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As directed by the back of the ticket, I signed it, putting more effort into writing my name than I’ve ever done before and hiding it in my bra. Nestled in the pocket with the padding. Since no one, other than myself, has even seen my bra in years, it’s safe to say no one will find it. I don’t think I’ll ever again wear a bra in my life that will be worth four million dollars.
At least it’s what I overheard Sam estimate the other day in the diner, after taxes that’s the cash payout for eight million. He’s an accountant, so he must know what he’s talking about. Of course, I’m taking the cash payout.
The morning sun inches above the diner, and I stop and stare from across the street at the bright red roof and turquoise sign. The charming diner with a fifties flare looks different today. Everything feels different. Maybe because I’m not here to work since I have the night shift, but I’m putting in my notice. Or maybe anticipating the money, not yet in my bank account, has given me a fresh pair of eyes.
The promise of opportunities to come.
With a bounce in my step and giddiness, I skip into the diner.
Okay, Kali, chill.
I inhale and exhale slowly to calm the rush of nerves. I’ve rehearsed my story all morning. It’s a plausible story. Everyone knows I can’t wait to leave this place.
Pearl bites down on her growing excitement when she sees me walking through the front door. “Honey, you here to do the thing?” She does a little dance in place, more excited I’m quitting than anything.
“I’ll miss you the most,” I say, putting my head on her shoulder.
“Well, I won’t miss you at all,” she quips, her southern drawl heavier than normal. Which either means she’s drunk or lying. She playfully pushes me toward Roberto’s office. “You have some business to take care of. And I’m not ready to cry yet, so get your hiney movin’.”
Yep, I’ll miss her the most.
Roberto took my resignation letter with zero questions and little emotion. “Good luck,” he says before turning back to his computer. When I stare at him, expecting more, he adds, “Do you need anything else?”
Yeah, how about a “I hate to see you leave. You’re one of my best employees.”
I hold up a finger. “Actually, my last day will be Friday.” If he’s going to act like I meant nothing, then he won’t mind if I leave early. I gave him two weeks to find someone to replace me because I’ve always heard that is what you’re supposed to do.
He shrugs without looking up.
This played out differently in my head. He begged me to stay. Offered to give me a raise. Of course, neither would’ve made me change my mind, but at least I’d have felt validated. I’ve worked here for five years. That’s half a freaking decade longer than most people have worked here, and I got a casual “don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.”
Whatever. His cold shoulder can’t spoil my high.
I turn to leave. “It’s not like I need the money anymore,” I mumble under my breath as I leave his office. Good riddance.
I pull out my short list of things I need to do before I move, which is sooner than I originally had planned. No reason for me to stay two more weeks now. First thing is to open a PO Box. I can’t list a forwarding address because I don’t know where I’ll end up. The uncertainty adds a layer of anxiety and excitement.
As I pass the neighborhood boutique store, I stop and stare in. Trendy clothes, hats, and cute knickknacks for the kitchen. I’ve been here a million times, looking through the window, but this time I pull the door open. A gust of cold, sweet-scented air greets me. It smells like flowers mixed with something else I can’t place.
It smells expensive.
A soft threaded red blouse glides through my fingers, and the price tag of fifty dollars dangles off the armhole. I saw this shirt on a mannequin last week, and I made a mental note to look for it at the second-hand store later in the year. Plenty of times I’ve found clothes from this place that, a year later, pop up on the racks there.
I pass by this place twice a day, to and from work, and I’ve only ever been in here once. Not as a customer—because I could never afford to shop here—but to hand the owner mail delivered to the diner by mistake.
A palpable unease settles over me the more I look around, aware of the judgmental stares from the sales associate. Ignoring her fixated gaze, I walk back to the silky top. It’s calling my name.
“That would look amazing on you.”
I just threw up in my mouth.
My eyes lift to Hobie Prackett. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I respond, my tone devoid of any attempt at a polite smile. “Mayor Prackett. That’s slightly inappropriate.”
Considering he was my foster father at one point.
He shrugs dismissively. “You’re an adult now.” I shake my head in utter disgust. He takes two steps so he’s inches away from me. “I just wish it would’ve been me sinking into your wet pussy that night.” I gasp in horror, wanting to put distance between us, but I freeze from shock at his disgusting words.
“You sick, sick bastard,” I whisper-hiss, not wanting to cause a scene. I know how this would turn out if I did. No one would believe their coveted town mayor could be so vile.
