Page 94 of Slumming It
Special how?I wasn't liking the sounds ofthat. "Like what?"
"Usually, it's laundry," she said. "But sometimes it's apple pie or cookies." She hesitated. "Or both."
I was more relieved than I should have been. "Both, huh? He sounds like a hungry guy."As long as he wasn't hungry for Emily, he and I would have no issues.
With a little laugh, Emily said, "Sorry, I phrased that all wrong. Usually it's laundry and pie or laundry and cookies – not cookiesandpie." Her tone grew wistful. "My mom makes the best apple pie. I keep trying to replicate it, but it's never quite as good."
At the mention of her mom's apple pie, bitterness clawed at my gut. It was an old grievance and one I didn't want to dwell on, not now, with Emily anxious enough already.
What she needed was a better distraction. As I stopped at the next red light, I looked to her and asked, "So, what are you doing later? You wanna go out?"
She looked surprised by the offer. "I wish I could, but actually I've got to work."
I didn't get it. "You mean at the hotel? You just said you don't work nights."
"Yeah, I don't, not at the hotel, but I've got this waitressing thing. It's only part-time, but I almost always work Sundays."
This was the first I'd heard of it. "So, what time do you get off?"
"Not 'til tomorrow morning. Actually, I work the graveyard shift."
The graveyard shift?I wasn't liking the sounds ofthat."Where?"
"At this truck stop near County Line Road."
At a fucking truck stop?"You're kidding, right?"
She stiffened. "Hey, it's not like I'm manning the gas pumps. The stop has a pancake house, and I waitress there. It's not a big deal."
The more she talked the less I liked it. "It's a big deal tome."
"But what does it have to do with you?"
It was a good question, and I was having a hard time coming up with a decent answer. As the light turned green, I accelerated the car, ignoring the looks we got from a couple of guys in camo jackets standing on the corner.
The Ferrari almost always got looks, but it was getting more attention here in this smaller town, where exotic cars weren't a common thing. Back in Chicago at the Sentry Tower, there were four Ferraris in the underground garage, and people in the nearby vicinity were more accustomed to seeing them.
Or rather,somepeople were. Others gawked like the guys on the corner as they grew smaller in the rear view mirror.
These days, I hardly noticed the stares. But today, I was noticing a lot of things that I normally ignored, like unhappiness coming from the passenger's seat.
After a long moment, Emily said, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"You never answered my question. My waitressing job…what does it have to do with you?"
"Nothing," I said.
"So what's the problem?"
After more thought, I decided the problem was simple. I didn't like the idea of Emily working at some all-night truck stop with fuck-knows-who heading to fuck-knows-where. But I wasn't gonna put itthatway, so all I said was, "I'm just wondering if it's safe."
"Oh, it is. It'sreallysafe. There's a guard on-duty all the time."
What the fuck?In my experience, places that needed guarding non-stop weren't the safest places around. I spoke without thinking. "You should quit."
She stared from the passenger's seat. "Why would I do that?"
