Page 4 of Hairpin Curves

Megan looked down at it, and then looked at it again, disbelieving. “Ten thousand dollars?”

“I know it’s not everything, and it’s not a salary, but it should at least keep you going for a while.” He shifted awkwardly, pushing his glasses up the brim of his nose.

Megan’s heart pressed against her ribs. “You didn’t have to do this. I can apply for unemployment or something.”

“It’s the least we can do.” He smiled sadly. “You’ve been part of the Starlite family since you were just a girl. We could barely keep the place open without you.”

Megan got to her feet and gave Winston a hug, carefully, the kind of hug you’d give your grandfather if he’d just had surgery. She and Winston had never been on a hugging basis, but this was different. He patted her back awkwardly. “Thank you,” she said.

“No leaving before the end of the month, though, all right?” He held her at arm’s length and wagged a finger at her. “We’re gonna have a lot of stuff to pack up, and a few dozen more breakfasts to cook. Your trip to Vegas will have to wait until February.”

Megan laughed, even if she felt more sick than amused. “Sure. February.”

Chapter Two

Ten thousand dollars. Megan stared at the check in her hand as she sat in her car in her driveway, not yet willing to move from that spot. What was she going to do with this kind of money? It would pay all her bills for months and months. She had good savings, what with never going anywhere and running up very few expenses. If she was frugal, she could probably make her savings plus this income last...eight, nine months?

But what was she supposed to do without the Starlite? She got tired by 8:00 p.m. She woke up every day at four. Her rhythms were diner rhythms, patterns she’d forced her body into in order to keep this job that she—honestly—didn’t really like that much.

Oh, wow, her world spun just thinking that. She said the words out loud. “I didn’t really like that job.” Guilt, embarrassment, fear, all rushed through her system one after the other. She tried it louder. “I didn’t really like that job!”

Her laughter bubbled up, hysterical, the kind of half-wild laughter that would get out of control if she didn’t tamp it down. It wasn’t happy laughter; it was the fraught, unstrung kind, the kind when a person had reached the end of their rope. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself and got out of the car.

Megan fumbled the key into the lock of her house, jiggling it a few times to get the tumblers to click. She should call the landlord about this one of these days. Still staring at the check, she nearly walked into the doorframe as she went inside. The warmth was a welcome change from outside, where Florida’s damp winters made fifty degrees feel like half that. Not that she really knew what twenty-five degrees felt like; it pretty much never got that cold here, and she had never been out of Florida.

Megan stopped in her tracks, right between the living room and kitchen, a jolt running from her head to her feet. She’d never been out of Florida. And here she was, holding ten thousand dollars in her hand, convincing herself to squirrel it away in the bank and stay inside her little box.

Or.

She could do something crazy.

Teenage Megan came to mind, herself at sixteen in that photograph, trying to blend in with the background. That Megan had wanted to have adventures. She’d told herself she was going to do all these things someday, once she’d gotten out of high school, then once she’d gotten out of college, then any day now, always later, after she put a few things in order. There were always reasons to avoid change. Reasons to turn down invitations, to ignore job opportunities, to stay exactly as she was. It was always easier to keep the status quo than to shake up her life. She’d taken the path of least resistance over and over again, and here’s where she had landed.

She could take this ten thousand dollars—or not all of it, even just a fraction of it—and go somewhere.

Not Vegas, as Winston had joked. Vegas wasn’t her style. Honestly, what was her style? She hadn’t lived enough of her life to even develop a style, but she had dreams. She had a whole list of places she wanted to go, a scrapbook full of “someday” visions for her future. With the check burning hot in her pocket, she pulled the scrapbook off the living room bookcase and sat down on the sofa.

“What’s that?”

The voice from the kitchen made her jump and slam the scrapbook shut. “Jesus, Matt, I forgot you were home.”

Her brother was already poking around in the fridge. “I’m always home.”

“Tell me about it.” Megan put the scrapbook back on the shelf. She’d look at it later, when Matt wasn’t around to make snide comments. “Didn’t you have work today?”

Matt chugged his water and leaned against the fridge. If he’d had work today, he’d wasted no time changing back into running pants and an old T-shirt. He didn’t look like he’d shaved, either, and his hair was uncombed. “I took today off. I had a headache when I woke up.”

Megan wrinkled her nose. Great, another day off for Matt. She approached him in the kitchen. “Speaking of which. You have your share of the rent money?”

“Didn’t I Venmo you yet?” He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall, then made a thoughtful noise. “Wasn’t that due on the first?”

“Of course it was due on the first, and you told me you’d have it to me once you got paid, so I covered your half.” Megan tried to keep her voice calm. If Matt got into a snit, he’d withhold rent for the month just to be spiteful.

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded, sipping his water and rubbing his abs absentmindedly with his free hand. “Sure, I can get that to you. Remind me when I’ve got my phone.” Before she could protest, he started out the door, grabbing his phone off the table as he did so. “See ya.”

“You’ve got your phone now,” she shouted after him.

“I mean remind me when I’m not busy.” He was still on his way out.