Page 17 of Savage Heart

I paste on the same friendly smile I give every customer and lead them to a table.

“Here you go,” I say, handing over menus for her and the kids.

I learned the hard way that it makes Christa irate when I put menus in front of her children.

“Would you like some crayons for the kids?”

Same with this. Sometimes she wants crayons, and sometimes she shoves them back at me.

I’ve learned to ask with Christa. With some of the other customers, they’re offended when I ask.

“No,” she says coldly.

No Thank you, that’s okay or Thanks for asking. No smiles, no How are you, Iris?

My ten-year class reunion came and went two years ago, and you couldn’t have paid me to put myself through that torture. I get enough of it on a daily basis.

Usually, I’m numb to it, and I don’t like that I’m dwelling on it today.

Seeing Maverick always sets me back, and even though it went so much better than I could have imagined, speaking to him has put my nervous system into overload.

Whenever I start to spiral over all the memories, Otis says, “Don’t let the past boss you around. You’re in charge of the here and now, and from where I’m standing, you’re doin’ real good, honey girl.”

But sometimes the present also makes me spiral.

I take a deep breath and put my head down, letting the lunch rush occupy my thoughts.

Millie Claire comes in the afternoon, and I stall out a bit. Sometimes I swear she comes here just to get in her digs. She grew up to be the respectable, divorced mom of two with a Range Rover, and I grew up to be the cautionary tale.

“Oh, Iris.” She sighs my name, her hand resting on the bar. “Didn’t realize you were working today.”

“I usually am,” I say.

She touches her chest dramatically. “Such dedication.”

It wouldn’t be a bad thing to say if it weren’t laced with sarcasm.

“Must be tiring being here so much,” she says. “How do you ever find time to see your son?”

“What can I get you?” I ask like I didn’t hear her.

She didn’t want an answer anyway.

She studies the menu board even though she gets the same thing every time.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I want the banana split, but I guess I should stick with a Diet Cherry Coke.” Her eyes are bright and fake. “I mean, you know all about the consequences of choices. Oh. Actually, you don’t, do you?”

My teeth grind together as she gives a quick, breathy laugh like she didn’t just try to hit me where it hurts the most.

“I’ll just do Diet Cherry Coke.” She waves a hand. “Simple . . . safe.”

I bite my tongue and turn to make her drink.

She pays in exact change, dropping the coins into my hand like they’re contaminated.

“Have a blessed day,” she says, turning to leave.

She walks out, humming to herself, proud of how sweet she sounded as she got her message across.