Except—that’s what I did, isn’t it? Only I didn’t fuck a guy for my money.
I simply lied to him. Told him I was good for it.
Bet if Vernon knew about the cash Shawn gave me, he’d just shake his head with a rueful smile. Tell me my pretty little head shouldn’t worry so much about money, and I should ask George to pay Shawn back for me. That he’d be happy to as long as I keepchecking his boxes.
“Interesting,” I manage to push through my fake smile. “How about I get your food order for now?”
And thank the universe, he finally rattles off something from the menu.
For the next hour, I do my best to stop by their table only enough to satisfy my waitressing requirements. Luckily, the three of them get into some animated discussion that has them ignoring me for the most part.
I let out a sigh of relief when Vernon signs the bill and tucks his wallet away. Soon they’ll be gone and then I’ll finish out my shift and shower off this night as best I can.
Or so I thought.
“I need to steal you for a moment, Beth.” Vernon stands in front of me, gaze expectant.
“I’m sorry?” My eyes flick around the busy restaurant, including the group of people at the hostess stand. The table Vernon vacated is going to be filled the moment it gets bussed.
“Just a minute. You can take your break.” He offers me a friendly smile that I can’t find it in me to return. But I also get the feeling that if I refuse again, he won’t back off. He’ll just push more, and I don’t want to be the new waitress upsetting regular customers.
“I don’t have time for a break, but I can walk you out.” That way at least he’ll be out of the way. I turn toward the door, and he falls in step beside me. But of course, he waits to talk until we’re outside on the edge of the parking lot.
“Sorry to pull you out of there, but I wanted to check in.”
“Check in?” The parroted words pop out because I have no idea what else to say to this guy who’s basically a stranger. He’s not my instructor. Definitely not my friend. When Tim asked how I was doing at the plane wash, his concern was genuine. This exchange does not have that same comforting sense.
But I know that Vernon means a lot to George, and for that reason, I’ll keep things cordial.
“Check in about you and George,” Vernon says, and I wonder if he somehow knew I was thinking about our mutual acquaintance.
“What about us?” I manage a mildly curious voice because I am a customer service pro. Seriously, if I ever fill out a résumé, I need to includeExpert at bullshitting. Fully capable of lying with every inch of my body.
“Now, you see, I thought you two were some fling. But last I talked to him, he had some real nice things to say about you.” Vernon hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and stares down at me with that condescending smile-smirk. “Made me think he’s got his heart in this.”
“I…” Is that a compliment? An observation?
Is this why he thought George would be supporting me financially?
“And I know you’ve only got a few more hours in the air until you’ve got your license. Which is a real feat. I was sure I’d never seeyou again after the first bit. Women never seem to stick with it for the long run, you know?” He shakes his head like the thought is a real shame. “I’ve been an instructor for a while, and I’ve never had a girl who started with me make it through to examinations. Not one. So good for you, Miss Beth.”
I stand still, not moving, not speaking, not sure that I won’t push him in front of the next moving car that passes by.
Oblivious, he continues. “But I’m not looking forward to the day you get your license, then drop George because you got what you wanted from him. Real shame, using him like that. I know flying time is hard for some people to afford, but you might consider saving the money you earn here and using that instead of taking advantage of an instructor. Fucking a man for flying lessons isn’t going to earn you anyone’s respect.” He gives me a smile that’s all pity and disappointment and judgment. “You think on that. And consider making some better choices.”
Vernon gives one final, definitive nod, as if he needs to punctuate his profound wisdom, then strolls off across the parking lot, the lights on a brand-new truck flashing when he taps a button on his key fob.
Not caring in the slightest about the wreckage he left behind him. The bomb he set off in my head. A lethal combination of fury, mortification, disgust, and…guilt.
Like a robot, I manage to turn around and reenter the restaurant. My brain is on autopilot as my manager snaps at me about unplanned breaks. I finish out my shift with stiff movements and the barest attempt at a smile. When I count my tips at the end of the night, they’re the lowest since I’ve started, and still they’re somehow more than I make at Cornfield’s.
But I’m too withdrawn to care.
I make it home before I feel the shield I’ve placed over my emotions fracturing. In self-preservation, I bypass our driveway to thedead end of the road. There I park, turn off all the lights of my car, and crack the windows in hopes that the cool night air will steal away some of the meat scent clinging to me.
Through my windshield is a cloudless night. A sky of black with pinpricks of stars.
I focus on those little lights and try to ignore the itchy feel of saltwater trailing down my cheeks.
