Baby, It's You (10 page)

“I know, but—”

“So you quit?”

Kari hated this. “Not yet.”

“But you’re going to.”

She was silent again.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Hey! You were the one who said how stupid it was that I was going to wait tables!”

“No. I believe I told Rosie how wrong I thought it was for her to hire you. Looks as if I was right.” He glanced at her feet. “Why are you wearing shoes like that to wait tables?”

“It’s all I have.”

“There’s most of your problem. You need sneakers.”

“No kidding.”

“So find a way to get some.”

“Yeah. I’ll reach into my magical suitcase. They’re right next to the baby unicorns.”

“Take this seriously and you might find a solution.”

“Marc! I’m
dying
here!”

“So quit. I’ll buy you another bus ticket, take you to the station, and you can go back to Houston and marry the asshole. There you go. Problem solved.”

With that, he turned around dismissively and strode back to the barn, leaving Kari feeling like the biggest loser alive.

Damn you! You have no idea how I feel!

She folded her arms and leaned against the car, feeling miserable. She hurt in places she didn’t even know she had. She had no decent work shoes and no money to buy them with. The work was impossibly hard, and all she wanted to do was quit.

But then what?

All at once she realized she’d done this all her life. She’d always told herself it was just because she saw something better on the horizon and didn’t want to waste her time, but the truth was that when the going got tough, she quit. She quit the swim team in tenth grade because practice clashed with an afternoon TV show she wanted to watch. In college, as soon as a class got hard, she dropped it, which was why it took her five years to get a liberal arts degree. She’d run away from her own wedding because she hadn’t had the backbone to call it off before she was sitting at the church in a wedding dress. Now she was running away from Rainbow Valley because she refused to stick it out in a job that was harder than she’d anticipated.

She hated the way Marc had looked at her. He thought she was as useless as Greg did. As her father did. As Rosie did. Was there anyone in this life who respected her? Even a little bit?

She had the most gut-wrenching feeling that the answer to that question was no. And that was the worst blow of all. The trouble was, if she quit this job, it meant she really was at rock bottom. What was she going to do then? Crawl back to her father and beg him to give her job back? That job that wasn’t really a job at all, but simply a means her father used to allow him to call the shots? If she couldn’t even handle this job, how was she supposed to get another one that didn’t involve working for her father?

They’re right. All of them. You
are
useless.

She’d known Marc all of two days, yet the fact that he was a good, dependable, honorable man was so crystal clear to her that she’d have stated it under oath. And when he’d turned his back on her and walked away, his disappointment still lingered in the very air she breathed. Oddly enough, of all the people in her life right now, he was the one whose respect she craved more than anything. With every minute that passed, that feeling ate away at her a little more, and pretty soon it hurt worse than her strained muscles and her pounding head, which meant there was only one thing she could do.

She got into the Bomb and drove back to Rainbow Valley, ignoring the pain, ignoring the odds stacked against her, ignoring the fact that Rosie had essentially fired her but had been kind enough not to actually say the words. She parked in the lot behind the restaurant and came through the back door, trying not to look as if she could barely walk. Rosie was sitting at the counter poking at a laptop. Kari slid onto the stool beside her.

Rosie sighed. “Honey, what are you doing back here? You look like you’re about to drop.”

Kari lifted her chin.
Oh, God. My neck muscles!
“I need to talk to you.”

“I thought things were settled.”

“No. Things aren’t settled. I have something else I need to say.”

“Talk fast,” Rosie said. “I have a lot of work to do before the dinner hour gears up.”

Kari swallowed hard and started in. “I know you think I’m a lousy waitress and that there’s no hope I’ll ever be a good one. I know Bobbie hates me, so there’s that problem, too. But I’m not quitting.”

Rosie raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“That’s right. I’m going to come into this place every single shift I’m scheduled and try my damnedest to do a good job. And you can bet I’m going to screw up. I’m going to drop things. My tickets will be out of balance. Some of the customers will probably yell at me, and I’ll earn zero tips. But I’m not going to make it easy for you to get rid of me, because I’m not going to quit.
I am not going to quit.
If you want me out of here, you’re going to have to fire me.”

Rosie sighed and shook her head. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I need this job.”

“Part of life is knowing when to quit.”

“Yeah, sometimes it is. But since I already know how to do that, now I need to learn how to keep going.”

Rosie stared at her a long time with a deadpan expression. Then she looked away, shaking her head. “I can’t afford to lose any more dishes.”

“I know.”

“The hourly wage sucks. If you don’t make any tips, you’d be better off rummaging through sofa cushions for loose change.”

“I know that, too.”

“No telling what Bobbie’s liable to do if you show up here tomorrow. Remember, I can only call the sheriff
after
she’s committed assault and battery.”

“I hear you.”

Rosie twisted her mouth with irritation. “You’re not cut out for this, you know.”

“I know.”

Rosie tapped her fingertips on the Formica counter, and Kari could almost feel her brain working. Then, with a heavy sigh, Rosie slid off her barstool. “You got the six a.m. to three p.m. shift tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

As Rosie strode into the kitchen, Kari felt as if she’d voluntarily signed up for life in prison. But she still had a job. As she slid off the stool, the backs of her calves felt as if they were on fire.

Ow. Ow.
Ow. Ow! OW!

She walked as delicately as she could to the back door and got into the Bomb. Coming back there tomorrow morning would likely be hell on earth all over again, but she was going to do it no matter what. If she dropped dead, so be it. At least she’d die trying.

She drove back to the vineyard, where she parked the Bomb. Then she walked resolutely up the steps to Marc’s deck and knocked on his back door. Several seconds later, he answered. Before he could even open his mouth, she started in.

“Just so you’ll know, I went back to town. I talked to Rosie, and I’m keeping my job.”

Marc’s eyebrows rose. “Is that right?”

“That’s right. It’s the worst job I’ve ever had. I hurt in places I didn’t even know existed. But even if it kills me, I’m going back. So don’t you
ever
again suggest that I should go back to Houston and marry Greg. No matter what I have to do, that is
never
going to happen. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand completely.”

“Good. Now I’m going to stumble back to the cottage, take a shower, and fall into a coma. If you’ll excuse me?”

She turned around and walked back down the steps, then headed down the path to the cottage. She let Boo out to run around the yard and pee, then went inside to sit down before she fell down. Then she saw tiny teeth marks in the legs of two of the wooden chairs at the dinette table. Great. That was just what she needed. Boo eating the cottage, one bite at a time.

She rested for a minute, then went in to take a shower. It felt good, but not good enough. She put on a robe and collapsed on the sofa again. For the next hour, she watched a little TV, avoiding her ex-favorite shows like
Hell’s Kitchen
or
Restaurant: Impossible
. People yelling at other people in restaurant kitchens just didn’t hold the same entertainment value for her it had the day before.

She still hadn’t heard a word from her father. Not one. More than once since she’d left Houston, she’d imagined him telling her he understood why she’d run and that he supported her decision not to marry Greg.

When would she ever learn?

When she was ten, she’d fantasized that he would surprise her with a trip to Disney World, and he’d ride Splash Mountain with her and not care if he got wet. When she was twelve, she imagined him sitting through her ballet recital, then telling her she was the next Anna Pavlova. When she was sixteen, she envisioned him coming to her soccer game and cheering when she made a goal. But if all those things had never happened, what made her think anything would change now?

Then she heard a knock at her door.

With a deep breath, she hoisted herself off the sofa and walked gingerly to the door. She opened it to find Marc on the porch. He brushed past her and came inside. He carried a big box, which he set down on the dinette table.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You’re going to have a hard time keeping that promise.”

“What?”

“To never quit your job. You can’t expect to be successful at something if you don’t have the proper tools.”

“What are you talking about?”

He reached into the box. “First—ibuprofen. It’s an anti-inflammatory, so it’ll take away the muscle pain.” He grabbed a glass from a kitchen cabinet, filled it with water, and handed her two of the tablets. She stared at them dumbly.

“Kari. Take the pills.”

“Marc—”

“Take them.”

She took the pills and downed them as he reached into the box again.

“Your biggest problem is shoes,” Marc said. “What size do you wear?”

“Six.”

“Then these will be too big.” He pulled a pair of raggedy sneakers out of the box and put them on the floor. “But here are two pairs of socks. Wear both of them and the shoes will probably be okay.”

“Whose shoes are they?” she asked.

“Angela’s.”

“Your daughter? You’re giving me her shoes?”

“Do you need them?”

She didn’t know how to answer that without appearing helpless. But maybe it was just as bad to appear ungrateful.

“Yes.”

“Then wear them.” He pulled a heating pad from the box, which he plugged in and laid across the pillow at the end of the sofa.

“Your back’s bound to hurt. Sit down and lean against that.”

She sat down, feeling like a Raggedy Ann that had gotten hit by a train. She turned and pulled her feet up on the sofa, resting her back against the pad. As it heated up, she couldn’t believe what Marc pulled out of the box next. If her muscles weren’t ripped to shreds, she’d have leapt off the sofa and grabbed it right out of his hand.

“Wine?” she said.

“Yep. Nature’s anesthesia.”

He grabbed a wineglass from a kitchen cabinet, uncorked the bottle with a practiced twist and pull, and filled the glass. He handed it to her.

“Drink this.”

She sipped the wine.
Oh, God.
It filled her mouth with the most amazing flavor, and as she swallowed, she felt the soft burn all the way down her throat. Her body slumped as the wine went south, bringing on a sense of relaxation she certainly hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

“Good wine,” she said, sipping it again. “
Really
good.”

“It’s our 2010 Cabernet. Our best vintage yet. Just the right amount of rain and sun that season. Most years we’re not that lucky.”

“So luck plays a part?”

“It’s about the only thing you can count on. Not having any.”

“Tough business?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Marc pulled out two more things—Band-Aids and triple antibiotic ointment—and put them on the coffee table. Then he sat down on the other end of the sofa.

“Give me your foot.”

Kari blinked. “What?”

“A few of your blisters must have already popped, and you don’t want them getting infected. Your foot.”

With a Herculean effort, she lifted one leg and held out her foot. He took it in those big hands and rested it on his thigh. He opened a Band-Aid, squirted antibiotic ointment onto it, and stuck it over one of her blisters, working slowly and diligently.

And Kari just sat there, staring at him with disbelief.

She remembered how she’d once asked Greg to rub her sore neck, and he gave it a halfhearted effort with one hand while he checked stock prices on his iPhone with the other. This was different. So incredibly different. Just the feel of her foot resting on Marc’s rock-hard thigh was sigh worthy, not to mention the care he took over every one of her blisters. They’d hurt like hell before, but now she didn’t even feel the pain.

“You’ve done this before,” she said.

“What?” he said, never looking up from his task.

“Fixed boo-boos.”

“Yeah. Once or twice.”

Big understatement there. Parenthood meant dealing with scraped knees and elbows all over the place. And as Kari thought about this big, tough man with his young daughter in his lap, drying her tears and putting on Band-Aids…

It seemed so out of character. Maybe that was why it gave Kari such a warm, squishy feeling inside.

With Marc so tuned in to his task, she could stare at him all she wanted to. And she really wanted to. She let her gaze wander from the short, dark brush of beard along his jaw, to the smooth bronze skin of his cheeks, to the tiny lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes, saying that he actually did smile once in a while. As she took another sip of wine, she started to think about other things, mostly those hands of his somewhere on her body besides her feet.

“What was so bad about the job?” he asked her. “Aside from the obvious.”

“Well, there wasn’t much I didn’t screw up. I messed up orders. I brought the wrong stuff to people. And the menu. There must be a thousand things on it.”

“Memorize it.”

“There’s no time for that.”

“Bring a menu home tomorrow night and study it. Being a waitress is no different from any other job. You just have to learn the basics. How are you getting along with Bobbie?”