FULL FORCE ON TAMMY
1
TAMMY
“Suit’s order is up,” Ginger hollers from the front of the diner.
I button up my pants, then wash my hands, trying but failing not to stare at the mirror. I take note of the bags under my eyes and the hair sticking out every which way. I’m gonna hit thirty-five in a few months, and my body feels eighty.
Overworked and underpaid is the name of the game here in Winston, Wyoming, population thirteen thousand. Them sleepless nights take a toll on a girl. But that’s what it takes to raise my sister’s kids, so I’m gonna stick it out.
“Tammy,” Ginger hollers again.
I swing open the bathroom door and rush down the hallway to the front of the kitchen, where Ginger thrusts a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon into my chest. “Hot plate. Sat under the lights forever.” She winks.
Ginger is my best friend, my babysitter, sometimes my mom, even a boyfriend who takes me out occasionally. Basically, my wife, just not in a sexy way. I grab a serving cloth and take theplate, heading down the packed diner toward a guy we call the Suit, a businessman who recently arrived in town.
He’s staying over at Linda’s Lodgings, where I work housekeeping part-time, and he tips well. He comes in every morning, so I make an extra effort to be sweet.
Smiling, I drop off his plate. “Here you go, dear.”
“Blake,” he says, and lifts his gaze from his tablet where he’s reading theBusiness Reviewevery morning. From the week I’ve seen him here, I’ve gathered he’s predictable. Structured. Disciplined. Uninterested in raggedy waitresses in small towns, and I can’t blame him.
However, if I can’t bang him, I want to be him, because I could definitely use some order in my life. “Tammy,” I say, and when he doesn’t extend his hand, I clasp my hands in front of me.
“I heard. The entire town hears your coworker.” His eyes twinkle, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with Ginger or if he’s trying to be funny. I opt for the latter and force myself to laugh a little, then ask, “Is there anything else I can bring you?”
“Ketchup.” He pulls out the empty bottle from the condiment basket, and fuck, I forgot to check the condiments when I came in this morning before Mary slipped out without doing her side work on the night shift.
“Coming right up.” Back at the front of the kitchen, we have a large counter where Ginger passes the orders, and I find half-full ketchup bottles and groan, annoyed with Mary. “Ginger,” I say. “Mary’s still not doing her side work.”
“I’ll talk to her again.”
Uncapping the bottle, I climb the tall stool and bend over the counter to pump the bottle full from the big container we keep under here. “How many times are you gonna just talk to her?”
“As many as it takes.”
Rolling my eyes, I cap the bottle and return to the Suit, who’s inhaled half the eggs already. “Here you go, Blake. More iced tea?”
He nods, nose in the book on his tablet now. I check the time. Eight sharp, so there’s time for him to read something. Like clockwork.
“Tammy,” Devon Washington says from the table next to the Suit. “The kids and I are done. I need to run to Marty’s. Mind if you babysit? I won’t take long.”
I sigh, putting a hand on my hip. I want to say no because I’m working and Marty owns the only market in town, so this trip could take an hour. Mr. Washington’s kids aren’t the best behaved, but Devon lost his wife, Heather, in the same accident in which I lost my sister, so the entire town is helping out with his kids.
Funny how only my mom and Ginger help me, but hey, the single-dad trope is more popular than the single-mom-or-aunt one.
I nod, and he slides out of the booth, knowing I can’t say no. My sister and his wife were best friends. Born on the same day, died on the same day.
The front door’s bell jingles as he exits.
“Vanilla shakes?” I ask the kids.
They shout a yes like a chorus.
I glance back at Ginger, who’s looking a little pale. I walk over. “What is it?”
“I forgot to tell you about the back room.”
