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“This is more like a home than your apartment.” She brought her gaze back to me, and her insight made my eyes widen.
She was right. I certainly put more effort into making Footit’s welcoming than I did my apartment.
“This isn’t Winston’s,” Rachel said. “Thank God, and with Barry gone, it isn’t the same as back then.”
My chest pinched tight as I thought about my long-gone best friend. “It will never be the same as back then.”
“That’s my point.”
“The past is the past, huh?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“It doesn’t seem that way when you cry into your pillow at night.”
Rachel glanced away. “I try not to wake you.”
“Wake me next time so I can at least do this.” I threw my arms around her, and her waitressing tray got stuck between us.
“You could wake me too,” she said in my ear. “Instead of writing in that journal of yours.”
“Touché.” I eased back to give her a soft smile. “I will if you will.”
“Deal.” She didn’t give me a smile back, but at least that sad, faraway look ebbed somewhat from her eyes.
“Now, relinquish your round.” I reached for her tray, and she turned it over to me. “I want you to shadow me again tonight. You’re trying too hard. The trick about waiting tables is to read people. Some want you to hover, while others want to be left alone. You just have to pick up on their cues.”
“I’m not as good at reading people like you,” she grumbled.
“You are. You’ve just forgotten. Pretend you’re onstage, trying to connect with an audience. Pick up the cues and give your customers what they want, like you used to do with your fans. Yeah?”
• • •
Rachel took and employed the waitressing advice I gave her, and soon I began to get grateful looks and compliments from patrons.
After a few weeks under her belt, she started to make serious tip money. When she cried at night, she rolled into me, and I hugged her. I reached for her more times than not, instead of writing in my journal. And it went without saying that the hugs we shared were a comfort to both of us.
At night, it was almost like we were back in our shared room growing up. We whisper-talked about Daniel. I learned more about him, and knowing more didn’t make him seem like less of a good person. It confirmed to me that he was who I’d always thought he was, a rare person comfortable being himself, and he shared all he was with her. He’d been more than her husband and lover. He’d been her best friend.
Many nights after she went to sleep, I thought about Barry. Listening to her talk about Daniel shouldn’t make me think about him.
We’d been nothing more than friends, except for that almost-kiss in the storage room and one actual kiss. I wondered what might have happened if he’d stayed, refused to go when I’d insisted. But no, I was broken then, and it was right to send him away.
Thinking about Barry made me sad, so I put an end to it. I focused on what I did have. My sister and my niece were here with me.
I wasn’t alone, and I was grateful, but this morning I pretended I was asleep and not listening to Rachel and Claire talking just outside my bedroom door, because I knew they needed their privacy. The summer was over. It was early, and it was Claire’s first day at Southside High.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you to school?” Rachel asked.
“Mom.” Claire scoffed as she should to that offer. “I’m seventeen, remember?”
“I know how old you are.” Rachel sounded motherly and indignant.
“Go back to bed,” Claire said in a softer tone.
“I just want to be sure you’re going to be okay. It’s your first day at a new school.”
“I’ll be okay.” My niece’s chilly tone warmed beneath her mother’s concern. “I can get to school on my own.”
