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Chapter Twenty-nine
Finley
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“It’s so good to haveyou back.” Heather slides up to the food counter next to me as we both wait for our orders to come out of the kitchen.
I’ve been back at work for almost two weeks now, but this is the first time Heather and I have been scheduled for the same shift. She usually works dinner and I’ve been taking lunch shifts because they’re not quite as demanding while I ease my way back in.
“It’s good to be back,” I admit. “I still can’t believe Henry gave me my job back after the way I left.”
“I told you he would. Besides, if he didn’t he would have pissed a lot of people off. It’s not like you purposely got cancer.” She gives me a sideways glance, grabbing two plates off the line the moment the cook sets them down. “We’ll have to catch up after the lunch rush. I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”
“Okay, yeah,” I agree, feeling a twinge of guilt for being so far removed from Heather and some of my other friends from the restaurant.
Between surgery and chemo and Abel, I’ve been a little preoccupied. I guess that’s what almost dying will do to a person. It causes you to focus on yourself even when doing so isn’t something you’re necessarily used to.
“Order up.” Josh’s voice snaps me from my thoughts and I look up to see table thirty-six’s order in front of me.
Grabbing the plates, I pile them on a tray before hoisting it up and making my way out into the dining room to deliver the food.
Stopping in front of the table, I get one of the four plates down when suddenly the ground sways beneath me. I don’t know how it happens. One moment I’m on my feet and the next I’m on the ground, plates of food scattered all around me.
I blink and several people are grouped around me, including Heather who helps me into an upright position before getting right into my face like she’s trying to determine the damage.
“Are you okay?” she asks, worry evident in her voice.
“I think so.” I look around, feeling a bit disoriented and quite embarrassed.
“Come on. Let me help you back to the break room.” She pulls me to my feet while two other waitresses work on cleaning up the mess of food on the floor.
I barely register the concerned looks on my customer’s faces before Heather pulls me out of the dining room and through the kitchen, into the break room.
Only seconds pass before Henry steps inside, a glass of water in his hand.
“Are you okay?” He kneels down in front of me as Heather guides me into a chair.
“I think so.” I shake my head, trying to shake off the thick fog that seems to be surrounding me.
“What happened?” Heather asks, taking the seat next to me.
“I don’t know,” I admit, taking a gulp of water. “One minute I was putting plates on the table, the next I was on the ground.” I take another drink, the cold liquid feeling good on my suddenly dry throat.
“I’m going to call Claire,” Heather says, quickly standing to retrieve her cell phone from her locker.
“Don’t,” I object, my voice weak.
“Finley, you just passed out in the middle of the restaurant. I’m calling Claire.” Her tone tells me it’s not up for debate.
“I didn’t pass out. I just fell.” I say what I think happened even though I’m not entirely sure.
“No, you passed out. You were unconscious on the floor for at least thirty seconds.”
“I was?” I turn my wide gaze up to her.
She nods, pressing her cell phone to her ear moments later.
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