The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [69]
Dan laughed again, and Cordy smiled. “You’re hired. I’m so glad to find someone who actually wants to make a sandwich without figuring out how to poison someone with it. You haven’t poisoned anyone, have you?”
“Not yet. But it’s still early.” Cordy fluttered her eyelashes endearingly.
“Then I’d better send you home. Come in tomorrow around this time, and I’ll show you around a little more.”
“You want me to leave now? Won’t you be alone?”
“Oh, and the rush is going to kill me,” Dan said, looking around the Beanery. A couple was sitting in a pair of chairs by the window, leaning over the tiny table between them, and a student lounged by the chess table, head lolling sleepily over the barely turned pages of Rilke in his hand. Probably just for show anyway. “G’wan. You must be bored stiff.”
Folding the damp towel, she dropped it onto the edge of the sparkling sink. It should have been sparkling—she’d gone after it with baking soda and lemon juice earlier. “I’m usually working as a waitress on a dude ranch this time of year. It’s out-of-control busy—so, yeah, this is a little weird.”
“Miss it?”
Cordy, untying her apron, stopped to think. She thought of the hot, wide-horizoned days and the cold, star-studded nights. She thought of being free to go anywhere and do anything, and owing and owning nothing. She thought of drugs and dizzy youth and eternal hunger, and the people she had kissed and left, promises she had made and broken.
“No,” she said, and it was impossible for us to tell if she was lying or not.
Cordy poured herself a cup of lemonade and flipped her apron over her shoulder as she left. The heat of the afternoon, slowly burning itself into evening, felt clammy against her chilled arms. She walked slowly, letting the humidity soften her skin. A few cars hushed past on the streets. Maura, the bookstore’s owner, poked her head out of the front door, waving at Cordy, who waved back halfheartedly, not crossing over. Maura disappeared back behind the FINAL CLEARANCE banner, which Cordy was beginning to think was all a ruse, since there was nothing FINAL about a CLEARANCE that lasted this long. The postmistress tooted her horn as she drove by, turning off Main and then disappearing into the alley behind the Beanery, and Cordy waved again.
So was this it, then? Was this her after? Kalah Justin was in New York becoming a star, and Cordy was in Barnwell becoming a barista. If only she’d finished college. If only she’d come home years ago when the shine started to fade, instead of grimly holding on, hoping it would get better. If only . . .
“Too late,” Cordy said to no one in particular.
ELEVEN
Have you ever thought about the word ‘no’?” Bean asked. She dropped her bag on the table by the door and kicked off her shoes. Across the room, Cordy was sitting cross-legged in an armchair, a book in her lap.
“Not really, but I’d be happy to do so if it would make you happy,” Cordy said.
“I have heard the word ‘no’ fifty thousand times today. I went to every place in town and beyond looking for a job. Nobody’s hiring.”
“Well, duh. It’s totally the wrong season.”
“Yeah, it’s also totally the wrong town.” Bean flopped down on the sofa and stretched her feet out. “Anyway, you got a job.”
“I think that was out of pity.”
Bean snorted. “I’d take a pity job at this point.”
“Bianca, can you please move off the couch?” Rose was rounding the corner, holding our mother’s good arm. Bean hopped up.
“Whoa. It lives!” Cordy said.
“Thank you, dear,” our mother said. “Your bedside manner is absolutely wonderful. I think you should go into medicine.”
“No prob,” Cordy said. She went back to her book. Bean walked over and helped Rose bring our mother to the sofa, settling her into a nest of pillows. She looked better; her skin touched again with pink, the whites of her eyes not so faded. She hadn’t been able to shower since the surgery, but they’d given her a sponge bath before she left the hospital, and she smelled pleasantly of sun-dried laundry and lotion. If we didn’t look at her