Melody laughed. “Okay, now you’re just bragging.”
A beam of light pierced Roxy’s right pupil, and she struggled not to squint. It moved to the other, and Ellie’s face peered at her from the other end of a penlight. “Well, whatever treatment plan he employed, it appears to have worked.” She slipped the penlight into the pocket of her white coat. “You can resume your normal activities—and no, I don’t need any details about those—although I will say they shouldn’t involve you jumping headfirst into anything, especially singlehanded crime fighting.”
Roxy crossed her heart with her index finger. “Agreed. You’re, like, the tenth person I’ve had to make that promise to.” Not an exaggeration, unfortunately. On top of the promises she’d made to West, she’d had to swear to Shaun, Addy, Cooper, Jeb, Ed Pinkerton, hell, even Kenny and Dobie, that she’d never do something so reckless—there was that r-word—again.
“What can I say?” Ellie smiled and rested her hands on Roxy’s shoulders. “We’ve all grown very fond of our resident rock star.”
Resident? Now there was an r-word never before applied to her. Rock star, either, for that matter, but the most startling thing was how much more the first meant to her than the second. Resident felt…real. It felt right. Rock star felt far away, like a dream, and maybe not even her dream as much as something she’d inherited from her parents.
She mentally shook the question away. She would be neither resident nor rock star if she couldn’t pay her bills. Which meant, for now, the most important title she could claim was waitress. But Addy had gone all mama-bear on her yesterday morning when Roxy had dropped one teensy hint that she’d be ready to resume her shifts today. Her
boss wanted a thumbs-up from her doctor. The only thing that made being treated like a kindergartener with a fever endurable was that both women were her friends, and their overabundance of caution stemmed from concern. “Does resuming my normal activities include going back to work at the diner?”
Ellie gave her shoulders a squeeze before stepping back. “Yes, but with a caveat. Addy’s agreed to a ramp-up. She’ll put you on for fifteen hours this week, starting tomorrow, if that’s what you want, and after the first week if you’re feeling fine, I’ll give my blessing to you going back to your regular hours.”
“Thank you.” Fifteen hours was better than nothing. Now, if she could get back on at the pub, but the fate of that gig rested in Earl Rawley’s unsentimental hands, on account of her promise to West.
Melody glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly noon, and we’re clear until quarter after one. How about we go to DeShay’s and tell Addy the good news in person, over lunch?”
Roxy hopped down from the table and lifted her zebra-print bag from the counter. “I’m in.” The sooner the better. September first loomed on the horizon, which meant rent, a payment to West for the sleek new smartphone currently tucked into the inner pocket of her bag, and hopefully no damage to her sock-drawer savings.
Melody and Ellie had the close-the-office-for-lunch routine down pat, and in minutes they were making their way down the sunlit sidewalk. On Roxy’s left, Melody cast a long, curvy shadow in her pretty peach sundress, snug matching short-sleeve cardigan, and white pumps. On her right, Ellie cast a streamlined shape in her sleeveless purple blouse, narrow black pants, and demure ballet flats. Roxy’s shadow, between them, looked distinctly rough around the edges, with her mass of curls, form-fitting tank top, cutoffs, and biker boots.
“Any news on the dog?” Ellie asked. “A microchip or a lost pet notice or…?”
“Nada,” Roxy replied. “No chip, according to Dr. Sterling at the animal hospital, and West contacted the county animal control office, but they have no missing dog reports matching Lucky’s description.”
“Lucky?” Ellie raised an eyebrow. “You named him?”
“West did, actually, although he didn’t mean to. He kept telling the dog stuff like, ‘You’re lucky I don’t mind sweeping up every damn day, because you shed like a Norwegian Elkhound,’ or ‘You’re lucky I didn’t care about that shoe,’ or ‘You’re lucky that skunk you tried to chase didn’t nuke you into next week.’ The name sort of stuck.”
“Well, if you ask me, the luck runs both ways,” Melody said as she held the diner door open for them. “I saw West in front of the firehouse yesterday morning, and he looked pretty darn content tossing a stick to the dog while chatting with Josh.”
Yeah. She’d gotten a big hit of that yesterday afternoon when she’d walked upstairs after showering to find West stretched out on the couch with Lucky on his chest, both snoozing away as a ballgame played out silently on the flat screen. And then she’d wondered how her heart was going to withstand the withdrawal pains when it came time to leave.
Maybe you won’t have to leave? It’s been nearly a month, and no sign of Randy or Uncle Billy, or anyone from Nashville.
Could it be possible they’d moved on with their lives, and she was free to quietly do the same?
Addy greeted them with a big smile, and a hug for Roxy. Then she stepped back to give her the once-over. Roxy watched as Addy’s gaze, inevitably, came to rest on her forehead. “Owie. Bless your heart. That’s quite a bonk you took.”
“It looks worse than it is. My façade needs some cosmetic attention, but I’m structurally sound,” Roxy assured her as they all took seats at the lunch counter. “In fact, I’m ready to reopen for business.”
“Limited business,” Ellie interjected. “Like we discussed,” she added, making eye contact with Addy.
Addy nodded and then switched her attention to Roxy. “I can use you tomorrow for the breakfast shift, or if you want to take another recovery day, I can put you on the schedule for Sunday’s dinner shift.”
“Both. I’m all good. Really,” she insisted when her boss gave her another once-over.
“Okay,” Addy replied, “but just half-shifts this first week. After that we’ll revisit the schedule and see what’s what.”
“Deal.”
“Great. Granted, it’s only been a couple days, but you’ve been missed. Word travels fast ‘round these parts. Everybody’s sick to death about what happened to you and wanting to know how you’re doing. Any news on the— Oh, hey Earl, be right there,” Addy called toward the front of the diner, where Earl Rawley approached the hostess stand. “Back in a sec, girls.” She sent them a wink and slid off her stool.
Earl—who Roxy estimated to be somewhere between sixty and two hundred years old—moved his lean, arthritic frame past the hostess stand with its PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign and made his way toward them. “Actually”—he pointed a knobby finger at Roxy—“it’s this one I was fixin’ to talk to today.”
“Well, sit yourself down right here.” Addy tapped the seat she’d just relinquished. “Get you some coffee?”