if I can afford what he chooses.

Before the waitress comes back, I excuse myself to use the ladies’ room. I want to touch up my lipstick and fluff my hair, so I look my best. This is the first time since running into Davis again that I’m not wearing some kind of uniform. And while this isn’t a date, I still want to maximize this opportunity as best I can.

The bathroom is just as elegant as the rest of the restaurant with gilded mirrors and candlelight. I give my cheeks a quick pinch and am about to congratulate myself on looking way calmer than I feel, when the door opens and someone else walks in. My eyes meet hers in the mirror and I nearly scream like a teenager in a slasher film. What in all that’s holy is she doing here?

First Chad, and now this. I have the worst luck ever.

Chapter Twelve

September 10, 2008

Dear Molly,

Oh. My. God. Tonight was Senior Night at school where the parents come in to meet the teachers. Mom parked her ancient Chevy right next to a shiny new Cadillac that belongs to Jessica Holt’s family.

Mom got out of the car and immediately ran up to Jessica’s dad and threw her arms around him. It was like something out of a nightmare. She said, “Jeff, where have you been? You said you were coming back so we could pick up where we left off.” Then, hand to God, she puckered up and made kissy noises at him.

Jessica dragged her mom away after Mrs. Holt called my mom a slut and Jessica glared at me like I was pond scum. Her dad finally came clean and told my mom the truth, and then … and then … and then … It just kept coming. I don’t know how I’m going to last