Page 21 of Howling Night

“Wait until you count your tips. Then you’ll change your tune,” she said, going to the pickup counter to get the food. She walked past, balancing the plates. “Besides, you’re doing really great for a first time. The other guy that helps out would have taken a nap by now and left it all for me to deal with.”

The last hour passed by in a haze of drink orders, clinking glasses, and cash exchanges, all with the music blaring and customers singing at the top of their lungs. My feet ached and my cheeks hurt from forcing smiles.

Eventually, Donna looked up at the clock. “Last call!”

It was shocking how well her voice cut through the noise.

There was a collective groan from the patrons, followed by a rush to the bar. I braced myself for the final onslaught of orders, pouring drinks as fast as I could, while Donna did the same beside me.

The drunk woman tried to get another, but Donna stepped in. “Go home, Mabel. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“Okay,” the woman said, almost tipping over.

As the last drinks were served, the music was turned down, and the harsh overhead lights flicked on. The spell of the evening broke, revealing scuffed floors and sticky tabletops.

“Alright, folks, closing time!” Donna announced, clapping her hands together. “I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here!”

People began to filter out, some lingering to finish conversations, others heading straight for the door. Per Donna's instructions, I started collecting empty glasses and bottles and piling them into a bin beneath the bar.

“Not bad for your first night,” Donna said, counting the cash in the tip jar. She pulled out the envelope Steven had left for me and handed it over. “This is yours.”

I accepted the envelope with a smile, tucking it into my back pocket. “Thanks.”

“And here is your portion of the tips,” Donna said, handing me a wad of cash. “We have to split with Paul.”

“That’s fine,” I said, shoving the money into my pockets.

“I hope to see you again sometime,” Donna said, turning off some of the lights.

It was a lot of money in my pocket. “Maybe.”

“You haven’t even counted it yet,” Donna said, laughing. “It’s not like this every night. Just Friday and Saturday. Not the best time if you want a social life.”

“I don’t have a social life,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Other than coming here, what kind of social life do people have in Birchwood Hollow?”

Donna shrugged. “There’s a coffee shop and a bookstore, but I don’t live here.”

“Oh?”

She shook her head. “I’m from down the road… Bresco?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Just 24 miles north,” she said, smirking. “It’s not much bigger than this place. Population ten thousand.”

I widened my eyes. “Ooh! Fancy.”

Donna laughed again. “Don’t be jealous. We have two fast-food joints.”

I covered a yawn that I’d been fighting for the last ten minutes, trying to hide it behind my hand. After being on my feet for nearly six hours straight in a noisy bar, exhaustion was hitting me like a freight train. It was by far the most standing I’d done at a job since I was a teenager.

Donna noticed and gave me a sympathetic smile. “You should go home and get some sleep, honey. I can finish up here.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, glancing at the remaining glasses still scattered on a few tables.

“Absolutely,” she nodded firmly. “You’ve been a huge help tonight. I don’t think I’ve had this smooth of a Friday night in months.”

“What about Steven?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen the owner return. “Should I wait for him?”

---