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That stopped her. She got quiet. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I paused, knowing I shouldn’t say it, that there were some lines you shouldn’t cross. But she was so mean, and I was so tired. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“I don’t know. I recall certain rules about never being away from this property for more than a few hours at a time. Never, ever sleeping off the property for any reason.”
“That is so out of line.”
“Taking the steps down to the ocean every other day. Getting the mail at five P.M. at the edge of the driveway. Eating dinner on Sundays facing the ocean. Feel free to interrupt me if I’m forgetting any. Maybe you have some rules now about never venturing far from the life Dad set up? Or maybe you’re a little more like him than you want to admit?”
She looked right at me—so angry, so hurt—like she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that I still had the power to affect her.
“Ten minutes to get your things and get out of my house,” she said.
Then she turned and walked away.
36
I sped down the driveway, my belongings hastily thrown into the passenger seat, and drove to 28, fighting back tears. Sometimes you’re glad you got something off your chest. This wasn’t one of those times. I was sorry I’d said any of it. I hadn’t meant it, really. Rain was just coming at me so hard, and even when I thought I was doing something right—giving Sammy a fun day, not taking the easy way out—she still would hit me for it.
How do you win with someone like that? Especially when I was so confused as to how I’d ended up here—again. Stuck in Montauk. Stuck in a house with the one person who was a mirror of all of the things I was trying to escape. It wasn’t that I’d been trying to hurt her. It wasn’t that I wanted to make her feel as lost and isolated as I did.
It was really that I didn’t know how to ask her to stop, for just a second, doing everything in her power to remind me that she thought I deserved to feel terrible. That I deserved to have my career taken overnight, and to lose my husband, who had apparently already moved on.
I pulled into the restaurant parking lot, took a peek at myself in the rearview mirror, and wiped at my tears.
And now there was Sammy, her weird and wonderful kid. Thing was (chalk it up to the pregnancy hormones), I was getting used to her. I hated the idea that I didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to her, that she wouldn’t even get to hear that I hadn’t wanted to leave. At least, I hadn’t wanted to leave her.
I walked into the kitchen and headed right to my station. Douglas was standing there with a young guy, showing him the ropes.
“What are you doing here?” Douglas said.
“Douglas,” I said. “You have two seconds to get away from my station . . .”
“My station now,” the young guy said.
I drilled him with a dirty look. “Who are you?”
“I’m in charge of trash,” he said.
“I have five hundred dollars in my pocket. It’s yours if you just go to the bathroom for the next five minutes.”
“Deal!” he said.
“No deal,” Douglas said.
“What’s going on?”
We turned to see Chef Z standing behind us. He had his chef jacket on, his arms folded over his chest.
“Douglas, move away,” he said. “And take Lance with you.”
“I’m not Lance,” the young guy said.
Chef Z raised his hands. “Nobody cares,” he said.
As Douglas disappeared and the young guy
headed toward the bathroom (did he really think I would pay him now?), Chef Z leaned in.
