She looked like a woman who had given up.
But she couldn’t give up. She never had before, despite whatever life threw at her. And wasn’t there something she’d wanted to do?
Dr. Ronald. Yes, that was it, she wanted—hell, she insisted—on facing him.
She pulled off her PJs and stepped into the shower. She scrubbed her body and her hair and let the water sluice over her until she began to feel alive. Then she slipped on the white cotton blouse, black twill skirt and flat-heeled oxfords that came as close to a uniform as waitresses who worked for Bernie ever wore. One last deep breath, and she stepped out into the world again.
* * *
Bernie was at the cash register when she pushed open the café door. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it.
“Son of a gun,” he said laconically, “look what the wind blew this way.”
Jennifer smiled. “Hello, Bernie. How’ve you been?”
“Can’t complain,” he said, shutting the cash drawer. “We were talkin’ about you just the other day.” He leaned his meaty forearms on the counter and gazed at her. “Couple of customers and me, that is. We figured maybe you liked it so much you’d decided to stay down there, in—what was it—the Bahamas?”
She shook her head. “Puerto Rico.”
“Yeah, well, one island’s the same as another, right?”
“No,” she said softly, “not—not really. They’re very different.”
Bernie straightened and took a wet rag from behind him. “So, what’re you doin’ here?” He made a desultory pass at the counter with the rag. “You sayin’ hello? Or are you lookin’ for a job?”
“A job,” she said levelly. “If you can use me.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Can always use a good waitress. Only thing is, Amy took your shift. You wanna work, you take the four to closing.”
“Four to midnight?” She blew out her breath. Why not? She was almost broke and the tips would be better on the late shift. Besides, what did it matter when she worked? She had hours to fill and no life to fill them with. “Sure, that’s fine. When do I start?”
Bernie grinned. “Is today too soon?”
It was hard, the first couple of hours. Jennifer’s feet ached as if they’d been away too long from these hard tile floors. She singed her fingers the first time she picked up a plate that had sat too long under the heat lamp and she was careless when she leaned over the grill so that hot grease splattered up and pocked her blouse.
Bernie’s bushy brows rose. “You okay?”
She nodded as she rubbed impatiently at the spots. “Fine.”
“What’d you do down there in those islands?” her boss said as he slid a spatula under a hamburger and flipped it. He laughed. “Musta been pretty good to make you forget your way around a hot grill.”
Jennifer looked away from him. “It just—it feels as if I’ve been away a long time.”
He grinned. “Musta been like paradise, huh?”
The seconds ticked away before she trusted herself enough to answer. “Yes,” she said finally, “that’s exactly what it was. Paradise.”
The other waitresses wanted to hear all about the Caribbean.
“Is it really as pretty as they say?” one asked over coffee during the after-supper lull. “Palm trees, white sand, sunshine?”
“And gorgeous guys,” another said. “Come on, Jennifer, tell us you met some Prince Charming on the beach.”
“I—I met a lot of people.”
The first girl made a face. “Yeah, those TV ads lie. You know, the ones that make it look like you’re gonna find the man of your dreams on one of those islands.” She drank the last of her coffee, sighed and got to her feet. “There are no happy endings in this world, and that’s the truth.”
Jennifer swallowed and looked down into her cup. “No,” she said softly, “there aren’t.”