South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [65]
“Hey hey hey,” Madeline heard her say in her husky, suggestive voice. “Whose pizza is this, you know it’s yours, honey, and don’t tell me you’re not ready.”
Madeline swiveled her gaze over to Paul. His look was murderous. “Randi’s here, you can go.”
She ignored this, because of course she would stay. “I know this is bad timing and I apologize for that too, along with everything else, but the thing is, I had an accident with the truck. I will fix it, I promise, you don’t even have to think about that.”
Paul stared at her for a long terrible moment and shook his head as if shaking off some thought or feeling, or her, and then snapped back to attention, spinning the wheel, reading the ticket, starting the next order.
“Paul?”
“Go. Now.”
“What? Of course I’m not going, it looks crazy.”
“Now you think of that?”
“It was an accident. I’m sorry, but I will fix it. I got here as soon as I could—”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no, as in go. You’re done here.”
Madeline swallowed hard, staring at him. He ignored her. Finally she untied her apron and hung it back on the hook by the door and let herself out.
She went back late that night, after he was closed. The fireworks were starting, huge blasts of light and sound and color over Desolation Bay. It was gorgeous and exciting, or would have been. Happy Independence Day, Madeline said to herself with a grim set to her chin as she walked toward Garceau’s.
Paul wasn’t watching the fireworks, either. He was in the alley behind the shop, staring at his truck. She had been able to drive it back to town, once the engine dried out. She’d walked out to the highway, where a guy driving a Hummer had come along. He’d driven back in with her and towed Paul’s truck off the tree and then given it a try and sure enough, it started right Up. So that was one problem it didn’t have. However. The chrome grille was crumpled and so was the hood, the air bags had gone off, the left mirror was broken, the driver’s-side back end was dented. What a mess.
Madeline had showered and changed her clothes and tried to eat something but hadn’t been able to. Her chest was sore where the air bag had hit her, her legs were still wobbly from having walked so far, and emotionally she was wrecked. But Paul looked even worse than she felt. He looked exhausted, beyond exhausted.
“I am so sorry,” she began again, walking slowly Up to him, one hand out at waist level, as if she was approaching an angry dog. She jammed her hands in her jeans pockets and came to a stop a few feet away. “I promise I will make this Up to you.”
“No,” he said, not looking at her.
“Paul, please. I am so sorry, but this was an accident, and it can be fixed.”
“Some things can’t be fixed.”
She frowned. Of course it could be. “I’ll repair the truck and I’ll pay for whatever went wrong because I was late. I’m sure it was hectic, and I’m sorry. If there was a loss—”
He stared at her. “If there was a loss?”
“I’ll make it up—”
“You can’t.”
“Come on. I’ve never been late before, I won’t be again.”
“No, you won’t. You don’t work here anymore.”
“But I just said I’ll pay you whatever loss—”
“No. The loss is that I can’t trust you. You think I’m going to stand around wondering if you’re showing?”
“I Understand you’re angry. I don’t blame you. But I will make this Up to you.”
“You can’t.”
“I had no intention of—”
“No one ever does.”
“Paul.” Her eyes beseeched him to relent a little.
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Just fix the truck.”
“I am more than willing to work for free for however long.”
“No. Fix the truck.