“Uh, is there anything else? Maybe you want an iced tea to go?”
“No thanks. It’s just that you look like someone I used to know. Are you from here?”
“No, ma’am. I’m from Bonaventure. It’s a little town just south of here,” Livvy said. Obviously this woman was a tourist. BluePointe had only been developed like a year or two ago. Five years ago, this had all been pine trees and palmettos.
“That’s funny. I’m originally from Bonaventure too.
“Livvy, right?” the woman said, pointing to the name badge Mr. Godby made all the servers wear.
“It’s Olivia, but nobody ever calls me that.”
“Nice to meet you, Livvy. I’m Traci. I couldn’t help but notice you’re the only server working today. Is that unusual?”
“No, I mean, yes, ma’am. There are usually at least two other girls working the weekday lunch shift, but they both called in sick, so today it’s just me.”
“You did a good job, though,” the woman said thoughtfully. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Livvy shrugged.
“Do you enjoy working here?”
She had to think about that. She didn’t mind waiting tables. The money was decent, and she knew it would get way better when the season started and all the tourists came back. But she was tired of trying to dodge handsy grill cooks, and they totally did not have enough servers to get them through the season, plus her boss was a major jerk.
“It’s okay,” Livvy said.
The woman hesitated. “Normally I wouldn’t go into another restaurant to poach their help, but these aren’t normal times. The reason I ask is, I’m looking to hire staff for a resort near here. And I was wondering…”
“Which resort?”
“The Saint,” the woman said, smiling. “We’re the oldest resort on the coast. The business has been in my late husband’s family since the nineteen twenties.”
Livvy sucked in her breath. How dumb could she be? This woman was Traci Eddings.TheTraci Eddings. Before she could say anything else, she could see Mr. Godby gesturing for her to get back to the hostess stand, where a party of six was waiting impatiently.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Eddings, but I gotta go.”
The woman nodded, then pressed something into her hand. “Call me,” she said, in a low, urgent voice. “We’re hiring. Whatever you’re making here, I’ll pay two dollars an hour more, plus a hundred- dollar bonus, plus free, on-site housing.”
“Liv!” Mr. Godby’s voice was sharp.
The rest of her shift was a blur. She waited on a bridesmaids’ luncheon with twenty women. Half the girls were her age or younger, all of them wearing clothes she could never afford, sloppy little drunks who brought their own cheap-ass grocery store sheet cake, which they then demanded that she cut up and serve to them. Then the bride’s bitchy mother had the nerve to take her aside and complain that the restaurant shouldn’t have tacked on the 15 percent gratuity for a party over ten, even though the menu clearly stated that was the restaurant’s policy.
Livvy just stared at the woman.
In the end, Mr. Godby had intervened in the dispute, and even though none of it was Livvy’s fault, she could tell he was pissed at her. So unfair.
She had a pounding headache and blisters on both feet from her new work shoes by the time she limped back home at four.
Her mother was still at work at the hospital, thank God. Even though she was almost twenty-one, Livvy still felt guilty about pouring herself a glass of wine to sip while she soaked in a bubble bath.
Shannon had found religion and had let it be known that she didn’t approve of alcohol. Well, good for her. It wasn’t like Livvy was running wild in the streets. She liked an occasional glass of wine to relax, that’s all.
It wasn’t until she’d toweled off and was emptying her uniform pockets before putting them in the laundry that she found Traci Eddings’s business card.
The paper was heavy and embossed, the type elegant and in gold.TRACI EDDINGS, CEO, THE SAINT CECELIA. There was a phone number, and an email address.
Livvy pulled on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt and stretched out on her bed, phone in hand. She glanced around her bedroom. It was small, like the rest of the house, which was a cinder-block box painted pale yellow, on a street full of houses all just alike. This had been her grandmother’s house, and Shannon had lived here all her life. Bright pink potted hibiscus trees flanked the front door, which was painted the same shade of pink.
Her mother was a clean freak, liked everything new and shiny and pristine. Shannon never left the house with so much as a dirty coffee mug in the sink, or a damp towel on the floor. Her mother had rules. Shoes were to be removed as soon as you came inside. Kitchen counters were to be sprayed and wiped down with Lysol every morning and every evening before bed. Shannon wouldn’t even allow trash to sit in her house for twenty-four hours.
