Harper followed Vanessa back to the waiting area, where Gramps still sat, alone. He looked up, smiled his most charming smile, and set the newspaper beside him. “Did you get yourself a job?”
“Not yet,” Harper said, “but I have a prospect.”
“No idea why you want to work,” he said, “but it’s your life.” He looked beyond Harper to Vanessa and struggled to his feet.
Harper had to squeeze her hands into fists to keep from helping him, because he’d certainly bat her arm away. In the six months she’d been caring for Gramps, she’d learned his moods. This was his happy I-don’t-need-you mood. Offering to help would offend him.
He made it to his feet and held out his hand to Vanessa. “Harold Burns, but everybody calls me Red, on account of my luxurious red hair.”
Vanessa shook his hand. “It is a pleasure.”
“Nice accent. You’re not from around here, eh?”
“I am from Serbia.”
“Never been there. Spent some time in Korea way back. Once I hit American soil, I swore I’d never leave the good old US of A again.”
“I can understand,” Vanessa said. “I love this country. I hope I will be allowed to stay forever.”
“You’re not a citizen?”
“I am not, but I’m working on it.”
“Well, good for you. Good for you.” He focused on Harper again. “Where we going now, girl?”
“Actually,” Vanessa said, “I hoped you’d let me introduce you to some of my friends. Can you come with me?” Vanessa turned and started slowly toward the door in the back, the one where Jack had disappeared.
Gramps looked at Harper with narrowed eyes. “You know what’s going on?”
Harper shrugged and set the walker in front of him. “Let’s find out.”
They followed Vanessa down the hall and through the door. On the other side, they found a huge warehouse to their left where people were working and chatting. It was chilly, thanks to the open garage-style door in the back. In the center of the room was a walk-in freezer, if the stainless steel exterior was any indication. A wall stood to their right with a single door and, beyond that, a set of double doors. Harper could see through a glass window into the first, an office.
Vanessa led them to the double doors. These, too, had glass windows, so Harper got a glimpse inside. It seemed like a living room. They stopped just outside the entrance. “Mr. Burns—”
“Red,” he corrected with a smile.
Vanessa nodded slightly. “Red, your neighbor Jack has been kind enough to build this room for us. It’s a place where our volunteers and their families congregate. I think you’ll enjoy it because a lot of our volunteers are near your age. They play cards, watch TV, and generally try to stay out of trouble.”
Gramps’s charming smile slid off, and he focused on Harper. “What’s going on?”
She shrugged as if this were all perfectly normal. “Jack just thought you might like to meet some people.”
Before Gramps could argue, Jack appeared in the doorway. “Red. So glad you’re here.”
Gramps’s suspicious expression didn’t fall away entirely, but it did slip a little. “You again.”
“I’m everywhere.”
Gramps peered from Harper to Jack and back as if he were trying to solve a riddle.
“Come on in,” Jack said. “I want to introduce you to my friends.”
“Well, all right.” His frown stayed in place. “If you really want to.”
Harper started to follow, but Vanessa stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You give me your cell phone number, and we will call you if there’s a problem. They’ll keep him entertained until you get back.”
“Okay.” She touched Gramps on his elbow. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He nodded and focused on the room. It was designed like a living room. It was warm in here. Six recliners faced a TV mounted on the wall. Two were occupied with gray-headed women. Behind the La-Z-Boys, a game table was surrounded by six padded chairs, and three old men were engrossed in a loud conversation and playing cards. Windows along one wall filled the room with natural light. A few lengths of molding leaned against the wall beside a step ladder. That must have been where Jack was working. Jack would take care of Gramps if he needed anything.
Harper followed Vanessa back into the warehouse, pulled her cell from her purse, and sighed. Two bars here in town. Not great, but at least she had service. She’d had service at the house all day the day before and that morning, too. Maybe it had just been bad on Monday because of the storm. She hoped so. She couldn’t afford another phone.
She focused on Vanessa. “If you have a piece of paper—”
“Program my number in your phone. Then, if you need me, you can call.”
“Uh… okay.” She typed in the phone number as Vanessa rattled it off, then she texted the number with her name. A phone dinged from Vanessa’s pocket.
“Good,” Vanessa said. “We’re set then.”
Harper knew it was time to go, but she couldn’t quite figure this woman out. “You give all the clients your phone number?”
“Almost none. But you… I think I have been where you are, at least on some level. If not for the kindness of strangers, I do not know where I would be. So, I will be a kind stranger to you.”
Oh. Harper had no idea what to say to that.
Vanessa waved her toward the back door of the warehouse. “Go out that way and walk around. The front door is locked. I will take Red to get some food and have it ready when you return. Do either of you have food restrictions or allergies?”
Food. She’d totally forgotten about food. She wanted to hug Vanessa for thinking of it. “He can’t eat anything too spicy. And don’t let him get all junk food.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.” She nodded toward the door. “Good luck with Bonnie.” Vanessa stepped into the rec center, where voices and laughter floated out.
Harper headed toward the door. There were people between here and there, volunteers loading shopping bags into waiting cars, others stacking food or sorting produce. This was a big operation for such a small community. She weaved among the people, trading smiles and how-are-yous until she got outside.
Five minutes later, she stepped into McNeal’s. The scents of coffee and bacon enticed her. The place had a hometown feel to it, with walls painted sage green and decorated with sports paraphernalia and posters. She grinned at all the Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics, and Bruins stuff and looked more closely at the few framed newspaper articles and banners bragging about the Nutfield Squirrels, apparently the local high school’s team, that hung from the wall behind the hostess station. There were TVs in every corner and a very large one on the back wall.
The dark hardwood of the floor matched the long bar. The walls were lined with booths, and round tables filled the center of the space. Many of the tables were empty, but a few were occupied by folks drinking coffee and enjoying a late breakfast.
A woman came through the door beside the bar that had to lead to the kitchen. She called, “Be right with ya, hon,” as she carried plates to the couple seated by the front window.
Harper glanced at a menu. McNeal’s served a full breakfast until eleven, then switched to the lunch and dinner menu. Lots of Irish fare—corned beef and cabbage, Reuben sandwiches, shepherd’s pie. There were multiple hamburger options, a few steak dinners, chicken—grilled, baked, or fried. They served salads, though not for the health-conscious, if the toppings were any indication.
Comfort food, comfortable surroundings. Harper could see herself working here. It wasn’t ideal, but it would keep her bills paid and food on the table.
The waitress headed her way. She was maybe five-foot-two and certainly not in bathing-suit shape. She had short curly brown hair and wore a name tag that read Bonnie. “Table for one, hon?”
“Actually, Vanessa sent me. She thought you might have a job for me.”
The woman stopped at the hostess station and eyed Harper head to toe. Her lips pinched. The well-worn wrinkles told Harper she’d made that expression before. “You don’t look the waitress type.”
Harper pushed her hair behind her ears. “What type would that be?”
The woman shrugged. “No offense. It’s not like people are banging down the door to work here.”
So far, this wasn’t going as Harper had imagined. “Is it that bad?”
“Nah. People are just lazy. It’s a great job if you know how to work.” She gave Harper another once-over. “You look a little bit like a princess, tell you the truth.”
“Then think of me as Cinderella before the prince.”
The woman cracked a smile, and her whole face changed. “I like the wit. I’m Bonnie Wells.” She thrust out her hand, and Harper shook it.
“Harper Cloud.”
“Good to meet you. Come on in, and let’s have a chat.”
Harper followed Bonnie to the back of the room, where Bonnie indicated a chair at the bar. “Sit. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the back, returned with an application and a pen. “Fill this out.” After Bonnie rushed away, Harper sat on the wooden barstool and filled out the application. She stopped when she got to the question that would keep her from getting hired.
Have you ever been convicted of a felony?
Her hand hovered over the honest answer, but she didn’t check the box.
How could she? If she didn’t get a job, she and Gramps would be lost.
She ignored her conscience, shot up a quick forgive me, and checked No.
As Harper was completing her employment history, Bonnie returned. “You done?”
Harper looked up and smiled. “Just a few more jobs to add.”
“Any waitressing experience?”
“Yeah. I worked a cocktail lounge in Vegas.” She hadn’t done a lot of waiting tables, but she’d done enough for it to qualify. She didn’t figure Bonnie would care about her kitchen duty in prison.
“Other jobs you’re adding—are they waitressing?”
“No. When I was in high school—”
“We’re good then.” Bonnie snatched the application and looked it over. “You’re a nurse?”
“Used to be.”
“So why not get a job doing that?”
“I really need something close by, and fast.”
The woman eyed her a moment, and Harper braced for more questions. But all Bonnie said was, “What hours can you work?”
“The lunch shift would be ideal. I care for my grandfather, and he’ll need more attention in the evenings and mornings.”
“I can’t guarantee you’ll only get lunch shifts, but we can try. If I can’t, can you make arrangements for your grandfather?”
Harper swallowed, smiled. “Sure. I’ll work something out.”
Bonnie looked over the application, and her eyebrows lifted. “Dancer? What kind of dancer?”
Of course she’d pick up on that one. “The kind you’re imagining.”
Bonnie leaned back almost imperceptibly. But Harper noticed. Keep your distance from the stripper. She might be diseased.
She imagined how Bonnie would react if she knew the whole truth.
“I don’t do that anymore,” Harper said. “Believe me, I could make a lot more money if I did.”
Bonnie’s lips pinched again as she regarded Harper. “I bet you could.” She tsked, paused, tsked again. “Lots of women would lie. I appreciate your honesty.”
Harper couldn’t speak for the sawdust wedged in her throat. Honesty. If she were truly honest, nobody would ever hire her for anything.
But Bonnie didn’t pick up on the guilt that felt as solid as the seat beneath her. “Can you start tomorrow?”