For You, For Me

Chapter 3

The next day, I walk into work for my usual Saturday morning waitressing shift at Leila's. Leila's has some of the best brunch food in town, and probably the best beach view along the water to go with it, making it busy on any given morning, but especially in the summer, and especially on weekends.

I go to the back to clock in and am tying my half-apron when I realize everyone is staring at me.

"What, do I have something on my face?" I ask. These people are like family so it's weird that the usual kitchen banter isn't in full swing, especially right before opening. They look away, like they're ashamed, and try to make everything seem normal, except that no one is talking. Not even Marlie, who had pretty much been avoiding me since the accident, except for some half-assed texts to see if I was okay. Says a lot when people can't be around for the hard times.

Leila herself comes up to me. Even before she opens her mouth, I see that sad look in her eyes that I'd quickly grown accustomed to getting from everyone. "Hi, sweetie," she says, squeezing my arm. "What are you doing here?"

"Umm, working my Saturday shift...?" I say. I notice people watching our exchange from the corners of their eyes.

"I didn't know you'd be coming back to work so soon," Leila continues.

"Well, I could use the money," I say awkwardly. I lower my voice, fully aware of our audience. "And an excuse to get out of the house and take my mind off things."

"Oh, honey..." Her eyes well with tears and she pulls me in for a hug. "I'm so, so sorry."

I awkwardly pat her on the back. "Thank you."

She pulls away, dabbing at her eyes, and reaches out to straighten my name tag. "You are such a strong girl. Let me know if you ever need a break or want to take off early. We'll make it work."

It takes everything in me to give her a smile, and even as I do, I can tell it's weak. "Thank you, Leila. I appreciate it."

"Of course, sweetie." She gives me one last teary-eyed smile and walks away. Everyone goes back to their jobs, to talking, but their tones are hushed. I sigh and go to distribute the flower vases to the tables, trying not to think about how the white carnations look like the ones at yesterday's funeral.

* * * * *

I leave after two hours. And only one-and-a-half of those were when we were officially open. One thing about growing up in a small beach town is that everyone knows everyone and their business. It didn't take long for me to lose count of how many people asked about Maddox and how I was doing and why was I working and wasn't I so, so sad?

After politely dodging Mrs. Abernathy's attempts to figure out what stage of grief I was in ("You seem like you're in the first stage, sweetheart."), I ducked into the kitchen and told Leila I wasn't feeling well. She let me leave, but only after tearing up again and giving me another hug before I could make a dash for my escape.

My feet found their way to the beach and now I'm sitting on the sand, tucked into a small alcove sheltered by rocks so that my contact with other people will be minimal. And it is. At least until I see a soccer ball fly around the corner where it ricochets off a rock and directly towards me. I catch it and hold it aloft as I hear footsteps pounding around the corner.

"I got it!" a young voice says.

A little boy of about four or five comes into view, curly blond hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. He sees me holding the ball awkwardly and grins.

"You caught my ball!"

I can't help it. I smile. A real, genuine smile. It feels like ages since anyone's given me a reason to.

I hold the ball out to the kid. "I did catch your ball," I say. "Want me to toss it?"

He nods. "Yeah!"

I'm about to throw it when I hear another voice calling. "Archer? Archer! Where'd you go?" A boy, taller and older and very attractive appears. He spots the kid, looking relieved. "There you are."

"I came to get my ball." Archer, presumably, tells him. "The lady caught it!" He points at me.

Lady. Oh god, when did I age?

"Did you say thank you?" the guy asks the kid.

"No."

He raises an eyebrow at Archer. "Can you go get the ball from her and say thank you?"

"Okay." Archer jogs over and takes the ball from my outstretched hand. "Thank you, miss."

"You're welcome." I smile.

"I need water!" he announces as soon as he has the ball, and goes running off again, teeming with energy.

The guy comes over. "Sorry about that," he says, gesturing in the direction of the long-gone Archer. "I'm trying to teach him manners, but he's always moving too fast to stop and actually learn them."

I laugh lamely, trying not to lose any sense of cool I have maintained, which proves very difficult because a traitorous part of me finds him attractive. Warm blondish brown hair with the same curls as Archer, only looser, that fall onto his forehead and frame his icy blue eyes, cool in color but radiating light, and entirely impossible to look away from. Not to mention his lightly freckled skin boasts a deep tan, the kind local boys acquire from living in this beach town. I don't recognize him, though. He doesn't seem like a tourist, but I've at least seen or heard of every local in town.

I wonder how old he is. If he's my age? Older? Is Archer his son?

The guy coughs awkwardly and I realize I am staring. Gawking.

"Well, anyway, thanks again for getting the ball," he says. "I'll leave you alone."

I want to stop him, ask him questions, get to know him, keep staring into his beautiful eyes, but I can't seem to find the words. They seem to be evading me as of late.