The green screen door slams shut behind me. Everyone turns around; everyone’s face closes up. I hang my backpack on the wall peg, walk to the dishwasher, tie on my apron, jerk out the dish rack, and start to unload plates and cups. When I turn around with a clean dish tray, they’re staring at me: Randy in her saddle shoes, Temple busying herself with the coffee urns, silvery ankle bracelets tinkling.
Randy dumps an armload of cups into the soapy water, splashing my apron. She knocks me in the shoulder lightly.
“It’s about fucking time,” she says. “We’ve been reopened for three days already and wondering where our favorite disher was.”
—
My second night back at work, Julie pulls me into the office. I don’t look at the couch. I try not to look at anything except my water-pruned hands as Julie tells me what I already mostly know. That Riley and Wendy totaled Luis’s car; Wendy broke three ribs, cracked her collarbone, and punctured her intestine. That Wendy attacked Blue at the apartment when Blue tried to get her to stop destroying my things.
Julie twists the rings on her fingers, her voice wavering. “Riley came out with bruises, a DUI, driving without a license, a possible robbery charge for stealing the night deposit, and the theft of an automobile.” She lays a hand on the bowl of lapis lazuli.
“He was in jail. Now he’s up north at a men-only rehab. It’s not his first time in rehab, but you probably guessed that.” She clacks the stones together. Her eyes well up. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, you know? Maybe some of this is my fault, always helping him when he fucks up. He can’t come back here, ever, to work. He can’t. And legally, holy hell. If he wants to stay out of jail, he has to complete a yearlong work-rehab program and stay clean. And am I supposed to press charges about stealing my money?” Tears run down her cheeks. “The world is so fucking awful sometimes and then you have to really start thinking, what’s my role in this awfulness? Did I make some of this awful?”
There’s a heavy weight inside me. I have to get rid of it.
“Julie,” I say. “I knew, I mean, I think I knew, but I didn’t want to know, that he was stealing from the register. And…I helped him. I…bought stuff for him. And I’m sorry. And I understand if you want to fire me.”
Julie shakes her head, wiping her eyes. “You bought stuff for him?”
I nod, my face burning with shame. I wanted him to love me.
I say it aloud, but very quietly.
Julie reaches out and takes my hand. “Love is a real shit show, Charlie, but it’s not that. It’s not buying drugs for someone. You don’t deserve that, honey. You just don’t.”
I try to let her words just sit in me, rather than rejecting them. It’s hard, but I do it.
I keep going, my words spilling out fast. “Linus said Grit is in real trouble. We talked about it on the way back from New Mexico and I’ve been thinking, well, Linus and I have been thinking, and talking, and we have some ideas about how to get Grit on track, if you want to listen.”
Julie blinks, snuffling. She finds a pen and opens a notebook.
“I’m listening,” she says. “Fire away, because I’m dying here.”
