Page 13 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
I manage to twist my head to the side and wretch, violently emptying the contents of my stomach. The coppery scent and taste of blood is strong, and I feel the warmth of it mixing with the cold rain on my face.
I know I have to move. Water is rushing around me, as if I’m in some sort of drainage ditch. If the water level continues to rise, I’ll either drown or be swept away.
I fight to remain conscious, but I can feel myself fading quickly. The buzzing in my ears grows louder as well, but I become aware of other sounds as I drift in and out. The sound of an engine. The slam of a car door from somewhere above me. I have no way of knowing if it’s real or if I am imagining it.
I open my mouth to yell for help, but I suck in water, and then the blackness swallows everything …
The scream lodgedin my throat as I woke up with a start, arms swinging, legs kicking, trapped under the quilted blanket. It took me a few moments to get my bearings.
I wasn’t lying in a ditch. I was cocooned in a blanket on the floor in front of the couch, the fire before me down to embers. I must have fallen off in the grips of my nightmare.
I sat up and rubbed my face, willing my heartbeat to slow with calm, measured breaths. I focused on the expansion and contraction, counting each one. Odd numbers on the inhales. Even numbers on the exhales. I did this over and over until I stopped shaking.
There was a time when I couldn’t close my eyes for more than a few minutes without being dragged back into that nightmare. But it was more than just a recurring bad dream. It was a memory.
A memory of something awful that my conscious mind had blocked.
I didn’t get them as often now. A couple of times a week maybe.
The therapist I’d been seeing afterthe incidentwarned me that might happen. That eventually, my mind might heal enough to be able to handle the events that had taken place that Halloween night nearly two years ago now. Or that sometimes, certain things could trigger them, like stress or fear.
I wondered what had triggered this one. Did talking to Angie right before I fell asleep have something to do with it? Or perhaps my subconscious latched on to Jessie’s prediction, retrofitting it into my personal experience? Most likely, it’d had something to do with being grabbed by that loudmouthed jerk.
Ever sincethat night, I’d had a strong aversion to people touching me. The therapist had said it was a subconscious defensive mechanism.
I knew from experience that getting back to sleep wouldn’t be easy. I took my mug to the sink and rinsed it out. Another cup of warm milk wasn’t going to cut it. So, I did something I didn’t normally do. After verifying that all the doors and windows were locked, I went into the medicine cabinet and grabbed the pack of over-the-counter sleep aids that I’d picked up months ago. They weren’t nearly as powerful as the ones the doc had prescribed for me, but they did help me relax enough to doze. If I didn’t take one, I’d be up all night, jumping at every tiny sound, and I’d be a complete zombie, working the brunch shift at the inn.
I popped one in my mouth, chased it down with a glass of water, then grabbed a book about the local logging history of Shadow Ridge from the bookshelf, and settled back on the couch. Thirty minutes later, the sleep aid and the dry prose did the trick, and I drifted in and out of light slumber until my windup travel alarm clock went off in the morning.
5
I draggedmy butt into the inn the next morning, reminded of why I didn’t like using sleep aids. Not only had I not gotten the deep, dreamless rest I’d craved, but fatigue continued to plague me like a fog. If the brunch hadn’t been buffet-style, I would’ve had a lot of unhappy customers, I was sure.
Rose had me and Michelle on, as usual, and we were running our asses off from the time the dining room opened until Lou shut down the buffet tables at one. The place cleared out quickly after that. The out-of-towners were on their way back to wherever they had come from, and the locals went home to do whatever it was they did on Sunday afternoons.
The good news was, I would not be putting in another double shift. Shannon had promised that, come hell or high water, shewascoming in to handle the dinner shift later so I could have a night off.
I was due. Larissa had quit, though honestly, she hadn’t really done much when she was there. Between Shannon’s sick kids, Sandy’s no-shows, and Michelle’s school commitments, I had been putting inalotof hours.
Too many. Sure, the tip money was nice, and it wasn’t like I had anything better to do, but Rose was coming to depend on me too much. I needed to pull her aside and quietly remind her that she needed to hire more help because I couldn’t continue to extend my stay indefinitely.
Again.
We’d had that discussion several times over the past month. Each time, Rose gave me the puppy eyes and asked me to stay “just a little while longer.” I wondered if she was even looking. I hadn’t seen her interviewing anyone since the week Larissa had quit.
Lou, Max, and Jessie were working on the mess in the kitchen—the dishwasher was still down. Michelle and I took care of clearing and resetting the dining room while CJ covered the handful of people in the bar and lounge areas. It wasn’t a big deal. Most of them were older guys who liked watching sports with other older guys. They didn’t require more than occasional refills on their beers and complimentary pretzel bowls.
I spotted Rose and John sitting at a table with an older couple. Something about the couple seemed vaguely familiar, but I didn’t think much of it. All the locals came to the inn at one point or another.
They were talking as if they were old friends. Maybe they were. It didn’t matter to me, beyond the fact that I’d have to wait to talk to Rose. Perhaps that was for the best. I wasn’t sure I could keep the frustration out of my voice. I was tired and cranky and mentally done with smiling and dealing with people for the day.
Rose caught my eye, and when her hand began to rise, I knew she was going to summon me over. I pretended I hadn’t noticed and scooted back into the dining room.
“Do you know when Sandy’s coming back?” I asked Michelle as I cleared the last table and put the dirty dishes, glasses, and silverware into yet another bus tray.
“She’s not.”
My irritation swelled. “Why not?”
