Page 8 of Joy
George looked me over briefly. “I may not have you waiting on folks just yet.”
My hand went to my neck instinctively, covering a tattoo.
George nodded again. “Uh-huh. Not that they bother me—got a few myself. But you’re mighty colorful. Best let people in town get used to it first. That’s all.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Said you crashed your car?”
“I’m a good driver,” I insisted. “The moose jumped in front of me.”
He laughed. “I believe you. Stupid bastards. I swear they wait for a car before crossing. But look here—my extra hand skipped out last weekend. Artie went and joined the Army. He’s off at basic training now, so I’ve got no one to make our lunch deliveries or help pick up the slack around here.”
My heart beat fast in my chest. Was this guy going to hire me on the spot? This was so fucking bizarre!
“You okay with doing deliveries?”
“Yes,” I quickly answered.
“Dishes? Busing? Nothing glamorous.”
“I’m perfectly okay with it.”
Chapter Two
“GIDEON!”
I turned from filling my bin with dirty brunch dishes left at the tables. It was my second day in New Hampshire and my first as the all-around, do-what-needs-to-be-done boy at Eatery.
Nancy, the same waitress from last night, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Got your first delivery.”
“Sure thing,” I said, picking up the bin and going through the open door. I set the dishes down on the wash table and walked across the kitchen.
George looked up from putting wrapped take-out containers in a paper bag. “How’re you doing so far?”
“Fine,” I said.
I’d been at Eatery since the breakfast rush and was starting to get into the swing of the routine. It definitely wasn’t glamorous, like George had warned. Repetitive, sweaty, messy, kind of boring—but I was earning the cash I desperately needed, so I’d do the work from dawn to dusk without complaint.
“Got a lunch order that needs to go out,” he said, shoving the heavy bag my way and offering the address written on a spare ticket.
I looked at it. “The Bridge.”
“Yup.” George moved away, already starting on his next order.
The fuck didThe Bridgemean?
I turned around and headed out the swinging door. “Nancy,” I said, going to the register. “What’s this mean?” I held out the note.
She glanced at it while counting change. “Oh, that’s the construction crew working on the covered bridge. They order lunch here every day.”
“Do I type ‘bridge’ into my GPS and hope for the best?”
“No, smartass,” she chuckled. “Have you been out toward Dalton yet?”
“Sort of.”
“There’s only one road. You head out that way, keep driving for a few miles, and eventually you’ll come to a fork. Left is Dalton, straight ahead is a covered bridge that brings you into Vermont. It’s been shut down for about a week now. A crew is hired for the bridges around here, since they’re so old and need specialized care.”
“Are there, like… street signs or—”
“He’s not from around here,” Nancy said to a guy at the counter who started laughing. “No, honey, just drive. The roads around here will bring you right through into the next town.”
