Page 99 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

She knew she was leaving the next day. That’s why she’d approached me on the bridge, and that’s why she’d snuck into my room. Because she knew it was the last time we’d ever see each other. That’s why she insisted on kissing me goodnight. Because it was a kiss goodbye. That’s why she’d told me she loved me.

I put the letter back in the envelope, leaving it where I’d found it, and went around to the back of my house where I’d put the swing for Savannah. It was outside my bedroom window so I could see her when she used it. I sat in it, angry and lonely, with tears trying their hardest to escape.

I never saw Savannah again.

Chapter 25

Afew months later, mom passed away. She tripped and fell in the shower and hit her head, passed out, and drowned. Dad was passed out drunk in the other room, and I was at the bar. She drowned in a quarter cup of water at the bottom of the shower.

After the funeral, I packed my things, took her car, and left. I didn’t even bother saying goodbye to my dad. I’d only stuck around for my mom anyway. I handed off management of the bar to my assistant manager. Dad wouldn’t last long on his own, and maybe I’d inherit the house when he gave up the ghost.

I didn’t have much of a plan, but I ended up in DC at a culinary training program that offered me free tuition in exchange for community service at the local soup kitchen. It was unpaid, so I lived out of my car, parked in a mobile home camp at night, showered at a local gym in the morning, did my laundry at a laundromat, and worked a night shift at a shitty sports bar. My tips made me enough to eat and my quarters went towards clean clothes.

Most of the training was stuff I’d already learned or picked up, but there were some valuable tidbits I gathered. It was a well-known program and would set me on the path I wanted, so I suffered through the six-month course and did what I had to.

When it was over, I took my certification and began applying to various different restaurants but was turned down by all of them. Eventually, one interviewer asked me about the charges on my record.

I was shocked. “Those charges were dismissed,” I said. “My girlfriend’s parents lied about all of it.”

But it didn’t matter. Nobody was going to hire a deadbeat hillbilly with no high school diploma who had been tried for assault and rape, even if I was found innocent. If I was going to get a decent job, I’d have to pay almost five thousand dollars to get my record expunged so my background check would come back clean. And I was still living out of my car.

I eventually caved and took a second job at a Waffle House in the grossest part of town. It was awful, but it was full time, and had health insurance. After a few months the manager vouched for me to one of his friends and got me another job in the evenings washing dishes at a steakhouse a few weekends a month. It was a fancy place, five stars and on lots of popular lists for attractions, and the pay was decent. Soon, I’d have enough to get my record expunged. Then I could start moving forward.

One evening, we had a chef call out with a family emergency, and another cut their hand so severely they had to leave and go to the ER. We were down two cooks, it was a Friday night, and the kitchen was chaotic. I could barely keep up with the dishes, and there was an hour wait on steaks.

My managers were running in circles shouting and cooking and making things worse. Another chef lost control due to the chaos and burnt her hand. Then the owner came in and said we were all going to lose our jobs if we didn’t get shit together, because Oliver Dupont, a famous chef and food critic, just sat down for a meal.

The girl behind me who had just burnt her hand started crying. Two steaks were sent back to the kitchen for being cooked incorrectly. We ran out of Ahi Tuna because someone had put the last box in the pantry instead of the fridge, and now it had gone bad.

The owner stormed out of the kitchen and into the office, trying to find a way to organize the chaos. The manager was still shouting.

My blood was boiling. I’d had enough. I was tired of being the scary quiet guy. I was going to be the guy in charge.

I took a heavy metal ladle and began banging it loudly against a pan.

It caught everyone’s attention, and they looked my way. Setting the pan down, I straightened, looked my manager in the eye and said, “If you want any employees by the end of the night, put on a fucking apron and take over my position.” To the girl with the burnt hand, I said, “run that under cool water, not cold. Then go get the first aid kit and bring it to me.”

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