“Poor Meira,” I say as April and I enter the dining room for my crash course in waitressing. “What a horrible accident. Do you think she will be back?”
April lowers the water goblets she’s checking for spots and blinks at me in disbelief. “Gabe said she would, didn’t he? Meira might have burned her arm, but it isn’t going to fall off. She’ll be back. She needs this job. Working up here might be fun and games for you, Bailey—a nice little cash bonus that you can blow on clothes, but the rest of us work to pay the rent and buy food. If we had other options, don’t you think we’d take them?”
Whoa! Where did that come from? Outwardly I don’t move a muscle, but inside I take a step back. This is obviously a sore spot with April.
“What are you talking about?” I frown. “I thought you were doing great. You said you were saving to open a flower shop. You told me you’d have enough this fall. But if you need to live on the money you earn here at the lodge, how is that possible?”
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at me. Finally, she shakes her head. “Never mind.” Then she motions to a stack of folded tablecloths. “Let’s get these tables set.”
Bang. The door on the subject is closed. For whatever reason, April is done talking about it. I don’t push. But part of me can’t help wondering if she ever really intended to open a flower shop. Maybe it was only a dream. After all, she never got past grade eight. If a university graduate has a hard time finding work, what chance does a high-school dropout have? If you have no job, how can you save for a dream?
The thought that I may have burst April’s bubble makes me feel bad, but apologizing will probably make matters worse. So I grab an armful of linen and start on the tables.
A half hour before dinner, the guests descend on the lodge for appetizers and cocktails and to share stories about the day’s fishing.
Since I’m underage, I can’t serve alcohol, so it’s my job to make sure the appetizer platters stay full and the empty glasses and plates are cleared. It’s a good way to ease into dinner service. By the time the guests sit down to eat, my jitters are mostly gone, and I fall easily into the rhythm of things. First comes the salad, next the entrée and finally dessert and coffee. I keep an eye on April, trying to do what she does.
Dennis Savoy is at one of my tables. He’s dining alone—unless you count his camera. I feel sorry for him. It can’t be much fun to be on holiday by yourself. He doesn’t seem to mind though. He’s as smiley and chatty as ever. He’s also hungry. He eats everything I put in front of him and even asks me to sneak him an extra dessert. But he’s appreciative and leaves me a ten-dollar tip. Actually, all of my tables leave generous tips. No wonder April likes being a server.
After dinner, as April and I are setting the tables for the next day’s breakfast, Gabe shows up.
“Good job tonight,” he says quietly to me. “Thanks, Bailey.” I see April watching us from across the dining room. I can’t read the expression on her face, but when she realizes I see her, she looks away and goes back to work.
“What was that about?” she asks when we return to the kitchen.
As I unscrew the lids from the salt shakers, I say, “What was what about? Could you pass me that box of salt, please?”
She gives me the box and nods toward the dining room. “That thing with Gabe just now. What was he talking to you about?”
I shrug. “Nothing, really. He was just thanking me for helping out with dinner.”
“Why didn’t he speak to both of us?”
I look up in surprise. “I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to reassure me, because he knew I was nervous.” And then, realizing I’ve missed the shaker and dumped salt all over the table, I growl, “Darn it! Now look what you made me do.” I grab a pinch of the spilled salt and toss it over my shoulder.
For once, April doesn’t comment on my being superstitious. She’s too amped about my conversation with Gabe. Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure Gabe wasn’t promising you Meira’s job permanently—or maybe mine? After all, he is your godfather.”
I can’t believe my ears. I stop cleaning up the mess and scowl at April. “What is your problem? Ever since Gabe said we’d be working together, you’ve changed. It’s like you don’t like me anymore. This isn’t my fault. I didn’t ask to be a waitress. I didn’t ask for help with the cabins either. So get off my case.”
April opens her mouth to yell something back, but then—almost magically—her face relaxes, and she shakes her head. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “You’re right. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Maybe it’s my hip. It’s been killing me all day. And I have a major headache. I really need some sleep. Would you mind finishing up here? There’s just the shore lunch boxes to do.”
What am I supposed to say? I’m still ticked, but I don’t want to be mean. “Fine,” I mumble. Today April has been a regular Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But I’m not looking for a war. I force a smile. “Sure. Go to bed. I’ll take care of the shore lunch boxes.”