Mercy (14 page)

Maeva whipped around, a scream dying in the back of her throat. Krishani approached, glancing at the steep side of the ravine. She was effectively trapped on all sides, a fly in a spider’s web. Her mouth dropped open as he stepped into the light streaming from the gadget, casting his face in bright light. Instead of reacting like any normal teenager would, she looked at the waterfall. “How did you know where it was?”

Krishani wanted to cave in on himself but he forced himself to stay upright, his muscles tensing. He swung the knife faster and shrugged. “I’m good at finding things.” He dared to meet her eyes, awestruck, enchanted, and something he couldn’t place. She was looking at him like he was her hero. Her eyes moved to the knife and she eased away from the waterfall, glancing at the ravine walls boxing her in, the path behind Krishani the only exit.

Fear pooled in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess I can’t talk you out of hurting me, can I?” she whispered, her knees knocking together once.

Krishani felt like she’d slapped him. He couldn’t help but think about what Elwen had said about calling someone. He tilted his head to the side, staring at her. “Why would you think that?” His voice didn’t sound like his own, quiet, smooth, non-threatening.

Maeva motioned to the knife, her eyes wide, teeth chattering. Krishani glanced at his right hand, the knife swinging back and forth. He stopped, committing to a grip on the hilt and in a swift move, chucked it at the waterfall. It arched handle over blade until the sharp end struck the icy waterfall. Maeva let out a blood-curdling scream and Krishani took languid deliberate steps towards her.

He perched on the rocks, leaning in, so close to everything he once loved and everything he lost. Losing himself, he ran his fingers down her cheek. She closed her eyes and let out a breath, somehow savoring his touch. He tapered off at her chin and reached for the knife, his throat constricted, face inches from her lips.

“It isn’t me you need to worry about,” he said, his voice gravelly and deep. “Stop being so foolish.” He wrenched the knife out of the ice and turned on his heel, storming away. Her sobs interrupted his thoughts as he pulled himself up the gentle slope.

***

Chapter 15
Apple Pie

Maeva turned down the back lane and grabbed the first available spot. It wasn’t directly behind Red Boot, but the only spot belonging to the diner was reserved for Dino, the owner, Gerald, the kitchen manager or Rachel, the head server. Maeva and the other staff parked behind the Plaza Restaurant. She was working a closing shift, but the sun spent most of the day concealed by dark clouds, another winter storm on the horizon. At this rate, the lake would be frozen before winter break. She slammed the car door and skidded across the wet, icy pavement, her feet clad in a comfortable pair of flats instead of boots.

Red Boot was covered in gaudy red stained one by sixes, laid horizontally across the front of the building. A metal rooster on a peg jutted out from the above the door and a square neon sign hung over the street reading “Red Boot Restaurant” in blocky farmhouse lettering. Maeva passed the molded red stucco archway, burnt porcelain tiles accenting the steps.

The interior was a long rectangular dining room. A sign reading: Please Seat Yourself hung outside the first booth. There were four regular sized booths on either side; knick-knacks and pictures of farmland above them. Three round tables with four brown leather chairs and steel legs decorated the middle, red carpet unraveling from one end of the floor to the other. Maeva unzipped her coat and pushed through the saloon-style doors. The kitchen was small; server’s area on the left, stainless steel counters everywhere. The bigger appliances were farther back, a small bathroom on the right, with hooks on the wall for employees to store their jackets and backpacks. Rachel constantly complained about having to store her jacket ten inches from a toilet, but Dino wasn’t the kind of manager that knew how to navigate small spaces.

Maeva hung up her jacket, stuffing her hat, mittens and scarf into the sleeve. She tied the apron around her waist and was about to pass through the double doors to see where Rachel was when she paused, craning her neck around the corner. Steph worked the earlier shift on Saturday and was half-sitting, half standing near the eight-seater booth in the corner nearest the kitchen. Tait snaked his arm around her and inched her closer, whispering something in her ear. Davy cracked his knuckles and Elliot flapped the menu in front of his face. Colleen and Kelly were perpetually snuggled against them, laughing at some dumb joke Maeva didn’t catch.

“You’re sure your parents will let you come?” Tait asked; his hands dangerously close to Steph’s butt. Maeva pressed her back against the wall, straining to hear their conversation. Steph giggled and Maeva rolled her eyes. She was milking it. Maeva missed parts of the conversation when someone in the kitchen smacked the counter with a spatula. She trained her ears on Steph trying to drown out the kitchen noise.

“I don’t know how to snowboard,” Steph hedged.

“It’s really easy,” Davy said.

“And the cabin only sleeps eight, so if you’re in …” Colleen piped up.

“I’m in,” Steph said. Maeva glanced around the corner. Steph sat on the edge of the booth beside Tait, his arm around her shoulders. Great, Steph was getting invited to private cabins and she was getting stalked in the woods by a psycho. She self-consciously chewed her fingernail, as Rachel appeared beside her.

“You start at four today right?”

Maeva nodded, running her fingers down her apron to smooth out imaginary wrinkles.

“Do you want to take over Steph’s tables?” Rachel sounded nonchalant, her shoulder length brown hair sweeping the nape of her neck. She was in her mid-twenties, tall, skinny, but fierce when it came to work. You didn’t short change the kitchen staff and you didn’t skip your shift unless you wanted to feel her wrath. Maeva groaned, pulling her hair into a ponytail, and winding the hair into a bun. She didn’t like it all over the place when she was working. “Sure.”

She pushed the swinging doors out of her way and approached the table, pad and pen in hand though she already knew what they were going to order. “Hi guys, what can I get you?”

Steph looked up and blushed, Tait’s lips tickling the top of her ear. “Sorry, Maeva,” she said, checking her watch. “I guess my shift’s up.”

“Are you eating?”

“Yeah, I’ll pay for her,” Tait said.

Maeva shook her head, tapping the pen against the paper. “She gets a free meal with her shift.” She glanced at Steph who was a dark shade of crimson and forgot that Steph didn’t like people knowing the perks of her job. It was one of those things about Steph, her family wasn’t super rich and so she cut corners where she could. The freebies at work were something she maximized but she didn’t want people knowing that. Tait’s family on the other hand, owned a few of the islands in the area, and they built houses.

After a long awkward pause, Kelly started. “I’ll have a garden salad, French dressing.” She was the skinniest girl in school, wearing leggings and a long sleeveless cream-colored sweater. She dyed her hair red to be edgy but it looked tacky against her splotchy skin. The others piped up, boys ordering burgers and fries, girls ordering salads. Steph was the last to order and instead of her usual, a burger, salad, and milkshake, she got a salad and water. Maeva glanced at the other booths, noticing the place filling up a bit. She ducked into the back and rounded the corner, punching the order into the monitor.

The afternoon passed in a blur of chattering locals complaining about the cold, ice fishing season, and road conditions. Maeva got lost in the monotonous dance, hurrying back and forth along the carpet, carrying trays of food out to tables. Steph and the gang left, and she recognized Steph’s crumpled bills on the table, the only one of them to leave her a tip. She stuffed them into her apron as a tall blonde and short, gangly kid entered the restaurant, looking lost. Tourists were like that, and Maeva didn’t skip a beat.

“Sit anywhere you like, I’ll be there to get your drink orders in a minute,” she said, turning to check on three other tables. She grabbed a plate of chicken fingers and fries; complete with leaf lettuce garnish and honey dill sauce. The other plate had a bacon burger, open-faced. She took them to the second booth on the left. Eddie thanked her for the food and grabbed the salt, while his wife Geri pushed her empty clear plastic glass to the edge of the table. Maeva took it, and moved to the next table, resolving to memorize the order.

The blonde and the gangly kid sat across from each other, but neither of them had cracked the menu yet. The blonde had a pinched expression on her face while the gangly kid looked nervous, lacing his fingers together and inspecting the table.

Maeva plastered a smile on her face. “What can I get you?” The blonde kicked the gangly kid under the table and he popped up, looking at Maeva with forlorn brown eyes.

“Water,” he said like it was a reflex.

The blonde smoothed her hands over her long ponytail, her fingernails polished but unpainted. Her oceanic blue eyes locked on Maeva, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’ll have sweet tea,” she drawled, sounding like a proper southern belle. The gangly kid raised an eyebrow at her, then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked weird, like his head was too big for his body and his eyes reminded her of anime characters, thousands of tiny reflections darting off them. She headed to the back, grabbed a tray and filled up the three drinks, dropping the refill off for Geri as she returned to the odd couple’s table.

She set the water and iced tea down, fishing two paper covered straws out of her apron. “Do you need a minute to look at the menu?” She gestured with her chin to the wooden holder against the wall. Rolls of cutlery in red-checkered napkins, ketchup, vinegar, salt, pepper, and menus were held in the little hand built wooden boxes. The gangly kid silently grabbed a menu, and thumbed through it quickly. The blonde followed, disdain painted on her elegant porcelain features. Maeva stifled the urge to roll her eyes and turned to check on her other orders.

“Do you have pie?” the gangly guy almost stuttered and Maeva caught a slight accent, but wasn’t sure which country it came from. She didn’t need to pull out the pen and paper to keep the order straight.

“Sure, apple, and strawberry rhubarb.” The gangly guy lit up and she avoided giving him a funny look.

“Apple,” he said.

Maeva couldn’t help it, a smile broke over her face and she almost laughed. He looked like he was about sixteen but acted much younger. She narrowed her eyes at him playfully, using the same tone she sometimes used with the little kids. “Do you want a scoop of ice cream on the side?”

He nodded emphatically and she let out a short laugh. “I’ll be right back.” She stumbled into the kitchen, wiping tears out of her eyes, unsure why she was crying and grabbed plates for the other table. She didn’t get to the apple pie right away because another couple came in and she had to take their order but when she did get it, she added a bigger scoop than usual and contemplated drizzling caramel across the pie. It was what they did for the brownie, but apple pie didn’t get that kind of attention. She added the drizzle, and took the whole thing out to the table.

He looked nervous as she approached, the blonde saying something in a low tone, the Southern accent replaced by a faint European accent. Maeva really didn’t like the blonde whoever she was. She put her hand on the back of the blonde’s bench and fixed her with a look, a wide smile crossing her face as she set the pie down in front of the guy.

“Can I get you anything?”

The blonde looked at her, and the satisfaction in her eyes startled Maeva. She had such a syrupy sweetness to her that all the menace underneath seemed imagined. “Do you cook your fries in vegetable oil or lard?” She was back to the southern belle accent even though Maeva knew she was faking it.

Maeva shrugged. “We cook ’em in a deep fryer.” She knew the answer to the question but this woman acted like one of those health nuts and unfortunately, downtown Kenora was not Los Angeles. There wasn’t a sushi bar, bubble tea and tempura behind those wooden doors, just some sweaty cooks and a lot of beef. She held her tongue, watching the ice cream melt. The gangly guy had his spoon in hand but wasn’t eating.

“Where do you get your vegetables?” the blonde continued, scrutinizing the menu.

Maeva shot daggers at the gangly guy without meaning to and he began eating, almost too quickly. She shot a wan smile at the blonde. “Our carrots come from the ground, like every other carrot.”

The blonde blinked, her expression saying it was unsanitary. “You don’t grow them in a greenhouse?”

“Pretty sure they come from a field.”

The blonde snapped the menu shut. “I’ll have nothing, thank you.”

Maeva rolled her eyes as she retreated to the back room, letting out a growl as she braced her hands on the stainless steel counter. She rattled the counter, a startled Rachel appearing around the corner. “Tough one?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

Maeva shook her head, anger draining out of her. She wasn’t sure why the blonde had gotten her so worked up but she was fine. There were worse customers than her, ones that practically wanted to cook their own food. Nobody was worse than the guy who ordered a bacon cheeseburger and asked for everything on the side, ketchup, mustard, bacon, cheese, everything. He wanted it all separate so he could build his burger perfectly. It required three plates to get his order to him the way he wanted it. She rolled her shoulders.

“No … I’m fine,” she said, moving past Rachel.

She avoided the table for a while, refilling a few drinks, taking another couple of orders, ringing in receipts. Eddie and Geri left, and three guys from school replaced them. They ordered poutines, a combination of fries, cheese curds, and gravy. The gangly kid and blonde girl talked in hushed tones to each other, the apple pie plate empty, drinks down to the ice.

“Refill?” she asked, pocketing her pen and scratching the back of her leg with the tip of her shoe. It was dark outside, sometime past eight o’clock. She was hoping to take her first fifteen minute break soon. They stopped talking the moment she loomed over the table, something she was used to with the kids from school. She didn’t dare a glance at the blonde, focusing more on the gangly guy.

“Just the bill, please,” the blonde interrupted.

Maeva printed off their bill in the back and dropped the black leather folder on the end of the table. She didn’t pay attention for a moment, bringing out food to another table. Rachel was right about it being busy; she took most of the tables with families and left the rest for Maeva. She was about to return to the odd couple’s table when there was a voice behind her.

“Thanks for the pie.”

She turned, and came face to face with the gangly kid, empty plate in hand. He was taller than she estimated, towering a few inches above her. Short shaggy brown hair hung off his scalp, baby smooth skin stretched across his angular face, soft cheek bones, full lips, and rounded chin. The beige sweater exposed the collar of a vintage t-shirt, faded khaki with black hem. He handed her the leather folder. She lost her train of thought for a moment as she took it in her other hand, lowering the plate so it was under her arm. She looked down, baggy jeans crumpled around his tanned steel toed boots.

“Sure,” she muttered, pivoting and retreating past the wooden doors. He was … really nice, and cuter than she originally thought. She handed the plate to the dishwasher and opened the leather folder, a twenty sitting there. The bill came to eleven something so it was a nice tip, almost fifty percent. She smiled, separating the change in her apron. She was about to discard the receipt when she noticed something written at the top. It read: Nice to meet you, hope to see you again – R. Below it was a phone number. She blushed, folding the receipt and tucking it into her apron. She wrung her hands out, excitement bubbling into her. Whoever R was, he was the first and only boy to ever give her his number.

O O O

Pux rocked on his heels, digging his hands into his pockets as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Shimma glanced back at him as they headed down the street to her Camaro.

“Did you just give her your number?” She sounded incredulous, her high-pitched laugh piercing the quiet street.