Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Chapter Thirteen
Worth
“You’re good at this.” Marta watched as I slid the latest customer’s drink across the counter. The well-dressed woman accepted her drink with a nod and headed for a table near the door. We were all caught up on waiting orders and could turn our attention to cleaning and restocking.
“It’s all coming back to me,” I said happily as Marta and I straightened up the creamer and add-ins stations. And I wasn’t faking my contentment. Pulling shots, mixing drinks, the clink of spoons, and the scents of coffee, vanilla, and sugar hanging in the air all combined to summon some of my best memories, untainted by present realities. Here, I could close my eyes and be eighteen again, freshman year at college, working in a quaint little place, bad news yet to reach me. “And you’ll get better. Just takes practice.”
I wasn’t about to lie and say Marta was an excellent barista at the moment, but despite a terminal case of bashfulness and a lack of coordination, she tried hard.
“I know. I hope I get the chance.” Marta polished the straw dispenser like a five-star general might arrive any moment. “I don’t want to get fired.”
“Sam wouldn’t think of it. You’re not the one who called in for the third time this week.” If Sam kept giving Kyla chances, no way was Marta’s job at risk. But a healthy amount of fear wasn’t a terrible thing either. Kyla, as well as George, who’d ambled in a good forty-five minutes after promised, could use more of that. “Keep showing up. And lean into your strengths.”
“I’m not sure I have any.” Marta wrinkled her face as she concentrated on cleaning up drips of creamer under the various dispensers.
“You show up on time. You’re a hard worker.” I tried to think of other good qualities. Sam would undoubtedly give the better pep talk. I glanced out the coffee shop’s large picture window. Down the block, the new Green Label location was buzzing with activity, undoubtedly last-minute preparations for their grand opening tomorrow. Their exterior was all slick chrome and carefully coordinated shades of green. Sleek and stylish in an untouchable way that looked out of place and mildly threatening in Safe Harbor. Gah. Dread snaked up my spine. But Marta needed my attention more than dwelling on the impending competition. “You’re great at cleaning up. Detail oriented. What do you want to be when you’re older?”
“Alive.”
“Uh?” I gulped and glanced back at the front of the mostly empty store, where George was absorbed in a conversation with one of the few customers. I was woefully unprepared for how to deal with Marta’s matter-of-fact revelation.
“Don’t worry. It’s a good ambition, even if new.” She offered me a small, crooked smile. “I didn’t used to think I’d see twenty, so I didn’t bother having a plan.”
Pausing her cleaning, she flipped over her wrist, revealing a delicate tattoo of a semicolon surrounded by small butterflies. The gorgeous artwork wasn’t enough to obscure the thin scar underneath.
“Oh.” Understanding crashed into me. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No?” Marta frowned like her struggles should be common knowledge. I got that feeling. Even as an adult, I had trouble remembering that not everyone had heard of my mother’s case or my recent employment woes. “I figured Sam would have told you. He sat all night with me in the ER one time. Fourteen hours until a bed opened up on the mental health ward.”
“Wow.” I had no idea how to appropriately respond. I needed to keep my focus on Marta, but I couldn’t help but worry if rescuing was simply in Sam’s blood. If I was one more in a long string of strays. Did he care for me like he seemed to, or would he give anyone the same care and attention?
“Sorry.” Marta patted my arm with long, bony fingers, an awkward gesture like I was the one in need of comfort. “I know mental health talk is heavy. But that’s why I don’t want to get fired. I owe Sam everything.”
“I know the feeling.” I exhaled hard. I wore Sam’s clothes and subbed in for him at the coffee shop here, but I’d never be close to his innate goodness and could never repay him. Heck, even Marta did a far better job articulating what Sam meant to her. I lacked the words to process my last week, let alone the events of the night before. Sam truly was everything and defied all description.
“When I graduated from the depression program, he hung up my certificate,” Marta shared as we resumed cleaning.
“Did it work?” I asked before I could think better of it. I was scheduled for my first group meeting tomorrow morning, and I’d gone back and forth all weekend about whether I would actually show up.