She wasn’t going to complain. This was gainful employment. Well, employment, anyway. Angelica Rossi watched the customers slip out of the restaurant before she snatched their receipt from the table top and glanced at it—a fifteen percent tip on a twenty-dollar ticket. They’d occupied one of her six tables for an hour and a half and left her three dollars.
How had she landed here?
She closed her eyes, prayed for patience, for peace, for faith. Then she smiled and continued her shift. Maybe this employment wasn’t that gainful, but it was legitimate. It was a step in the right direction.
She carried the dirty cups to the kitchen and tossed them into the bin to be washed.
This wasn’t such a bad gig, and she needed to hang onto it. The job was necessary until she completed her time at the sober living house in six months. Then, she’d be free to live her life on her terms again. The house where she’d been assigned wasn’t too bad. Her roommate, Brittney, was fun to hang out with, and the other women in the house were nice enough. Heck, it had to beat prison.
Angel returned to the table, propped the menus back in the rack, slid the salt and pepper to their proper places, and sprayed cleaner on the top. After she wiped it off, she swiped the first bench seat and moved to the second.
Something black stuck out between the far end of the bench and the wall. She reached for the item.
A wallet. A thick wallet probably filled with credit cards and IDs and cash.
Temptation, familiar and powerful, tingled in her fingertips. She could slide it into her pocket, go through it later…
No.
She wasn’t that person anymore. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and thanked God for her freedom. Not from prison or rehab or sober living, but from the sin that had led her to this place. She didn’t want this wallet. Never again would she steal. Never.
Angel held the wallet in one hand and swiped the bench with the other. On her way to find her manager, one of her customers flagged her down. “Could I get a refill on my Coke?”
Angel took the woman’s cup, nodded to the man at the table. “You, too?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“No problem.” She slipped the wallet into the pocket of her apron, grabbed the second cup, and continued toward the back.
Past the swinging door and in the kitchen, she looked for the manager to hand over the wallet, but the woman wasn’t there.
Another waitress, Karen, was lifting a couple of steaming plates from the warming counter. She was an older woman who’d worked there for years.
“Have you seen Barb?” Angel asked.
“A customer asked for her.”
Angel refilled the drinks and delivered them, then beelined through the restaurant toward the front. Most of the tables in the casual burger joint were empty, but as afternoon turned to evening, they would fill. With the low prices and happy-hour deals, the place brought plenty of customers. The tips weren’t great, but she could live on them.
Sure enough, the manager was behind the hostess station. As Angel approached, the woman turned to her. She was fifty-something, heavy set, and wore a look on her face that held such hatred, Angel slowed her steps. Contempt she was accustomed to, but this was worse. This manager hadn’t hired her and didn’t like her. She didn’t like any of the people the owner had hired from the sober living house. She didn’t trust Angel, and Angel didn’t blame her.
She’d never been trustworthy. That she was now seemed irrelevant to everyone, herself included.
Angel plastered on her best smile. “Hey, when I was cleaning that booth—”
“Empty your pockets,” Barb said.
The customer who’d left the three-dollar tip stood on the far side of the hostess stand. Middle-aged, brown hair, shoulders tense. “If you’ll just let me go look—”
“I’ll handle this, sir.” Barb focused on Angel again. “Now.”
Angel forced her gaze away from Barb and smiled at the customer. “I found a wallet in the booth. I assume that’s what you’re looking for.” She pulled it out and handed it over the wooden stand.
He blew out a breath. “Thank you so much. It must have fallen out of my pocket.”
“My pleasure.”
“You’d better check it.” Barb’s voice was sharp, loud. “Make sure nothing’s missing.”
A customer at a nearby table turned to stare.
Angel’s cheeks warmed, but she kept her smile plastered in place. She hadn’t done anything wrong. This time, she hadn’t done anything wrong.
The man looked from Barb to Angel. “Uh, okay.” He opened it, picked at the many credit cards, flipped through the cash. “Everything’s here.” He focused on Angel again. “Thanks so much.”
All that cash, and he’d left her a three-dollar tip. But he’d also given her an opportunity to test her ability to withstand temptation. For that, she owed him. “Have a great day.”
The man nodded to Barb and pushed out the door of the restaurant.
Barb rounded on her, lording her superior height and weight as she closed in. “You’re fired.”
“What?” Angel stepped back. “Why? I didn’t steal—”
“Only because you got caught before you could go through it.”
“I was looking for you. I was going to turn it in.”
Barb’s face twisted into an evil smirk. “Right. That’s why it was in your pocket.”
Angel opened her mouth to explain, then snapped it shut. What would be the point?
“I heard all about you.” Her voice carried, and more customers turned to look. “You’re not just an addict, you’re a thief.”
Who’d told her that?
“Why you’re not in prison,” Barb continued, “I have no idea, but you’re not going to steal from our customers.”
Words Angel didn’t use anymore rose to her lips and heat flooded her skin. She wanted to defend herself. She wanted to fight for her job. She wanted to argue. But Barb was right. Angel had been a thief all her life. She didn’t deserve this woman’s trust.
And she sure as heck wasn’t going to beg to keep this crappy job.
She slipped the apron over her head, shoved into into Barb’s hands, and marched out the door. The air was hot, too hot for mid-September in Manchester. Indian summer, which Angel wasn’t dressed for in her blue jeans, sensible black tennis shoes, and long-sleeved black T-shirt with the stupid restaurant’s stupid logo emblazoned on the back. But the heat suffocating her wasn’t a result of the temperature.
Shame burned hotter than any New Hampshire day.
She’d been fired. Fired for stealing. That she hadn’t actually stolen anything was irrelevant.
Normal people—not addicts, not felons, not crooks—drove along Elm Street and walked past her on the sidewalk. Doctors, lawyers, business people. Store clerks, secretaries, salesmen.
These were the kinds of people she’d never wanted to be like when she was a kid. She’d craved adventure. She’d craved risk.
Now, she’d give anything, anything to be one of them.
“Angel!”
The last thing she wanted was to talk, but Karen’s footfalls were closing in. Angel turned and waited until the waitress reached her.
“What happened?”
“She fired me.”
“For stealing, she said.” Karen tilted her head to the side. “You didn’t, though.”
Angel shrugged. “The wallet was in my pocket because I went to refill those drinks.”
“That’s exactly what I would have done,” Karen said. “You need to talk to the owner. He’ll take you back.”
Angel looked beyond Karen toward the restaurant, then touched Karen’s arm. “Thank you for checking on me. You’ve been a good friend.”
Karen stepped back, regarded her through narrowed eyes. “You’re not going to, are you?”
Angel shrugged. “There’s no point. Her word against mine, and my word isn’t worth anything.”
“You were looking for her. You asked me where she was. I can tell—”
“It’s fine.” It would be, anyway. Angel would get over this. “Really. I’ll find something else.” She said the words with more confidence than she felt. She had to work if she wanted to stay in the sober living house. She had to stay in the sober living house if she wanted to stay out of of prison.
Karen pinched her lips closed and shook her head. “Last week you went to bat for one the cooks when he showed up late. You argued with Barb until she let him off the hook.”
“His daughter was sick. You don’t just fire people—”
“Her reason for firing you is even flimsier.”
Angel crossed her arms. “It doesn’t—”
“You know what your problem is?” Karen said. “You think everyone’s worth fighting for except yourself.”
Angel let out a short, humorless laugh. “I guess I know me too well.”
The restaurant door opened. Barb stepped out, looked around. When she spotted them, she glared.
Karen ignored Barb and focused on Angel. “You’re wrong.” Karen pulled her into a quick hug, whispered in her ear. “You are worth fighting for. I’ll be praying for you.” She let Angel go, squeezed her hand, and hurried back to her job.
Angel watched her go. Karen was a nice lady, but about Angel being worth fighting for, she was very wrong.
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