Page 58 of Stowaway Whirlwind
I thought she looked familiar. She was training with the tow truck driver, who came to collect Mrs. Fitzroy’s rental car from our house.
“You’re not the only one.” Violet nods her head toward Russell. It’s obvious from even here that his jaw is clenched tight, gripping his fork over his egg omelet hard enough to bend the metal when Layla apologizes to her table after she yawns again.
When Layla finishes writing the men’s orders on her notepad, she bumps into Russell’s table and stumbles slightly over her feet. Russell is out of his seat fast to steady her with his hands on her thin waist, though he lets go half a second later, then stomps out of the diner.
“Oh man, he’s got it bad,” Violet says.
Faye says, “I’m putting my foot down and taking over her table.” To me, she says quickly, “It was real nice to meet you, Goldie. ‘Fraid I have to run.”
We watch as Faye steers Layla by her shoulders toward our booth. She points at the chair and tells Layla to sit in a no-nonsense tone, then takes Layla’s notepad with her when she heads to the kitchen behind the counter.
A minute later, Faye returns with a steaming cup of coffee and a one-hundred-dollar bill, her gold wedding band reflecting the fluorescent lighting. She sets both on the silver top in front of Layla and says, “Russell’s tip.”
I’d be jumping for joy at that kind of hefty tip, but Layla groans. “Again?”
Dolly’s brows go up. “Again? How often does he leave tips like that?”
“Every day,” Layla responds, slugging back half her coffee before flinching, no doubt burning the roof of her mouth and throat.
Even though it’s none of my business, I ask Layla, “And you’re unhappy with that because…?”
“Because I didn’t earn it.” She gives me a weak smile, her lips glossy, dark lashes fluttering, trying to keep her eyes open. “Now I have to swing by BT to drop it off on my way to my next gig.” When Dolly opens her mouth to say something, Layla straightens, puts on a brighter smile, and changes the subject. “Enough about me, let’s talk wedding.”
Violet reaches across the table to hold her hand. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Of course.”
Violet pulls her silver laptop with a purple vinyl decal of her wedding planning logo from a canvas tote bag and opens it on the table, tapping away on the keyboard. “First things first—when’s the wedding?”
“Oh, um, Thursday,” I answer, feeling my milk let down as my ears perk up at Lily starting to fuss from across the diner.
Violet’s shapely brows shoot up. “Thursday? As in three days from now?”
I give her an apologetic look.
“Well, then, you’re in luck.” She smiles wide, all teeth, her eyes twinkling. “Not to toot my own horn, but if anyone can pull a wedding off in three days, it’s me and Layla.” She swings her gaze to the side. “Right, Layla?”
Layla is asleep with her pale cheek lying on her arms crossed in front of her on the tabletop, her lips parted as she breathes deeply.
“Shit.” Dolly types out a text message on her cell phone.
Within minutes, Russell is stomping back into the diner. He doesn’t say one word as his ears turn red while he scoops Layla up into his arms. She rouses just enough to tell him to put her down and that she needs to go back to work, but he shushes her before carrying her out of the diner.
Dolly and Violet breathe out a sigh of relief, and then we get down to business. Between mouthfuls of themost delicious pancakes everthat Faye dropped off, I thankfully don’t have to do much more than give one or two-word answers to Violet’s questions since I don’t know the first thing about planning a wedding.
Violet asks, “Favorite color?”
That’s an easy one. “Pink.”Like Lily’s rosy cheeks.
“Officiant, religious, or other?”
“Officiant.”
Violet places a quick call to who knows. “Done,” she says, ending the call. She poises her long acrylic-tipped fingers over the keyboard. “Guests you’d like to invite?”
My eyes drop to my plate as I shake my head. Once upon a time, I dreamed of my dad getting clean and walking me downthe aisle, but that dream’s been shattered. Although I had what I thought was a large group of friends in high school, everyone scattered across the country for college while I stayed home to take care of Aunt Lydia, and I haven’t kept up with any of them.
Dolly snakes her hand around my back and squeezes my side. It makes me want to cry. I may not have any friends from back home anymore, but within two days, I’ve potentially made four. I can already tell they’re good people, and a hopeful smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
