Beautiful Sacrifice by Jamie McGuire

  Kirby shook her head and chuckled as she detached the pepper shaker lid.

  Noticing the time, I began unscrewing lids for Kirby, and she picked up her pace.

  "Kirby is the only person in the world, including Chuck," I said, nodding toward the kitchen, "who could get away with sticking her tongue out at you and live to tell about it."

  "No. I have two girls, and I take shit from both of them," Phaedra said, arching her eyebrow at me.

  I swallowed back the lump that had formed in my throat. Phaedra had a way of making me feel like family when I least expected it and always when I needed it the most.

  She picked a hand towel off the counter as she approached me. She swung it over her shoulder and then glanced at her watch. She turned me to face the wall of glass, toward the three parked cars full of people.

  She raised my hand with the open saltshaker still in my grip and began to recite her favorite sonnet, "Mother of Exiles! From her beacon-hand! Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command!"

  After each verse, she would shake my elevated hand, salt falling over our heads like an erratic blizzard.

  "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses!"

  After Phaedra finished, she let go of my hand, and I shook out the white specks from my hair.

  Phaedra sighed. "No one talks like that anymore."

  "You do," Kirby said.

  "God, do I love my country."

  Kirby made a face. "Anyone would know that after seeing your arrest record from participating in sit-ins. What does that poem have to do with anything?"

  Phaedra looked dumbstruck.

  "It's Emma Lazarus," I said.

  Kirby's expression didn't change.

  I continued, "That sonnet is on a plaque at the Statue of Liberty."

  When recognition finally hit, Kirby's mouth formed an O.

  Phaedra rolled her eyes. "Dear Lord Jesus, help us all."

  "I'll get the broom," Kirby said, dashing to the back room.

  Phaedra grumbled all the way to the kitchen. Failure to know important pieces of history, or ignorance of common knowledge in general made her temper flare.

  Kirby reappeared, broom and dustpan in hand. "Shit. I've tried to forget all of that since graduation. It's summer break. You'd think she'd cut me some slack."

  "It's going to be a long day," I said, fetching the broom.

  Kirby and I worked to clean the mess, and she rushed to the trash can with the dustpan while I flipped it open. People inside the three parked cars in front began to stir, and by the time Kirby returned from taking the broom to the back, the customers were waiting to be seated.

  "I didn't finish the shakers," she whispered to me.

  "On it," I said, rushing to finish her job.

  I looked at the clock, wondering how we'd gotten so far behind schedule. Usually, we'd finish with ten minutes to spare.

  Phaedra didn't reveal her mood to the customers, but Kirby and I had to work extra hard to keep her smiling. An entire pitcher of sun tea crashed to the floor, Hector broke a stack of plates, and I didn't get one of the saltshakers screwed on tightly enough, so Chuck had to make a Philly cheesesteak sandwich on the double to replace the one with more salt in it than what had been in my hair.

  Kirby seated the author and her assistant, their second visit in as many days.

  "Afternoon," I said with a smile. "Back again, huh?"

  "It's so good," the author said. "I wanted to try the Cuban before we left."

  "This is not what I ordered," a man said loudly to Phaedra.

  Dwayne Kaufman was sitting alone in the corner, licking his thumb after tossing the top bun of his burger to the floor.

  "Uh-oh," Kirby whispered in my ear. "Dwayne's been drinking again. Should I call the police?"

  I shook my head. Who gets drunk before noon? "Let Phaedra handle it."

  "I said, no ketchup! And it's fucking cold!" Dwayne yelled.

  "My apologies, hon," Phaedra said. "I'll get that fixed right away, Dwayne." She scooped up his plate and rushed through the double doors.

  "I'm not your hon!" he called after her. "Piece-of-shit cafe."

  I walked over to Dwayne and smiled. "Can I get you a coffee while Chuck grills that up for you?"

  "Fuck off," he grumbled, facing me but keeping his eyes on the floor. "I just want a fucking burger the way I ordered it. Is that so hard?"

  His cup of tea was over half full, but I wanted to keep him occupied until Phaedra returned. "She's working on it. Let me get you more tea," I said, picking up his cup.

  He grabbed my wrist. "Get your tater-tot tits outta my face!"

  The liquid sloshed from the cup onto my shoes as I tried to pull away, and then it happened again when another large hand encompassed Dwayne's wrist.

  Dwayne froze, and so did I.

  Taylor had suddenly appeared next to me. "What did you just call her?" His voice was low and ominous.

  I began to speak, but Dwayne let go of my hand and laughed nervously.

  "I don't want more tea," he growled. "I want to be left alone!"

  Taylor let go of Dwayne's hand and stepped back, making way for Phaedra.

  "Here you are, Dwayne. Cheeseburger straight off the grill, no ketchup. So sorry," Phaedra said, louder than necessary.

  She put her body between Dwayne and me, and I took another step back.

  "How does that taste? Better?" she asked.

  He took a bite. Closing his eyes, he chewed like a wild animal, bread and a piece of onion falling from his mouth. "Yes. Took you long enough."

  Phaedra motioned for me to get busy, and she shot Taylor a look, but I wasn't sure what it meant.

  I escorted Taylor back to his table. He was sitting alone this time.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Yes, I'm fine," I said. "What can I get you to drink?"

  "I'll have one of your famous Cherry Cokes, please."

  "Coming right up," I said through my teeth.

  "Hey," he said, tapping the bottom of my elbow before I took a step, "are you mad?"

  I paused, glancing over at Dwayne. "I had it covered."

  "I believe you."

  "So, you didn't need to step in," I hissed.

  "Probably not."

  "Stay out of my business. I don't need your help. Ever."

  He relaxed back in his chair, unfazed. "Okay."

  "That's it? Just okay?"

  He chuckled. "I understand."

  I could feel him watching me as I made my way to the drink station.

  "I'm sorry," I said, stopping at the author's table. "What can I get you to drink?"

  She shook her head, her eyes bright. "This is the most fun I've had in weeks. I'll have an orange juice."

  "I'll have the mango sunrise," her assistant said.

  I nodded and continued my trek. Dwayne held out his cup in front of me, and I plowed through it, spilling tea all over him and me.

  Instinctively, I raised my hands, palms out, and stopped on my tiptoes even though it was already too late. "Oh my gosh, I'll get you another one right away."

  "Goddamn it, you bitch!" he yelled at the same time. His chair complained against the tiled floor as he stood, towering over me.

  "All right, now, you've pissed me off." Taylor's strained voice carried from his seat across the room.

  In the next moment, he was next to me. He put Dwayne into a headlock and guided him toward the door.

  "No! Stop! Please!" I begged.

  Each word was mixed with Dwayne's protests.

  Everyone in the room was frozen, staring at Dwayne flailing his arms and trying to push Taylor back but to no avail.

  I covered my mouth, and Kirby watched helplessly from her podium. Just before Taylor made it through the door, Phaedra blew her famous two-fingers-in-the-mouth whistle, one that could be heard even in the high school football stadium full of people. I winced at the shrill noise.

  "Knock it off!" Phaedra commanded.

  The room was
silent. Both Chuck and Hector were staring from the window. Dwayne stopped struggling, and Taylor released his neck.

  "No one throws my customers out but me!" She marched over to Dwayne, narrowing her eyes. "Did you just verbally abuse my server?"

  "She spilled my fucking tea all over me!" Dwayne said, pointing at me.

  "This is a family-friendly establishment, and we do not say fuck!" Phaedra said, practically yelling the last part. "Come back when you get some manners, Dwayne!" She turned. "You know what? Not even then!" She looked to Taylor. "Take the trash out, kid."

  Taylor crossed his arms, glowering. Dwayne didn't put up a fight. Instead, he walked out, ashamed.

  Phaedra faced the rest of the cafe with a bright smile. "Does anyone need anything?"

  Most people shook their heads. The author and assistant sat silently, looking so gleeful that I thought they would break into applause at any moment.

  I retreated to the bar.

  Kirby followed me. "Whoa. Shit, that was hot," she said, turning her back to the side of the room where Taylor was. "Are you rethinking your plan to kick him to the curb before he's even on it?"

  "Yes," I said, making the worst Cherry Coke ever. I took the cup around the bar and marched it over to him before setting it hard onto his table.

  Taylor looked amused, which only made me angrier.

  "I need to cancel tonight," I said.

  "Did you forget about a prior engagement?" he asked.

  I blinked. "No."

  "Family emergency that can wait until you're off work?"

  I frowned. "No."

  "Then why are you canceling?"

  "Because you're a bully."

  He touched his chest. "I'm a bully?"

  "Yes," I said through my teeth, trying to keep my voice down. "You can't just manhandle our customers like that."

  "I just did." He leaned back, too pleased with himself. "Didn't you hear your boss? She told me to."

  I snarled my lip, disgusted. "And you enjoyed it. Because you're a bully. I don't go out with bullies."

  "Great."

  "Great?" My voice rose an octave.

  "You heard me." Taylor crossed his arms, the polar opposite of annoyed, offended, or angry.

  I had hoped my public rejection would rob him of that smug smile. "Then why are you smiling?"

  He touched his thumb to his nose, the muscles in his arm flexing as he did so. "I think you'll change your mind."

  I took a step and kept my voice low as I said, "Not even if I wanted to, and at this point, I certainly do not." I spun around and minded my tables.

  The pace picked up as the afternoon wore on, and when it was time to check on Taylor's table, I noticed he was gone, a twenty-dollar bill left behind. I held it up. He'd only ordered the crappy Cherry Coke, so he'd left a seventeen-dollar tip.

  I swallowed back my surprise and appreciation and shoved the money into my apron before clearing his table. I took the cup to Hector and then washed my hands.

  "Do you think maybe you were a little harsh?" Chuck asked.

  "With who?" I asked.

  "You know who."

  "He's a jerk. I told him I had it handled. He made a huge scene."

  He waved me away. "Dwayne deserved it. Phaedra's been wanting to kick him out of here for years. Right before you started, he turned over a table."

  My mouth fell open.

  The sprayer silenced, and Hector spoke, "That's not like Mrs. Phaedra to let someone do that and keep coming back."

  Chuck shrugged. "He hasn't always been like that. His wife left him a few years back. He started drinking all the time. Phaedra's put up with his tantrums because she felt sorry for him, I guess."

  Hector and I traded glances.

  "And you don't think Taylor's a bully for throwing him out like that?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "I've daydreamed about doing that same thing."

  "But she's your wife. You'd just be protecting her honor. I get that," I said.

  He pressed his lips together. "You're right, but you're wrong."

  I furrowed my brow, confused.

  "I don't think that Taylor kid is looking for anything easy. Just the opposite. And I think he knows he's found it."

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  "It means you'd better hold on tight. Guys like him don't give up easily once they've found a girl like you."

  I laughed once. "Let him try."

  Chuck smirked, returning to the food on the stove.

  "You'd better skedaddle, kiddo," Phaedra said. "You've got to get ready, don't you?"

  I looked down at my clothes. "For what?"

  "Are you going out with that boy in your apron?"

  "No. I'm not going anywhere with that boy."

  Phaedra shook her head and tended to her last table of the night. Only a few chairs were still occupied. It was a few minutes past closing time. Kirby had already swept, and she was now breaking down the ice cream machine.

  Phaedra's table signed their check, and she waved as the small family left together to their car parked out front. I sat on the stool at the end of the bar, counting my tips. Kirby happily took a small stack of bills--her percentage for bussing tables and for her excellent hostess skills--as she passed by on her way to meet Gunnar at the door. He bent over to hug and kiss her, wrapping his giant arms around her tiny frame.

  "Good night!" Kirby said.

  "Night," I said, barely above a whisper.

  Phaedra and Chuck waved to the couple before Gunnar held open the door for his girlfriend. She passed him, and then they walked together to wherever he'd parked her car. I thought about them walking alone in the alley behind the restaurant and how Kirby probably wouldn't think twice about it.

  The door chimed again, and I looked up, half-expecting to see Kirby and Gunnar. It wouldn't be the first time she'd forgotten something. Instead, I saw Taylor standing next to the hostess podium.

  "Why are you here?" I asked.

  The double doors swung a few times before they stilled, a sign that Phaedra had excused herself to the kitchen.

  "I came to take you to dinner."

  "I canceled," I said, stuffing my remaining tips in the pocket of my apron.

  "I know."

  I lowered my chin, already annoyed. "What is it with you civil servant types? You think that because, historically, women have somewhat romanticized your line of work that you're automatically guaranteed a date?"

  "No, I'm just hungry, and I want to hang out with you while I eat."

  "We're closed."

  "So?" he said, genuine in his cluelessness.

  "So, you have to leave."

  Taylor shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "Trust me, I want to. I'm not oblivious to the fact that you sort of hate my guts. Inherently bitchy women don't appeal to me."

  "Right. You prefer the easy ones who pretend to be progressive by going Dutch, and then they are all too eager to fall in line with the hotshot-groupie stereotype by the end of the night in hopes that they'll somehow hook you with their impressive blow jobs."

  Taylor choked, stopping just short of where I sat, and he leaned his back against the bar. "You've got me all figured out, don't you, Ivy League?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Were you a psych student? Are you trying to maybe shake me up a bit by analyzing my violent temper and then throwing in a few Freud quotes for good measure? Trying to make me feel inferior with your academic prowess? Let me guess. You went to Brown? Yale? Big fucking deal. I might not have a graduate's degree, but I went to college. You don't scare me."

  "Dartmouth. And community college doesn't count."

  "I wholeheartedly disagree. I have a bachelor's in business and a master's in women's studies."

  "That's insulting. You haven't been within a hundred yards of a women's studies course."

  "That's just not true."

  I blew my bangs away from my face, exasperated. "Women's studies?"

  He didn't flinch.

&
nbsp; "Why?" I seethed.

  "Because it's relevant."

  My lips parted, but I snapped my mouth shut again. He was serious.

  "Okay, I was kidding about the master's, but I have taken a couple of courses geared toward women's studies. I've found the reading material is on the right side of history."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "I might be a civil servant type, but I'm educated. I went to Eastern State University in Illinois, and it's a damn good school for its size."

  "Wait. Did you say Illinois?" I swallowed away the sudden tightness in my throat.

  "Yes, and you're right. I also have a doctorate in bullshit, and I saw you coming a mile away."

  "Where is Eastern State University from the town of Eakins?" I asked.

  Taylor grimaced, unsure about where I was going with my line of questioning. "ESU is in Eakins. Why do you ask?"

  My heart sped up, booming so hard against my chest that my head began to throb. Breathing was no longer on autopilot. I sucked in air and then blew it out, trying to remain calm. "So, do you go back there very often? Reunions maybe?"

  "I'm from there, so I go back all the time. You didn't answer my question."

  By his expression, I could tell that he knew something was up. The entire tone of our conversation--along with my attitude--had changed.

  I watched him watching me. I tried to keep my face smooth and the truth from reflecting in my eyes.

  All the cash in my shoebox upstairs was to pay for a plane ticket to Chicago, a rental car, and a hotel room in Eakins, Illinois. It couldn't just be a coincidence that this guy had breezed into my cafe and taken an interest in me.

  "Just curious."

  His shoulders relaxed, but a spark still smoldered in his eyes. "I'll tell you all about it. Let's go."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you tonight," I said. "You're trying too hard. You could be a serial killer for all I know."

  "The Forest Service doesn't employ serial killers."

  "How do I know you really even work for them?"

  Taylor sighed, reached into his back pocket, and produced his wallet. He picked out his driver's license and Alpine Hotshot Crew ID. "Is that good enough?" he asked.

  I tried not to take the cards too quickly or look too interested before glancing over his ID card and then his license. His driver's license was Illinois issued. He really was from Eakins.

  "You never changed your license over?"

  "It expires next month. I'll get a Colorado one then. My boss has been on me about it, too."

  I held my breath as I poured over his address. He was telling the truth.

  "Holy shit," I whispered.

  His address was on North Birch. I held out the cards, slowly returning them.