Page 1 of Beck and Call

Chapter One

Why do newspapers never fold right after you've opened them? Like fitted sheets, once you open that shit, good luck ever getting it refolded. It was almost a metaphor for my life, because it never looked the same after something changed. Except, my life didn't start out with even the illusion of order.

My break was almost over, and it was time to stop fantasizing about a different job. Besides, the classified section was beyond thin. When you were on the lowest rung of the social ladder, all of the reports about amazing economic growth seemed like a bunch of bullshit. The only jobs I saw were more of what I already had. Not a single one paid a living wage, which brought the depressing realization I was going to have to find a second job.

When I first moved here, my hope was to find a position in my field, but a year later I was a college educated waitress hoping to make enough tips to buy groceries after I paid rent. The simple act of hanging on was exhausting, because one misstep, one illness and I would fall. Life didn't have a safety net for people like me.

The ripple effects of trying to bring structure to the chaos of my life were still rolling through. The harder I tried, the bigger the mess I made. My grandmother was a waitress, so I wasn't looking down on the profession, but she'd sacrificed a lot to help me get more out of my life.

I felt that if I settled, I was dishonoring her memory and the plans we’d made. We’d talk through dinners of boxed macaroni and cheese and plan trips to Europe. Somehow it made the bleakness of our day to day brighter believing one day things would be better.

A lot of our plans involved things my mother would never get to do. I think my grandmother felt that if I got to do them, it somehow made up for the fact her daughter never would. How does that saying go? When you make plans, God laughs? I bet he found me hilarious.

Not long after I started college, my grandma died of a stroke. It came without any warning and stole the only constant part of my life. Grief wasn't new in my life, and it hadn’t gotten easier with practice. Avoidance and ignoring my feelings were my main coping mechanisms. Some might have thrown themselves into drugs and alcohol, but I refused to become my mother. Instead, I threw myself into school.

My four years at Southern Illinois University were filled with books rather than a social life. I had few friends by the time I donned a cap and gown, but I wasn’t particularly close to any of them. Every moment after my grandmother's funeral I spent focused on graduating with honors.

I didn’t attend parties, avoided almost all social activities, and pretty much lived at the library. I found it hard to get close to other people, especially after everyone I’d ever loved had left me. I’d built up the importance of graduation to be this monumental event in my life, but the funny thing was the moment I put the honor cords around my neck, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do next.

After going over all the options, it seemed the only choice was to put as much distance between myself and every painful memory I had from Illinois and Kentucky. I say it seemed like the only logical choice, but my reasoning wasn’t rational. Without school as a distraction, nothing kept me from feeling the acute loneliness from being the last living member of my family.

When a marketing assistant position at a corporation in Seattle opened up, I applied immediately. Within days I had an interview, and I managed to convince myself it was my destiny calling me out west. Fate, I’d easily convinced myself, was telling me I needed to be in Seattle.

I went through the interview process, and instead of offering me a position, like I was sure would happen, the company was acquired by another corporation. I read the papers afterwards and learned it was a hostile takeover. From the articles I read it seemed the company was just as surprised to find themselves out of business as I was to find myself without a job offer.

That’s how, at twenty-two years old, I found myself with a diploma, one duffle bag full of clothes, and nothing else. I'd given up the room I was renting back in Carbondale, Illinois so I didn’t even have a home to go back to.

Besides, even if I went back to Illinois, I would have had to face the same situation, so I decided to stay and make Seattle my home. Since then I'd done a variety of jobs trying to stay afloat. I'd even had my cliché turn as a barista, but considering I wasn't a coffee drinker, I didn't last long. Eventually I found the waitressing job I had now.

Unfortunately, living in the city was expensive, and even with working full-time I was barely making it. If the owner of the diner I worked at hadn't taken pity on me and started giving me leftovers after every shift, I wouldn't be making it at all. They were kind, and I knew they'd root for me if I managed to find a job that paid more money. After all, I was far from being the only person in Seattle struggling to make ends meet, and they’d have multiple applicants to fill my position.

I gave up on folding the paper, leaving it in a sort of square-shaped ball, and rose to check on my tables. The bell over the door had dinged while I was fighting with the paper, and I hurried to greet the new customer. There were a few times in my twenty-three years when I felt the ground shake under my feet. I tried not to be superstitious, because it seemed illogical to hold to such unscientific beliefs, but I was also taught to listen to my gut.

Every time I'd had this feeling in the past, my life changed. It happened the day my momma died, the day I lost my grandma, but sometimes it occurred for good things too. When my acceptance letter and scholarship offer came, I was nearly knocked off my feet. There hadn't been enough of the good times for me to be sure, but I knew the winds were changing. Only time would tell what they'd blow my way.

I grabbed a menu and hustled over to take his drink order. "Good morning, sir. Can I get you something to drink?"

Please look up, I silently begged. There was something about him. An aura of power, yes, but the suit helped with that. His strong square jaw and straight nose were softened by dark blond hair that waved slightly in the front. A moment of his attention would be enough for me. I knew all about storing away precious moments.

Instead, he opened a paper and began to peruse the day's headlines. "A cup of coffee, black, please."

My stomach sank. For the smallest fraction of a second I envisioned him sweeping me off my feet and holding me when I was too tired to hang on alone. It was a silly fantasy; apparently my ability to daydream hadn't disappeared.

Shaking myself out of the weird reverie, I nodded. He didn't look up, so it was a useless gesture. Of course I was invisible to him. I'd always been invisible, obviously that wasn't going to change.

The diner was pretty deserted for a Thursday morning. Which didn't bode well for my tips for the day. I set the carafe down on the table, along with a ceramic mug. After I poured his coffee, I pulled my order pad out of my apron.

"Have you decided what you wanted?"

He folded the paper expertly, which somehow symbolized the divide between his world and mine. He was cultured and confident. I was awkward and insecure. I would remember him for a while after he walked out of the restaurant, but he wouldn't even remember me after I left the table. The thought was depressing.

Finally, he looked directly at me and smiled. As it turned out, I was very wrong. A moment wouldn't hold me over, it appeared it might kill me. I fought the urge to clutch my chest as my heart stuttered off beat.

He wasn't a frequent customer here. While we got a wide variety of patrons, few if any of them came in wearing designer suits. It was like armor, protecting him from silly waitresses mistaking his blinding smiles for invitations for flirting. Not that I'd initiate flirting. I'd never been that bold in my life, and I didn't think I'd start with this godly man.

"I'll take an egg white omelet with bell peppers, tomatoes, and spinach." He extended the menu, but when I went to take it he held on a second too long. His eyes, a deep sapphire blue, also held mine a bit too long.

"Coming right up," I whispered in a husky voice I didn't recognize as my own. As soon as I was a step away from his table, I escaped his intensity in the relative safety of the kitchen.

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