Page 56 of Love & Rockets

Later.

He deserved someone fresh and new. A girl with no baggage. One who couldn’t boast a laundry list of questionable choices. A woman who didn’t drag a string of gossip and speculation after her like the tail on a kite. He was an astrophysicist, for cripes’ sake. An engineer. A doctor with ten thousand letters behind his name, and none of them G.E.D. A guy who married the practical with the theoretical. She was a high school dropout with an equivalency diploma, a handful of community college credits, and a job slinging ribs. There was nothing logical about the two of them together. Not in theory or in practice.

Later. Do this later.

A few more hours and she’d have some privacy to lick her wounds. She could fall apart then. When she was alone, she’d let herself think about how he smelled or how much she missed his laugh. She’d play and replay the way he pushed his glasses up with the tip of his middle finger like a song stuck on repeat. And maybe, if she was feeling strong enough, brave enough, she’d poke at this god-awful nothingness welling up inside her and see if there was anything she could do to stop its spread.

Anything but go chasing after Jake Dalton.

“I knew it!” Darla nearly choked on an ice cube when Zelda Jo slammed her empty tray down on the counter. The other waitress held up three crumpled dollar bills as if she’d found the evidence to solve a murder. “I knew there was something hinky about the woman the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“What? Who?” Darla asked, even though she had a sneaking suspicion she was talking about Jake’s companion.

“The girl.” Zelda’s dismissive sneer was like a balm to Darla’s battered nerves. “Can you believe this? Three dollars on a two dollar and ninety cent ticket? I can understand why he’d want to flaunt some ditzy bimbo and make you jealous and all. Men are so predictable,” she added in a low whisper, shooting a glance at Bubba’s back. “But that’s not even five percent!”

Darla fought the urge to smile. Zelda Jo claimed to be useless at math, but she could calculate total, tax, and tip faster than a microprocessor.

Brushing her feathered hair away from her eyes, she gave her head a sad shake. “I swear, I never thought I’d see the day Jake Dalton stiffed me on a tip.”

At first, Darla failed to absorb the gist of Zelda’s latest rant, but the last bit hit her like a slap in the face.

“Jake didn’t tip you?”

“No!” The older woman scoffed, then shoved the bills into her apron. “Well, he tipped me ten cents.” Turning her attention to Bubba, Zelda Jo reached for the stack of cups. “I need two rib dinners, Clooney, baby. Make it snappy and I’ll split this tip with you.”

But Darla couldn’t let the slight go. The thought of Jake, the world’s most blatant over-tipper and his tofu tart taking up precious lunchtime table space was too much to wrap her head around. So was the fact that Jake, one of the kindest, fairest people she knew, was taking his beef with her out on people she loved. Such behavior wasn’t going to do. Not one bit.

“Jake Dalton left you a ten-cent tip.”

Zelda Jo dumped a scoop of ice into a cup then paused to look at her as if she’d sprouted a third eyeball in the center of her forehead. “That’s what I said.” Her face melted into the well-worn folds of concern Zelda rarely let anyone see. “It’s okay, sugar. They’re gone now.”

Darla stared into her friend’s worried blue eyes and shook her head—slowly at first, but gaining momentum with every wag. She backed up one step, then another, still trying to get everything all clear in her head. But all she could think was it wasn’t okay. Not at all.

Zelda Jo tried to shrug off the snub. “I’ll forget his extra sauce next time and we’ll be even. Well, I may make Bubba give him the fatty ribs,” she added with an encouraging smile.

“None of my ribs are fatty,” Bubba objected.

Zelda Jo’s eyes remained locked on her. “Honey, it’s all right. Really.”

The softly spoken lie drove the truth home like a railroad spike to the heart. No. It wasn’t all right. She was miserable, Gracie was sad, and Jake was being a jerk. Things were about as far from all right as they could be.

“The hell it is.” Without another word, she whirled on her heel and took off for the door.

She’d barely gone three steps before Zelda rushed out hot on her heels. “Darla, baby, what are you doing?”

One hand on the door, Darla turned back, her chin up and a raging fire of indignation burning bright inside her. “What am I doing? I’m going to go find Dr. Pennypincher and get your fifteen percent. That’s what I’m doing.”

The door to The Pit swung shut behind her, but not before she heard the dining room erupt. Head held high, Darla took off toward the parking lot, buoyed by the whistles and cheers of the working class.

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