August (The Year of The Change Book 2) (35 page)

“No, that’s okay, I don’t need it.” She should have been embarrassed that Latisha thought she was poor enough to warrant donated clothes. She was more embarrassed that she hadn’t pulled the satin gown out and shown it to the others before putting it in the sorting bins. She knew she should. But she couldn’t. No matter how hard she fought with herself the words wouldn’t come out. Cara kept her head down, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes lest they discover her lie and thievery.
Why can’t I tell them?

Della cleared her throat.

Latisha sighed. “I’m sorry, Cara.” She walked away and chucked the flannel gown into the bin labeled ‘Women’.

I must give it back. It’s not mine to keep.

The older ladies, too conveniently, jumped into a conversation about what was happening in the congregation and upcoming events. It felt forced and stilted to Cara. She just couldn’t make herself pull the gown out no matter how bad the guilt racked her. The longer she argued internally, the more embarrassed she became. It was too late now to whip it out and laugh about how she thought the other women were the Bokers. The others would have laughed with her. They may have even thumped her on the back like a hero. Not now, now it was too late.

What have I done?

It wasn’t easy listening to the others, as guilt was in overdrive. Her conscience wanted nothing more than to chew her out. She deserved it too. With every movement the gown caressed her skin, which made it even harder to focus her attention on the conversation.

With the four of them working, the few piles that remained disappeared quickly. When the last piece of clothing hit the bin Cara excused herself and hurried from the basement. She put on her coat with one hand. The other hand at her waist, where only a sliver of cloth remained to be held, she could only spare a finger or two to help with the old, cranky zipper. At the top of the stairs the gown, slipped further down her leg, and she was afraid it would come out the cuff of her pants. With her hood snug over her head the zipper refused to go up all the way. She couldn’t spare another finger and gave up. A blast of cold wind whipped her brown hair into her eyes. It was too much to hope that a storm wasn’t brewing. Awkwardly she stuffed the tresses into the hood of her thin coat and clutched the bulge on her right thigh. Then she prayed not to lose the gown on her long walk home and for forgiveness for her cowardice.

The whole way her conscience slapped her around and she prayed harder. Her unrelenting better side made her promise she would slip the gown into a donation box on Sunday. That way the Boker sisters would never see it before it was shipped out, with the other donated clothes, to do good somewhere in the world. The gown would be safe. Knowing the Bokers wouldn’t be able to steal it gave her comfort.

At the next corner she cut across the winter-brown lawn with its neat flower gardens. Any other day she would have slowed to admire the lawn ornaments. Not today. Today she didn’t even notice the fanciful gnomes. She barely noticed the winter dead grass crunch under her feet. Her only sensation was satin hugging her skin.

Somewhere, in a third-world country, someone would get the beautiful gown. She knew they needed the luxury that wrapped around her leg. For the first time knowing a deserving person would soon have the gown didn’t make her feel better. That woman would probably cut it apart to make things out of it to sell. That someone had to do it to feed her starving family. It wasn’t that Cara didn’t want someone to feed her family, but the idea of destroying the gown made her stomach queasy.

The exquisite luxury was more than anything she’d ever had, nor had she ever thought to dream about. An extravagance that felt wonderful as it threatened to escape from her pant leg with every step she took.

To distract herself, she recalled the wonderful event that happened at the community college yesterday. It was nothing mundane like a visiting dignitary or an earthquake. It was much more important and life altering. LD, the guy who always sat behind her in Ledgers 101, stopped her after class and spoke to her again! Two days a week they had a class together. It amazed her that he continued to speak to her. Each chance to be near him was a gift from God and she relished each moment with him. His warm blue eyes and brilliant smile, even the memory of his voice sent shivers down her spine. It had been two semesters since she first saw him enter her beginner tax class. An older student like her, he had to be at least twenty-five or twenty-six. Even at his age he attracted all the young beautiful girls with his quick wit and stunning smile. He didn’t look anything like an accountant and she wondered what if he did something else for a living. Too shy to ask she would have to work up the courage to quench her curiosity.

She rounded the corner into a small trailer park. The carved tree on the welcome sign was almost invisible under the decades of paint. The park manager, a bent old man, straightened from picking up trash that had blown in with the stiff wind. No matter what the weather he walked the grounds. A routine he’d had for almost as long as the trailer park had been there. He waved with a toothless grin.

Cara waved back and wished she could go help her old friend. Instead, she needed to get the gown into hiding before it was ruined or worse yet, she lost it. She shivered harder.

A neighbor waved from her walk as she rushed to get out of the cold. She knew everyone here. Mostly they were older people and they were all nice to her.

She and her grandmother, Betty, moved here after her grandfather, Ralph, died five years ago. They had once lived in a spacious, three-bedroom house with a big yard and an apple tree. Ralph had been sick for a long time. The medical bills and the funeral ate up all his life insurance and savings. Though the house had been paid for, Betty’s small amount of social security and pension barely covered the cost of upkeep, let alone the property tax. Selling the house and buying the trailer made more sense. Even with all the downgrading, there hadn’t been enough money left over for college. Cara worked and saved up to take classes. Two more classes and she would have her associate degree. Her dream of taking care of her grandmother while she continued her goal of becoming a CPA seemed to be always just out of reach.

Cautiously she climbed the steps, her hand pressed tight to her stomach and the small lump. Betty’s car was parked outside and Cara could smell tuna casserole. Her stomach reminded her it was empty. The only thing that kept her from rushing in was the quandary of how to get past her grandmother without the older woman guessing what she was up to. She had never been able to fool Betty.

Stepping inside, Cara almost tripped over two suitcases next to the front door. Betty walked back and forth, tethered to the wall phone as she talked to her sister, Nina, in Arizona. Every year at this time she rode the bus to stay for two weeks in sunny Scottsdale. She saved all year so she could make the trip, and now she was giving her sister the last of the details. The timing was perfect. Cara dashed to her room. She yanked the gown from her jeans and stuffed it in her bottom drawer.

Straightening her blouse and hair, she went to face her all-knowing grandmother.

Chapter Two

The dull ache in Steven’s head kept time with the babble and clinking of the two assistant chefs and three kitchen staff. His business partner, Johnny Sawyer, yelled across the room and Steven cringed. Everyone scrambled to prepare meals for the early evening patrons. Steven nursed a bad burn with a wet cloth draped over his left hand as he flipped boneless chicken breasts on the grill with the other. Less than two hours and he could go home and attend to his more difficult job.

“You did it wrong.” Steven focused on the short blonde waitress, Dusty.

“What did I do wrong?” He was too tired to argue

“The order was for rare and the steak’s well done, actually it’s more like well over done.” She smacked her gum and he frowned at her. She quickly tossed the gum in the trash while Steven looked at the dried out mess on the plate.

“Shoot.” He adjusted the drying cloth on his burn. “I can’t believe I did that.” With a flick of his wrist he tossed the disaster in the trash, plate and all.

“Whoa, partner! Don’t be throwing away the profits.” Johnny rushed over and retrieved the dish.

Steven shook his cotton-filled head. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

He picked up the tongs and dug through the T-bone steaks until he found the biggest and threw it on the grill. He watched it sizzle and wished he could lie down and sleep.

Dusty cleared her throat. “Don’t forget it’s for Pattinson and he likes it still mooing.”

Steven nodded and turned the hunk of meat over.

She twisted a lock of bleached hair around her finger. “I swear the man is part vampire.” Dusty stepped back as another server, Amber, stepped around Dusty and hung an order. “He sops up all the blood with bread and says that’s the best part.” Dusty shivered.

The other girl laughed. “He can bite me anytime. The man is gorgeous.”

Dusty scrunched up her face. “Ew.”

Amber grabbed an up order and left laughing. Another flip and the steak was done.

Steven followed Dusty out. Pattinson was a regular who brought many influential people to Steven and Johnny’s restaurant, The Good Life. They certainly couldn’t afford to lose him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pattinson –”

Pattinson, a tall man with a broad grin, held up his hand. “It happens.” He took a closer look. “Are you all right, Steven? You look terrible.” His long chiseled face and large brown eyes emanated concern.

Steven shrugged. “I’m okay, nothing that seventy-two hours of continuous sleep wouldn’t solve.” When Pattinson looked at him quizzically, Steven added, “My six-month-old son isn’t sleeping through the night.”

“Ah, well that explains everything. Do you need the name of a good nanny agency? I’d be glad to give it to you.”

The generous gesture touched Steven. “That would be very kind of you. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do for my favorite chef.” Pattinson pulled out a thick stack of business cards and thumbed through them with his long slender fingers. “Ah, here it is. This is the agency I use.”

Steven accepted it graciously and put it in his pocket. “Hopefully this will be more to your liking.” He indicated the fresh steak Dusty placed before the kind man.

Pattinson‘s eyes glowed with anticipation.  “It looks perfect.” He grabbed a roll and dunked it in the juices swirling on the plate.

“Bon appetite” Steven bowed and caught up with Dusty as they walked away. “Mr. Pattinson’s meal is on the house.”

“Sure thing, Steve.” Dusty bounced away.

At the kitchen door, Johnny pulled Steven to the side, out of the way of the bustling wait-staff. “Hey, buddy, why don’t you take off early? We’re not busy and I can cover your last hour.”

Steven shook his head. “I can’t leave you shorthanded.” It bothered him that he couldn’t pull his life together and quit imposing on everyone around him.

“It’s only an hour. Go ahead, you deserve it.”

Steven knew he didn’t deserve it. He’d already taken too much time off since Belinda’s death. But he certainly wasn’t doing his best work while he was so tired. “Okay, thanks, Johnny.” Some day he was going to make this up to his best friend.

He untied his apron, depositing it in a laundry bin as they walked into the kitchen. Grabbing his coat off a hook in his office, he noticed the box of paperwork on his desk. He bundled it up and turned off the light. He hoped he could stay awake long enough to get the work done.

Steven chugged a Dr. Pepper as he drove to his mother’s house. After his wife’s death last month, his mother had stepped up and taken over the care of Nate while Steven worked to keep his restaurant afloat. His mother was good to his son though this was not a perfect arrangement. Oh, how he hated being indebted to her. 

Just when they had started to see black ink at The Good Life his world had been ripped out from under him by an ice-covered curve. He never knew why Belinda had been out late at night. Where and when the accident happened never made any sense to him. It didn’t matter that she owed him some answers because she would never be able to speak to him again. Never would he find out why she was down the road from the graveyard where he would lay her to rest near her mother and sister.

If losing his precious wife wasn’t bad enough, his son, normally a good sleeper, was now waking in the middle of the night, crying until dawn, when Steven would normally be rising, rested. Early morning kitchen prep had become a zombie affair.

The business card burned in his breast pocket and he wished he could call and find a nanny to take some of the stress off his shoulders. Good, solid sleep would solve most of his problems.

It was no use thinking about.
I can’t afford to hire anyone. Our books are all messed up and cash flow is almost non-existent.
They paid Johnny’s latest girlfriend to come in twice a week to catch their books up. That wasn’t enough. They needed someone who could make everything balance, but they couldn’t afford anyone full time. It was like he was living a nightmare and couldn’t wake up.

After a minimal explanation to his mother for his early arrival, he bundled up his son and had him strapped in the car seat for the long ride across town. Steven pulled into traffic groggy and tense. The heavy load of cars this time of day in Chicago didn’t help his mood.

Blaring taillights activated his foot. Multiple brakes screamed insults. He jerked forward with the abrupt stop. His bumper was only inches from the car in front of him. Immediately he looked over his shoulder at his sleeping son. It was amazing what Nate could sleep through. So why couldn’t he sleep through the night? The driver in front of Steven waved his arms wildly as he glared in the rearview mirror. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Nate, too. Steven’s heart raced uncontrolled. He needed a moment to calm himself. Horns honked as he inched his way across two lanes to find a lone parking spot. Safely out of traffic, he put the engine in park. Leaning back, he fought uselessly to get his breathing under control. His arms lay inoperable on the steering wheel and he dropped his head on top of them. The tears won the battle.

I’m not much of a man if I let every little thing turn me into a crybaby.
There was more to it than that.
If Belinda hadn’t died I wouldn’t be such a mess
. His dear sweet wife had been an anchor in his life and now he felt adrift. No, more than that. It was as though he were drowning.

Anger welled up to replace the tears. “Why did you have to leave me?” He screamed at the windshield as he pounded the steering wheel.