At the café, I’m wiping down tables when a man at the counter snaps his fingers at me. “A little help, please?” He taps the counter insistently.
Everyone is gone, so I make him his cappuccino, pouring the silky froth carefully over the espresso into a to-go cup. I usually don’t do this, but I’ve watched Linus enough, and it feels kind of thrilling to try it out. The man hands me his money and I ring him up, which is a first for me here, too. I did work that little bit at my mom’s friend’s deli, so I remember the basics of the cash register. The bell on the door tinkles as he leaves.
“What are you doing, Charlie?”
Julie has appeared, her face furrowed.
I look down at the still-open cash drawer, the slots of bills and change. “Nothing. That guy, he bought a coffee.” I point, but the man’s already left. The café is empty.
Julie reaches around me and bangs the drawer shut, narrowly missing my fingers. I flinch, surprised at her anger. “Where is everybody? You’re not supposed to run counter.”
Riley appears, shoving his cup under the urn, a big smile on his face. “What’s up, Jules?”
Julie’s voice is strained and high. “Riley. Am I paying you to drink coffee and get drunk on shift? No. You can do that shit when you punch out. I’m sick of all of you taking advantage of me. I need you to supervise. She’s not supposed to be on the register. We’ve been low on end counts for days.”
Panicked, I blurt, “I didn’t take any money. I wouldn’t take money.” I don’t like that I can feel my face heat up as I say it. It makes me look guilty, but I wouldn’t do that to Riley. Or to Julie. “I’m sorry. No one was around, I thought it would be okay.”
“Nobody’s saying you took money, Charlie. That’s not what she’s saying, right, Jules?” Riley sips his coffee calmly, watching his sister’s face carefully. He doesn’t look over at me.
Julie shakes her head. “Why do you do that? Why do you always undermine—”
She stops suddenly, a troubled look crossing her face. She steps closer to me, looking down. “What is that? What did you…I didn’t know it was so ba— Jesus, you can’t be out here like that.”
She waves her hands over the scars on my bare arms, staring at my skin. I step back, instinctively sliding my arms around my back. I bump up against the pastry case.
“Charlie, we’ve got people here trying to heal. The Sisters, Charlie.” Julie’s voice sounds desperate. I haven’t ever seen her like this; it can’t just be about me and my arms. Can it?
The Sisters come in every Tuesday and Thursday and push the tables together, open their journals and free-write. They cry softly, rubbing each other’s backs. They drink fruity teas and wear loose, hand-sewn clothes. Their hair is plain and flat and they eat too many carob brownies and lemon poppy seed muffins. Linus says they used to belong to a cult on the border of Arizona and New Mexico.
“Jesus, Jules, are you listening to yourself ?” Riley says, his voice suddenly hard. He shoves the bus tub at me and tells me to go finish up. I don’t move. I’m frozen against the pastry case.
Julie whirls back around to me. “I don’t want you wearing short sleeves, okay, Charlie? I know it’s hot in here, we’ll get that cooler fixed, but seeing that’s a trigger, you know? I have to keep the customers we’ve got, do you understand?” Her voice breaks. “There’s not a goddamn customer in the whole fucking place, Riley. Where is our lunch rush?” She buries her head in her hands.
I step around them, Riley patting her shoulder, and go back to the dishwasher. I hear them whispering, but I can’t make out the words. When Riley comes back, he won’t meet my eyes. “I told her nobody’s going to look at anything but your pretty face, but she’s in a weird spot right now, okay, so maybe, tomorrow, just do the long sleeves. Just for a little while, okay?” My heart drops with disappointment. I thought maybe he would stick up for me a little more. I look up at him. He averts his eyes.
I get a queasy feeling in my stomach.
“Riley,” I whisper. “What money is missing? What’s she talking about, Riley?”
He winces, his fingers trembling as he positions an onion on the cutting board. “Just don’t worry about it, okay?”
“I didn’t take any money. I don’t want her thinking I took any money.”
“Everything’s going to be cool, all right? I’ll take care of it.” He turns to the grill and starts scraping grease into long, caramel-colored hills.
He sold you out, baby. Evan’s voice, wheedling, in my ears. But I push it away, because I don’t want to believe it.
