I grab my purse, shove my luggage into the corner of Dad’s room and hope no one steals it while I’m out, and step into the cold November air, keeping my head down as I walk the streets.
I make it to the diner with only a few catcalls and one offer to take a ride on some guys pogo stick. Not bad considering how hellish I look right now. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone I used to work with, and of course luck has it out for me again.
“Scarlet, hey!” Trisha, another waitress, says. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been, girl?”
“Good.” I put on my fake smile.
“You left for some fancy nanny job, right?”
“Right.”
She raises her eyebrows. “But you’re back. We’re not hiring, hun.”
“I’m visiting my dad. I just want breakfast.”
“Oh, gotcha. Sit in section one and I’ll get you.”
I force a smile. “Okay.” I slide into a booth, wishing for my phone to distract myself with. Instead, I pull out a paperback of a book that I’ve already read three times. It was at the top of my suitcase and I didn’t want to rustle through my stuff for another. The floor in the nursing home is gross and sticky. Risking my clothes falling out onto it isn’t something I want to do.
I order tea, bacon, and French toast, and hunker down in the booth, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone or anything as I contemplate the next step in my life. After getting out of the slums the first time and living in the ritzy part of Chicago, it was hard coming back. It’s even harder after Eastwood.
I love that little town.
I have no job now, and with it getting closer and closer to the holidays, I probably won’t be able to find one. With Dad’s medical bills, I’m going to need money. So I guess it’ll be back to the old ways. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick.
Though I’m not as hungry as I should be, I force myself to eat every last bite of food on my plate. Who knows when I’ll get out for lunch, and if I’m going back to Old Scarlet, it’s going to take some time to get on my feet. I won’t have money to burn. Mentally groaning at wasting money on a hotel room for the night, I finish my tea and zip up my coat, leaving Trisha a decent tip.
I trudge my way back to the nursing home, using everything I have inside of me not to think or feel. How did I do this so easily before? Every step hurts, as every footfall reverberates through my heart, jostling the broken pieces. The sharp edges hurt all over again as they slice into me.
Cold rain mists down on me, and I flip the hood up on my coat. Tears well in my eyes, and this time I make no attempt to keep them from falling. I’m sad. Really fucking sad, and it’s mostly my fault.
If I could take everything back, I would. I’d accept the nanny job in good faith and show up to actually do the job I was hired for. Crazy thought, right?
Wiping at my eyes, I enter the nursing home. My feet are sore from walking, and my fingers are cold and numb. I forgot my gloves at Weston’s house as well. They’re in his Jeep, I think.
The entrance of the nursing home opens up to the cafeteria, and right now the smell of coffee and breakfast masks the usual sickening odor of this place. I look around for Dad. He’s not as his regular table and for a minute I think he’d been forgotten in his room. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Corbin comes down the hall, pushing Dad in his new chair.
“Ohhh girl,” he says, coming to a screeching halt.
“I know, I know,” I say with a shake of my head. He’s obviously seen my luggage in Dad’s room. “I’ll explain later. I just…I don’t even know.” I push my hood back and sigh. “I can’t right now.”
Corbin cocks an eyebrow. “Well you better, because there’s a gorgeous hunk of man-meat looking for you.”
“What?”
“Some guy named Weston is here.”
“What?” I say again. This is a dream, right? Wes wouldn’t…he couldn’t…
“I told him to wait in the nurses’ station. It’s the least stinky place here.”
“Yeah…good idea,” I say, still in disbelief.
“Aren’t you going to go to him? Because if you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”
Weston is here. He came here for me.
“Scarlet?”
I shake myself and inhale, suddenly nervous. Did he come here to yell at me? No, that doesn’t make sense.
“How do I look?”
“You’ve seen better days,” Corbin says honestly. “But you’re still hot.”
“Thanks.” I wipe my eyes and pull the tie out of my hair. Running my fingers through my messy locks, I hurry down the hall, fingers trembling.