Page 47 of Gin & Jewels
“I don’t really know what there is to do,” I admitted.
Keith woke up and yawned from where he was sleeping on the air mattress near the couch. “We need to find jobs today.”
Like it was that easy. “Where?” I asked.
Keith shrugged. “Any ideas?” he asked Jeff.
“Might need to find something in Nashville. We only have a few businesses here in town. Maybe a fast food place? Grocery store? Restaurant?”
“I guess we can drive around and look for places,” Keith suggested as he walked over and sat across from me at the table.
Maybe I could find a job at a sandwich place. There was no way I was going to step foot in a jewelry store ever again. A thought occurred to me. “How can I get a job without an ID?”
Jeff and Keith shared a look, and then Jeff said, “In high school, I made fake IDs for everyone. I’m sure I can make you one.”
Great.
I was now Krystal Burns—that was what the fake ID said. I never thought that I would be in this situation, and I couldn’t believe this was my life. Would it always be this way?
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, trying to imagine myself as Krystal and not Cassie. A lot had changed in the month since the shooting. I was an adult, but I felt as though I was still a child. Maybe that was my own fault. I let Keith run the house, and had felt as though I could never leave because of my parents’ memory. What would have happened if I had made friends and maybe even found a room to rent with a group of girls? Keith would have never robbed my work, and I wouldn’t be on the run.
Giving myself one final look, I took a deep breath and left the bathroom.
“Ready?” Keith asked as I walked into the living room.
“Yeah. Areyouready?” Jeff had made him a fake ID too, even though Keith had his wallet and real driver’s license. He thought it was better not to use his real name so the cops couldn’t track him. I didn’t know if that was really true or not, but did that mean Keith told Jeff why we were really here?
“Yep. Jeff mentioned there’s a diner down the road a few miles. Maybe we can start there.”
We walked out the front door. “I’ve never waited tables before.”
“Anyone can be a waitress, Cass.”
I rolled my eyes. Would I have to work early mornings or late nights? Working at The Velvet Box had the perfect hours—didn’t start too early, and I still got off before the sun went down. “Are you going to drive me to and from work?”
We got into the car. “If I have to. Or you can take the car.”
“I don’t have my driver’s license.” I wasn’t going to tell him that I was still scared to get behind the wheel. He knew that I used to be right after our parents died, but he’d never asked again or questioned why I never drove.
“Sure you do,Krystal.”
We went to a gas station down the street and got us each a cell phone. We needed them to apply for jobs, though I didn’t think Keith was going to get one. I really didn’t.
He pulled up to the diner Jeff told him about. It was what I’d always envisioned a diner would look like: a silver building with windows upfront that looked straight out of the 1950s. What I liked most about the diner was the name, Dovie’s. It reminded me of the nickname my parents called me: Little Dove.
“I’ll wait here,” Keith stated.
I sighed and got out of the car. He could apply for a job as a waiter or a busser, but of course, he wasn’t going to.
When I walked up the stairs to the front door, I saw the Help Wanted sign in the window, which gave me hope. What if it was fate? What if the universe was giving me a way to make quick tip money? Though, how much could I make in a town that had only one stoplight?
The scent of bacon and coffee filled my nose as I opened the door and entered the diner. “Take a seat anywhere,” a woman called out.
I opened my mouth to respond, but she turned and walked to a table with drinks in her hands. I waited for her to be done, and when she saw that I was still standing by the door, she walked over to me. “I’m actually here for an application,” I advised.
“Oh.” She smiled, and my gaze moved to her name tag: Shannon. “Let me grab you one.”
“Thanks,” I beamed.
