Proving things are looking up,I time my arrival at the bus stop perfectly. The French Quarter line is only running ten minutes late, and George, my driver bestie, is on duty.
“Morning, sunshine,” he calls, dropping the hydraulics for me.
“Morning, George, how was your Saturday?” I ask, maneuvering in behind an older woman hunting for her bus pass. “Stay out of trouble?”
He cackles his cartoony laugh, fresh wrinkles blooming around his eyes. “Mostly, mostly. Get yourself a candy, sunshine. Just restocked this morning.”
“Thanks.” I collect a Werther’s from the plastic cup of goodies he keeps strapped to the pole by the censor and suck it as we zoom south, watching the sun cut a path through the clouds.
It’s shaping up to be a nice day. Hopefully, that means the storm is over, and Gus and I will be able to hit the park tomorrow. I pull my phone out to check—refusing to think about Dean or how I teased him about knowing the weather in advance. I’m doing a decent job until the bus stops in front of thearena, where a giant photo of the Voodoo roster looms over the street.
And just like that, Dean is back at the top of my mind.
Even in a team of enormous men, he’s one of the biggest. He stands with his shoulders back and arms crossed in the third row, a look in his eyes that says he’s isn’t here to play. Well, he’s here to play,obviously—hockeyis,at the end of the day, a game—but he’s going to leave it all on the ice.
Bet he would have left it all on my mattress, too, but alas…
I shove my phone back in my purse and focus on what matters. Tomorrow will be sunny and mild. Park weather. Frolicking weather. Wholesome-nanny-who-is-no-longer-thinking-about-getting-fingered-in-a-parking-lot weather.
That’s the energy I’m bringing from here on out.
I disembark not far from one of my favorite blues bars and head toward Southern Exposure, the café Marta picked. The second I walk in, it’s obvious this is one of those places where a cup of organic coffee costs nine dollars and an investment in carrot cake would wreck me financially.
So, I settle for an herbal tea—only five dollars, a steal by comparison—and find a table with a view of the door.
I’m twenty minutes early, but could have easily been twenty minutes late if the bus had decided today wasn’t my lucky day. And as my stepmonster used to say, “Early is on time, and on time is late.” Rhonda was a nightmare, but she did instill a few solid habits in me, mixed in with the stress and anxiety.
Luckily for me, it seems the Hendersons are from the same school of thought, and push through the door a few minutes later.
They look different in person. When viewed from the chest up, Marta gave “powerhouse who captains her family’s ship with ease” energy. In real life, she’s tiny, maybe five-two, with a blond bob and posture so perfect, she looks like a former ballerina.
Or like she has a stick clenched tight between her ass cheeks…
Stanley isn’t much taller and still squinting like it’s his first day on the planet. He looks confused, irritated, and maybe a little scared. Marta looks determined, also irritated, and exasperated.
My inner alarm bells start blaring instantly. My gut insists thisisn’twhat we signed up for—this level of uptight isn’tcloseto our vibe—but I shush it and force a smile as I wave them over.
It doesn’t matter what my gut says. These are my new bosses, and I’m counting on this job to get me through until I’m strong enough to wait tables again. I’ll put on a brave face, suck it up, and make this work, even if Marta and Stanley are a handful.
And maybe they’re not always like this. Maybe they’re just stressed from the cross-country move and settling into a new routine. Maybe, once they’ve decompressed, they’ll be delightful.
Hope flutters inside me as Marta’s lips curve into a tight, but friendly smile. She grips a handful of Stanley’s jacket, dragging him my way.
“Hello there,” she says, her voice more nasal than I remember. “Clover! So good to finally meet you in person.”
“So good.” Stanley exhales a puff of air, then sucks it up again with a snort so loud, it’s jarring.
I cover my flinch by rising to my feet and extending a hand. “Good to meet you both, too.” I shake first Marta’s hand, then Stanley’s colder, damper one before reaching for my cane to leverage myself back into my chair. “How are things at the new house? Are you all settling in okay?”
Marta blinks at my cane, a small, but noticeable shift in her tone as she reaches for her chair. “Yes, yes, just fine.” She laughs as she sits. “I mean, the ceiling is leaking in the garage, and thecarpet in the rec room has to be replaced, but at least the pod arrived before the snow started coming down.”
“We didn’t think it snowed in Louisiana.” Stanley sinks down beside his wife, his squint intensifying as he asks, “Should I get coffees at the counter, or will they come to the table?”
“The counter,” I tell him, inspiring another snort from the back of his throat.
I’m still trying to decide whether it’s a laugh or a sound of disapproval when Marta says, “That’s fine. Get us the usual, Stan, and I’ll fill Clover in on Gus’s schedule. I’ll have a bottled water, too, with bubbles.”
“Got it.” Stanley rises with a grunt. “Two decaf oat milk lattes, coming right up.”
