Page 21 of The Edge of Summer
My family smiles, and Delilah looks relieved. Still, she twists a thread of denim around her finger so tight it cuts off circulation. Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out to still her movements. She looks how I feel: startled. Her whole body tenses as I unwind the strand from her finger, but she doesn’t call me out. I retract my hand quickly before someone else notices.
“I need to go,” Parker declares suddenly. He stands from his seat like his ass is on fire. Then he looks sheepishly at Mom. “Uh, thanks for the food, Mrs. Bowman.”
Mom smiles. “You’re most welcome, sweetie.”
Delilah clears her throat as she stands, too. “We should probably all get going,” she says. “Parker, can you go find Sophia?” When her brother heads for the stairs, Delilah turns back to the rest of us. “Thank you for everything.”
Mom and Clara offer Delilah a round of hugs, and then a few minutes later, she and her siblings slip out the door.
Brunch at Haven House has never been a quiet affair, especially since the addition of Abbie, but I admit that there’s something different about Delilah being here. Sophia and Parker, too. That little girl is Abbie’s opposite in almost every way, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen my niece smile as much as she has today.
This, though, has my insides twisting. The ease with which my family—even Dad, who is known to be more reserved than his wife and my siblings—has folded the Delacroixes into our routine is alarming.
The last person they invited into our circle left wreckage in her wake. And it was all my fault.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
DELILAH
“Areyousureyou’ve never worked in a restaurant before?”
Two days after we crashed the Bowman family’s Sunday ritual, Clara had me set up to start working at Dockside. The only clothing requirements for servers are a branded t-shirt and denim, so I’m happy that I won’t have to spend the summer wearing some stuffy uniform.
Despite what Clara said when she first offered me this job, though, I knew as soon as I stepped inside the doors of the restaurant that I would need to tell her I had no experience in the food industry. I’ve had a string of random jobs, some that paid better than others, but none have been working with people like this.
I laugh as I brush a strand of hair off my sweaty forehead. The breeze coming off the lake and through the open windows does little to cool me. A mid-May heatwave has settled across the province, leaving me sticky in all the worst places.
“I’m positive,” I tell Clara.
Clara started me easy, first showing me the ropes of opening duties before customers arrived and then having me bus tables when the restaurant opened for the day. But then one of the other waiters called in, and I was thrown into the deep end with a notepad and a pen. Clara kept a close eye, but I had a sneaking suspicion this was that trial by fire she had mentioned.
Thankfully, the customers today were mostly regulars who took pity on me and didn’t mind when I accidentally gave them Coke instead of iced tea. I’m sure I’ve cost Dockside hundreds of dollars in misfilled orders, but Clara just waves me off whenever I try to apologize.
Behind the bar, my new boss grabs the soda gun and fills a glass with water. She slides it across the surface to my waiting palm. I tip it to my lips, devouring the cool liquid.
“You’re a natural, then,” she says. “Now I don’t know what I’ll do if you ever decide to leave me.”
I laugh again. “It’s only been six hours. I hardly think I’m indispensable yet.”
Clara’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t know, that pocketful of generous tips says otherwise,” she singsongs.
To say I was surprised about that aspect of the job would be an understatement. I know that servers get tips all the time, but I wasn’t expecting the sheer amount of loonies and toonies that now weigh my apron down. I even acquired a few dollar bills from a group of Americans who hadn’t bothered to exchange their currency.
“Let’s not forget that I also dropped a plate of food and almost spilled a full tray of drinks on a customer’s lap.”
Clara shakes her head, waving me off. “Semantics. You’re doing great, Dee.”
Dee.
A memory, long buried, reaches the surface. When Parker was first learning to speak, he had a hard time with Delilah. He eventually settled on Deedee, and from then on, my whole family adopted the nickname. I haven’t heard that name in eight long months.
I offer her a shaky smile, trying to rid myself of the picture in my head. “Thanks.”
She seems like she is about to say more—like maybe she recognizes the look on my face—but the ringing phone in her back pocket steals her attention. She fishes it out, checking the caller ID.
She groans. “Ugh. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to take this in the office.”
