“Is that the new girl? Wow, she must do Pilates,” another diner says, her hands up against the window to see better.
“Where? Where?” the old man shouts. “Damn this storm. I can’t see a thing. Tell me more about her Pilates.”
I ring my hands. This is supposed to be a family diner, not a hoochie-mama floor show. Stone catches my eye and stands.
“All done,” he roars. “Food’s getting cold. Get back to your seats.”
“Shut up, Stone,” a man starts, but after taking a quick look at Stone’s face, he clears his throat. Stone is a big hulk of man, used to daily, hard, physical labor. I once saw him lift a refrigerator over his head. “Nothing to see here,” the man tells the group, nudging them to disburse.
“It’s hard to see, anyway,” a young woman says, walking back to her table. “It’s coming down like cats and dogs. I wonder if we’ll get a hurricane.”
We don’t get hurricanes, but she’s right about it coming down like cats and dogs. It’s going to be a long walk in the rain after work. Summer Island doesn’t allow cars, except for emergency vehicles. On any given day, the island is swarming with golf carts, bicycles, and Segways. I prefer walking, but today I have a longer walk than normal, and I’m going to get drenched. But I promised to housesit and dogsit for Ruby Freed this weekend, and I can’t get out of it. Her poor dog, Bark, is probably already scared to death from the storm.
I take care of all my tables, leaving Stone for last. “You want some dessert?” I ask him, again focusing three inches above his head.
“Sure. Did you get a new uniform? You look nice. I mean, even nicer than normal. You always look nice.”
I do? I gurgle, unable to say thank you. Damn it. Get it together, Norma.
“No, it’s my normal uniform.” I tug at it self-consciously and rip it along the seam. Oh, geez.
“I’ll get you some pie,” I say and turn on my heel.
The diner door opens, and two firefighters walk in with their raincoats dripping on the floor. They hang them up and take a seat at one of Marcy’s tables. “Eat quickly, folks,” one of them announces. “There’s a doozy of a storm on its way. We’re closing the pier and asking townspeople to stay inside.” There’s a lot of questions from the diners about the weather and the electric grid. With the threat of bad weather now real, there’s a flurry of new orders, as if the diners are trying to lay down a layer of fat in case they can’t get to food for weeks.
Finally, I’m free to go. Marcy hands me a plastic bag to put over my head. “What good is this?” I ask. “So my hairdo doesn’t get ruined?” I have a bob, and I normally only drip-dry it.
She takes the plastic bag from me and places it on my head. “You two looked just like the couple from The Notebook when you dropped the slice of pie on him,” she whispers.
“Marcy, my uniform is ripped, his shirt is stained from the blueberry pie I dropped on him, and now I have a plastic bag on my head. I’m not sure we’re the couple that Nicholas Sparks had in mind.”
“Mark my words,” she says, walking me to the diner’s front door. “The Notebook. Totally.”
I open the door and walk out into the storm. I push through the rain and the wind. After a few steps, I take off the plastic bag, since I’m already soaked through. The diner is half a block from the Summer Island plaza, and I have to cross it on my way to Ruby’s house. In the center of the plaza is a fountain, which is some kind of historical monument. It’s ugly and dry with cracked plaster, but it’s a regular draw for wishers with a coin to toss. As a waitress, I’m lousy with coins, and for once, a wish nags at me, and I decide to give it a go.
With all of the rain, there are a couple inches of water at the bottom of the fountain. I fish a quarter out of my purse and clutch it firmly in my fist. I never want to think about Stone again. No more Stone reaction. No more fantasies about him. He’ll never be anything more in my life than table number three. With my wish made, I toss the coin. It goes in without a lot of fanfare because the storm is in full force, and it drowns out any noise that the coin makes. But I hope the wish works. I’m tired of being tortured by Stone’s presence. I want to be a smart, put-together woman again, and I can’t be that if I suffer through the Stone reaction every night.
“Need any help?” I hear behind me. It’s Thor and Beryl in his open-sided golf cart. He’s stopped by the fountain and is sticking his head out. “You want a ride?”
They’re hanging on to each other with a look that only multiple orgasms and true love can make. They also look like they’re in a hurry to get back to the inn to continue what they started. “No, thank you. I like walking in the rain,” I lie. Frankly, I don’t want to be a fifth wheel, especially when I’ve just wished to do away with my monster crush, and they’re obviously in love. “Besides, I’m going in the opposite direction of the High Tide Inn. I’m taking care of Bark while Ruby’s away this weekend.”
“Are you sure?” Thor asks. “It’s coming down pretty hard.”
“You’re welcome to ride with us,” Beryl says, smiling. Her long red hair clings to her cheeks in wet strips, and I can see right through her soaked clothes. She looks like she’s floating in a cloud of euphoria.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to the walk and the relaxing weekend alone with Bark. It’ll be fun to ride out the storm in her cozy house. I need a major chill out session.”
Now that I say it out loud, I realize that I really am looking forward to the weekend at Ruby’s alone with the dog. Ruby lives at the end of a long country road with no neighbors to pester me. Living on a small island means that everyone knows my business. It’ll be wonderful to spend a weekend without anyone bothering me and nothing to do except watch television and eat Ruby’s stash of homemade fudge.
CHAPTER 2
I like walking in the rain. I like walking in the rain? I don’t like walking in the rain. Why the hell did I tell Thor that I like walking in the rain? I wish I could go back in time and change my answer. I should have let Thor give me a ride to Ruby’s, even if it would have been awkward to ride with a couple who were bathing in their afterglow.
Now I’m struggling with every step I take against the monsoon-like conditions. My uniform is a wet rag stuck to my drenched body, and my little overnight bag is wet through, too. Ruby’s place seems a lot further than normal. Along with the torrential rain and wind, lightning cracks through the darkened sky followed closely by thunder. “This is so not fun,” I mutter, but no one hears me. The rest of the island has common sense, and they’re tucked into their dry homes. Even the stores are all closed and there isn’t a Segway or a golf cart to be seen.
“I think this is how Marilyn Monroe died,” I say into the wind. “No, that’s not right. She didn’t drown,” I say, remembering. “She OD’d in bed. Oh, bed sounds so good right now.”
Finally, I make it to Ruby’s long driveway. Unpaved, the rain has turned it into a sea of mud. My sensible waitress shoes get stuck in the mud immediately, and I have to slip them and my socks off and carry them in my hand. “I’m not the happiest I’ve ever been,” I grumble, as the cold mud squirts between my toes as I walk. The wind and the rain seem to grow even stronger, and I try to keep clear of the trees to avoid getting hit by lightning.
