mochas. The coffee was pretty much regular or decaf, poured in endless refills from a potbellied glass carafe with an orange plastic handle. They sold soup and sandwiches, and for dessert they had one of those rotating pie cases. Abbie, Hannah, and I used to press our noses to that glass case when we were little, watching the towering wedges of lemon meringue and chocolate cream pies twirl slowly by. Choosing our flavors had been agonizing.
The waitresses there were old-school. They wore aprons and tucked pens behind their ears. The older ones had leathery necks and wore too much makeup. The young ones always seemed to have lots of tattoos. They called us “sweetie pie” when they plunked down our pink lemonades on the faux wood-grain table. And when they served you pie, they topped it with a big squirt of fake whipped cream, straight from the can.
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “Do you think they’d be looking for someone like me? I’ve never waited tables before.”
“Do you like cats?” Josh asked.
“They’re okay,” I said.
“Well, don’t say that to Melissa,” Josh said. “Tell her you love cats, especially calicos. And before you talk to Melanie, make sure you know the score of the most recent Cubs game.”
“O-kay,” I said with a laugh. “Anything else I should know?”
“How are you at chopping up celery and pickles?” Josh quizzed me.
“Oh, those are my specialties,” I joked.
“They’ll love you,” Josh said. Then suddenly he seemed to find his fizzy red drink really interesting, because he ducked his head to stare into it.
And if I could have seen better in the late-night darkness, I would have sworn he was blushing.
Shyly I looked away. That’s when I saw that Abbie was motioning at me frantically from across the dock. When she saw that she’d caught my eye, she pointed dramatically at Hannah and Liam.
They were full-on making out! Yes, they were in a shadowy part of the dock with no lanterns nearby, but you could still see everything—Hannah’s fingers in Liam’s hair, his arms clasped tightly around her waist, her ankle wrapped around his.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed.
“What?” Josh said, following my gaze.
“Never mind!” I cried. “It’s nothing.”
The last thing I wanted Josh to see was my sister macking with one of his classmates.
“It’s just,” I said quickly, “I came here with my sisters and I think they’re ready to go.”
“Oh, okay,” Josh said. I was so focused on Hannah’s gross PDA that I couldn’t read Josh’s tone. Was that disappointment I heard in his voice? Or indifference?
“But thanks for the Mel and Mel’s tip,” I said. “You know, I think I’m gonna go for it!”
I had only made the decision that very moment. But suddenly I desperately wanted to tie on an apron and start calling people “hon.” It sounded kind of fun! More fun, anyway, than changing diapers.
Plus, I couldn’t help but wonder if Josh was a regular at Mel & Mel’s. It was just next door.
The way he smiled at me—we’re talking deep dimpling—I kind of thought he might be.
“They open at seven,” he said.
July
The morning after the party I left a note to my parents on the kitchen table and headed for Mel & Mel’s at six forty-five.
Sparrow Road was eerily quiet, and the sunbeams filtered through the trees at a very unfamiliar angle. I was never up this early when I was in Bluepointe. But I told myself, maybe just a little defensively, that my job quest had nothing to do with Josh. Okay, not much to do with him.
I’m just being a go-getter, I thought. Who knows how many people might be lined up for this waitress job?
I also credited the date—the first day of July.
New month, new job—it’s a fresh start. I’m already getting bored with lying around on the beach.
When I arrived at the corner of Main and Althorp, I cast a furtive glance at the not-yet-open Dog Ear, just to make sure nobody was inside. Luckily, it was dark and still, just like most of the other businesses on Main.
The brightly lit coffee shop next door looked sunny and welcoming in comparison. Just as Josh had predicted, there was a HELP WANTED sign taped to the glass door.
I peered through the door. One of the Mels, I think it was Melanie, was setting heavy china mugs out on the tables. She wore her chin-length gray hair tied back with a bandanna. Her apron—layered over jeans and a tank top—was embroidered with a calico