Page 7 of True North

I can’t breathe.

I grip the edge of the counter.

Darkness floods my vision.

I’m drowning.

An ugly gasping noise leaves my throat.

“Fuck!” Marty jolts from his chair, knocking it backward.

I lean on the counter. The teleprompter slows to a stop. Whispers start up.

I turn and slide down the side of the counter.

Hot tears tracking over the Miss America makeup.

I chug a sob before my face falls into my hands.

ChapterTwo

LOUISA

The heavenly fragrances of Italian cuisine wind around me as the small older women in front of me opens the front door.

Mama’s Place.

Lewistown, Montana.

It’s surprising how the same this town is since I left over a decade ago. My parents moved on, but it always felt like home to me. Besides, I don’t think I could face them now. My plans were grand. I was sure I would make it.

Almost did.

Shame, as petty as it can be, saw me pack up and come back to the last place that I felt safe. The last place I felt like myself. And free. Without expectations. The workload. Studying and long shifts. I worked my ass off in Cali for the chance at my dream. Nobody could ever say I didn’t try.

All I want to do now is cook, earn myself enough to live a simple life for a while. That plan has me standing shy of the threshold of the only Italian restaurant in town. I loved coming here before I left.

“Louisa, bella, look at you! You got so beautiful!” Mama Mancini holds her arms open as if inviting me into a hug. I stand with one small overnight bag and my handbag. My worldly possessions rolled into a single overnighter. What do you really need to live a good life, anyway?

She ushers me through the door when I don’t fall into the hug.

“Oy, I see how it is, tesoro. You follow me.”

“It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Mancini. Thank you for putting me up in the apartment, it’s appreciated.”

“Ah.” She waves over her shoulder as she takes the steps slowly, hand tight around the rail. We ascend to the apartment over the restaurant. She unlocks the door and holds it for me.

“Thank you. Are you sure that rent you mentioned on the phone is enough? It didn’t sound like much?” I ask.

The pittance she is asking for this spacious two-bedroom apartment took me by surprise.

“You can help out in the kitchen from time to time, hey? Your mama used to say you enjoyed cooking?”

“Yes, I do. I would love to, thank you.”

“You get a job at Darla’s Diner like you hoped to?” she asks as she turns on the light switch.

“I did, four shifts a week. Maybe some weekends, too.”

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