Page 1 of All in April

One

APRIL

April showers make April sour.

“It’s slow,” I mutter with my elbows on my knees. A rare moment of getting to sit is usually welcomed, but I was hoping for some extra tips for my birthday.

The grease on the pan sizzles as Marcus flips a burger after tossing the spatula behind his back and catching it in front with a wide smile. “Isn’t it your birthday?”

I shove off the box of industrial sized pickle jars and take a spin on my skates. “Yep.”

He shakes his twists and laughs loud. Too loud for my liking. “That makes you a fool, doesn’t it?”

“Har, har. Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Being born on the first of April has been only a minor curse in my life, the others far more devastating and meaningful. Having prisoners for parents was the major one. As was having to leave foster care a year earlier than expected just to escape the inevitable abuse.

Wearing roller skates to serve hungry old guys at a drive-in diner has turned out to be a blessing. I have a place to sleep. It’s a cot on Mr. Reynold’s, the owner’s, covered porch. The winter was chilly, but he gave me a space heater and a thick sleeping bag for warmth.

The rain, though…it’s impossible to get rid of. It soaks through the duffel bag that contains everything in my life: my tube socks for work, my collection of vintage poodle skirts, my favorite pillow, my composition book art journals I’ve kept since age nine, and my sparse collection of Wonder Woman comic books. My radio quit working last week after a particularly bad storm, which was horrid because I couldn’t sleep for days without the college station lulling me into a trance at night.

A fifty-something woman with a gray beehive hairdo comes rolling into the kitchen, the swinging door squeaking loudly as it sways back and forth. Her uniform skirt is smeared with mud and her tube socks are more brown than white now. It’s always a dangerous thing when we have to skate on a day like today, but I need more tips. With only a couple hundred more, I’ll have enough for the security deposit on a studio apartment. One free of porch critters.

“April? Your lumberjacks are here.” Even if Sandy hadn’t said anything, I’d hear their blaring horn anyway.

“On it.” Grabbing a pink plastic tray, I straighten my blue poodle skirt and lower my sweater top just slightly. I’m nineteen now and am going to use my little assets to get whatever I can from the guys. Do I take advantage of their incessant flirting? Yep. Sure do. It usually nets me an extra twenty a day.

The three men showed up last March after the snow melted in some unknown forest where they had been staying for work. They said they’d be coming by the diner every day until autumn just to get a “sweet taste” of whatever I had to give them. Sure enough, they disappeared for several months. Right on schedule, they showed up again last month ready for more burgers, shakes, and fries. And a “look at those pretty knees under that skirt,” Jack, the nice one said.

As I skate out the door, I snag my menu pad, though I know what they want already. It just gives me an excuse to lean over the car window and pretend I don’t. They like it and it gives me a chance to look at them. All of them. They’re gorgeous and huge manly men that wear plaid shirts and tight jeans, but somehow fit into a classic green Ford Thunderbird.

The one they call Wolf does scare me with his intense blue stare, always scouring my figure as if he can see me naked under my uniform. He’s also the one that likes to present me with the tip after I give them the food. Sometimes he lets his finger rub against the back of my hand when he does and I’m still not sure how to feel about that.

Jack is sweet and always making jokes, especially poking fun at the other two. But Brahn never smiles. In fact, he doesn’t give much expression at all, so I never know if I’m doing a good job or not.

Blowing a big bubble with my gum, I push my roller skates across the wet parking lot as fast as I can, trying to get to the opposite overhang without getting soaked. The white sweater is patchy with rain drops, showcasing my red bra underneath. Great.

“Hey, boys! What can I get you today?”

Jack’s smiling face leans over Wolf in the driver’s seat to say, “Sweetheart, it’s your birthday. We wanted to get you something.”

Wolf’s intense eyes scan my breasts and don’t leave even when I raise my tray up to guard my chest from his leering gaze. Brahn grunts from the back but produces a wrapped gift complete with a yellow and blue polka dot bow. Is it professionally wrapped? No, but the gesture immediately makes my eyes tear up.

“What? No… You didn’t have to do anything?—”

“Nonsense! We wanted to. Didn’t we?” Jack elbows Wolf, who finally looks into my eyes and gives me a wink with a sly grin.

His voice is husky and makes it sound like he’s trying to say something naughty instead of the words that come out of his mouth. “We sure did.”

My clit pulses at the sight of him. Of all of them. Wearing their flannel, broad chests almost busting through the buttons, scruffy beards, and the scent of the woods coming from their car.

I sniff back some tears and give them a nod. “Thank you. No one has ever done something like this for me. Should I open it now?”

“Yes! Go on, sweetheart!”

Placing the tray on the open window frame, I balance the package on top and rip into it. The box is heavy, much heavier than I would expect and when I get to it, there’s no way for me to open it. My breath halts when Wolf flicks open a pocketknife while licking his lower lip as he does so. Then, he stares at my chest as he slides it through the tape holding the top together.

Digging one nail in, I open the top and gasp at what’s inside. “Oh my god! How did you know?” Within the folds of cardboard are at least twenty copies of Wonder Woman. Originals. In cellophane. “This…this is too much!”

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