Chapter 18
The morning of Tracy’s meeting with Gordon Baxter was a frenzied rush of activity, as she had tons of things to do. She was a nervous wreck. Everything that she did was done with half her mind elsewhere, leading to more than one disaster. The coffee machine overflowed after she dumped way too much coffee grounds into the basket. Her solitary piece of toast, the only thing that she thought could stomach, burned into a stinky, square puck.
Even her lowly hair brush wasn't immune. Some time earlier, Tracy had accidentally turned on a flat iron that she’d left out. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t left her brush sitting on top of it. When she stepped out of the shower, she was met only by a molten puddle of plastic and rubber.
If this is how today is going to be, she thought to herself, maybe I should just go back to bed.
Mr. Hayes, who had gone out briefly that morning, walked back into their bedroom and spotted Tracy sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a plush cotton towel. Her hair was still wet and she wore a look of absolute defeat on her face.
"What’s wrong?" He looked around and sniffed dramatically, "And why does the whole house smell?"
Tracy sighed. She wanted to tell him about her concerns, wanted to be able to talk about her last vision. It was, of course, the whole reason why she couldn’t seem to get her head on straight. Who was that man? Could it have been Baxter? Though he was a famous chef, Tracy couldn’t remember his face. After all, today would be the first time that she would meet him in person.
But if she was to confess to the powers that she had, Mr. Hayes could find out about how their relationship really began, and that was something that Tracy wasn’t prepared to deal with. She stared down at the floor between her bare feet.
"Tracy?"
Mr. Hayes’ words snapped her out of her trance-like state.
"Yeah?"
He sat down onto the bed next to her and wrapped his arm around her without saying anything else. Tracy sighed and let her head fall onto his shoulder.
The earthy, sweet scent of his cologne filled her lungs.
After several quiet minutes, Mr. Hayes cleared his throat and asked softly, "Seriously, Tracy. What is going on? This has to be about more than just the restaurant."
His words made Tracy’s heart skip a beat. Could he know what was going on while she slept? Did he have any clue? She turned her eyes up, though she could only see the bottom of his jaw, and stared blankly at the light peppering of dark hairs. There was a tension growing between them because of the silence – her silence. She could feel it like the impending shock waves of an earthquake rolling up below them. But, still, she couldn’t relent.
"Work," she said. "It’s just work."
Tracy could feel Mr. Hayes’ shoulders sink down ever so slightly in defeat.
"Okay," he muttered with an air of resignation. "I understand."
He stood up and walked out of the room with a big, damp circle on his t-shirt where Tracy’s head had been. She watched him go and nervously rubbed her thumbnail over the tip of her middle finger.
It was going to be a long day.
Over an hour later, and with only minutes to spare until Gordon Baxter was scheduled to arrive, Tracy stumbled through the restaurant’s back door with one arm full of papers and the other precariously balancing a paper bag of odds and ends. She hustled through and dropped everything on the long, sleek prep table with a sigh.
"What a…"
The paper bag toppled over, sending dozens of glass salt shakers spilling out with an enormous clatter. Tracy grabbed one before it could hit the floor. Unfortunately, there were about five more that she didn’t have the reflexes, or the spare hands, to grab. The rest smashed on the tile in small, glittering explosions.
"Great. Just great."
Tracy grabbed a broom and started to sweep up the mess. Right away, the repetitive stroking motion let her mind wander back to her earlier vision and the mysterious man in it. What were his intentions? Why was he appearing to her? Tracy knew that she was safe for the time being. After all, it was "his" blood that the man wanted, not hers.
What if he was lying? Her thoughts took it further. What if he shows up at your door right now?
r /> She froze and stared down. The constant drag of nervous apprehension was starting to get to her. Her hands were shaking and her heart was pumping a mile a minute.
What are you going to do if it is him?
It had to be. She could feel it in her gut, which had quickly twisted itself up into tight, painful knots.
A hard, firm pounding sound made Tracy jump, the broom’s handle slipping from her hand and falling down into the glass pile.