My Bittersweet Summer (23 page)

He waved it off, swinging his menu recklessly. “Nah, not feeling it. What about this one? How’s your cock oven, Margie Mouse?”

Not about to let him see me flinch, I ignored his gross mispronunciation. “The coq au vin is wonderful, but it requires a more refined palate to really enjoy all its nuances. Perhaps you’d be more interested in our children’s menu, since the names are easier to pronounce.”

His face turned red, matching the fire in his gaze, but I wasn’t about to back down.

Three in, six out.

Without breaking eye contact, he tipped the menu onto its spine and swept it in an arc, sending a water glass tumbling on its side and over the edge of the table. The woman he was with skittered back with a yelp as I jumped, scrambling to catch the cup. Too late, it hit the floorboards with a crash, shattering into sparkling shards.

“Better clean that up, Margie Mouse,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “We wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

I backed away slowly, my tight smile covering the building rage in my gut. A few steps clear of him, I turned and hurried to fetch the dustpan.

“And bring us a bottle of your house red when you come back to make up for your clumsiness,” he called to me.

Two in, four out.

“Coming through,” I growled as I pushed into the kitchen, stomping around everyone as I went for the cleaning supplies.

“Margie? What’s going on?” Zach said, stopping me with a wet hand on my arm.

“Matt’s looking for a fight,” I shrugged out of his hold. “I swear to God I’m going to serve him that broken glass with his meal if he doesn’t—”

“Matt’s here?”
 

I glared, daring him to tell me to calm down.

Instead, Zach took the foxtail and dustpan from my death grip and steered me out, a towel draped over his shoulder. “I’ll get the glass, you get the replacement. Maybe I can get him to leave.”

I snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

I took a drink tray and new water glass from behind the bar, angrily filling it as I replayed every second of Matt’s words since he walked through the door. Margie Mouse. Freaking Margie Mouse. Good thing for him I wouldn’t be bringing a bottle to the table, as I’d probably crack him over the head with it.

I returned with the fresh water as Zach was finishing the cleanup.

“I kinda like how you look on your knees, Robinson,” Matt mused, leaning on an elbow as he watched on. “I bet Mousy likes it too, huh?”

Zach stood, straightening to his full height. “I think you’d better leave before they make you.”

Matt chuckled. “They who? You? Geez, man, when did you become such an uptight asshole?”

“About the time I realized what a waste of skin you are.”

I froze, utterly stunned at what I was hearing.

Matt turned in his chair, smirking at me. “Looks like you’ve got him pretty well-trained, Mouse. Maybe I should upgrade your nickname from Mousy to Pu—”

Unaware I’d even moved, I flung the contents of the water glass into Matt’s face. It was another of those weird moments where everything slowed to a crawl. I didn’t feel my hand around the cup. I didn’t say a word. One second I was listening to something horrible come out of his mouth, and the next thing I knew I was walking into the back office, sitting down in the chair as my dad bolted past me to the main floor. I just sat there, staring at security camera footage as three people escorted Matt out of the building, his date trailing behind them at a distance. After maybe ten minutes, my dad came back, sitting behind the desk with a long, tired sigh and reaching for his phone.

“Dad?”

“Are you okay, Margie?”

I murmured something in the affirmative. “Can I go back to the kitchen now?”

“Probably a good idea. I’ll call your mother and have her step in as hostess until Dana comes in at four. You sure you’re all right?” His finger hovered over the screen of the phone, waiting to send the call.

I nodded, shaken, but mostly still numb. “I think a break would be a good idea, but, yes, I’ll be okay.”

To prove it, I stood and straightened my shirt, tugging my skirt down a little for good measure. He looked skeptical, but I got the impression he had too many phone calls to make to argue with me about it. With my chin high, I left his office, cutting through the bar to avoid most of the eyes that followed me across the floor.

Well, I supposed that was one way to get moved from front of the house to the back. Hooray for total public embarrassment.

*
 
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When the kitchen closed to new orders at nine, I was more than ready for the day to be over. Thanks to Matt’s visit, everything I did the rest of the afternoon and evening was riddled with little mistakes. I caught most of them, but getting a reprimand from Chef Antoine because I was slow with the julienned zucchini was more than a little mortifying, as was tossing out the first batch that I diced without thinking.

There was still a lot of prep and cleaning to do, but the garbage can was practically overflowing it was so full. It would be about my luck that it would break as I emptied it, but it needed to get done. It was some relief that it didn’t split as I pulled the bag out, but I wasn’t going to relax until it was in the dumpster.

The dishwasher thunked shut as I heaved the bag to the floor to tie it off, and Zach was there before I knew it, taking the ties from my hands.

“I got it,” I said, grimacing. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s part of my job,” he interrupted with a smile. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

Some of my irritation vanished when he winked at me, and it was hard to keep the amusement out of my expression. “Not today, no.”

He shouldered the bag. “Then you can get the door for me.”

Leading the way, I opened up the back for him and watched him walk across the lot to the fenced-in dumpsters. My small smile faded, however, as movement caught my eye. Someone was walking up to him.

“I gotta talk to you, Robinson.” The slur in Matt’s speech was evident even from my vantage point. How long had he been waiting there? “We have a problem.”

Through the harsh orange illumination of the streetlight, I saw Zach set the bag down outside the dumpsters and turn. “Are you drunk? Probably not a good time to discuss your problems, then.”

“Oh no, this isn’t
my
problem.” Matt stopped a few steps from him, and I crept out of the building, hiding myself behind a parked car to overhear. “I want to know what
your
problem is.”

“My problem is the way you treat other people.”

Matt snorted. “The fuck do you care? It never bothered you until Mouse came back to town.”

“Don’t,” Zach growled. “Don’t even talk about her.”

Matt took a step or two forward. “I can talk about whoever the hell I want, Robinson. So, what, you decided to go slumming and now your friends aren’t good enough for you? I thought we were bros, man. Then some chick with a nice ass and decent face leads you on a chase, and now you’d rather hang with broke losers?”

“We’re not bros, and
they
aren’t the losers. As far as I’m concerned now, we aren’t even friends. I’m not going to stand by and let you torture people anymore, so get out of here before someone calls the cops.”

Creeping around the edge of the car, I watched them face off, less than six inches between them. It was like watching the timer on a bomb tick down to zero.

“The cops don’t scare me.”

“They should,” Zach said. “I heard what your mom said, Matt. One more drinking incident and they’re checking you into that clinic. Is that really how you want to spend the rest of your summer? You really want to miss your first semester at Yale because you’re too fucked up to handle your guilt over Chad?”

Matt’s hand flew back, his fist connecting with Zach’s face before I had a chance to yell out a warning. As Zach staggered against the dumpster fence, I bolted from my hiding place, back inside to get help. As much as I’d love the chance to hit Matthew Rosenberg again, I wasn’t stupid enough to try it when he was in full-on rage mode. I grabbed the first person I saw, Tori, who was dumping a load of dishes to be washed.

“Go get my dad,” I said, hurriedly. “Tell him Matt’s back in the parking lot, and we need help. Cops.”

As she stared at me, I waved her away. “Just go tell him! Hurry!”

When she ran off, I rushed back to the fight, snagging a butcher knife on my way out. I had no intention of using it, but I’d be damned if I wouldn’t defend myself if he came at me.

The two guys were still scuffling when I returned, Matt pinning Zach to the fence with a forearm pressed against his neck.

“That shit wasn’t my fault!” he screamed at Zach. “I didn’t make him drive home!”

Half a brick rested by the back door, used to prop it open when hauling stuff in and out. Opting for distance rather than potentially stabbing someone, I picked it up and sprinted past the cars, hurling it straight at the fence. It landed inches from Zach’s head, cracking the white pickets beside him, but it was enough to scare Matt into dropping his hold. He spun on me, fuming. I held my ground, knife gripped in my fist as tight as I could to keep myself from shaking.

Matt’s nose and lips were swollen and bleeding, but it didn’t seem to faze him. “This is all your damn fault, Mouse!”

“The hell it is. Get over yourself.”

He snarled and started forward, but Zach flew at him from behind, tackling him to the asphalt. As I released a whooshing breath, two people rushed around me, and a police car screeched into the parking lot, lights blazing with a burst of sirens. Zach kept Matt pinned, a knee in his back, as my father and Kareem came to help him, two cops hurrying out of the car the second it was in park.

As the fight was broken up, I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing.
Two in, four out. Two in, four out.
My hand settled on the hood of a car, the only thing keeping me upright for the moment. I was lightheaded and bordering on the urge to vomit. The knife clattered to the ground.

“Margie, you okay?” Kareem said, steadying me on my feet.

“I… yeah,” I managed to say. “I think I just need to sit down.”

Knowing I’d have to give a statement to the cops, I let Kareem guide me over to the sea wall, easing me to the ground instead of tempting fate by sitting on the tops of the wooden beams. After assuring him I was fine, he left me alone, collecting my dropped knife and heading back inside. I rested my head on my knees, ready to be home and in bed. As soon as I was able to stand, I needed to get my emergency migraine pills from my purse.

“So, that was exciting,” Zach said as he sank down next to me. “You all right?”

I lifted my head and looked at him. Even in the poor lighting I could see swelling around his right eye, his lip busted and bleeding. His neck was hidden by his collar, but I was sure there would be bruising there as well.

I stared at him. “Shouldn’t you be going to the hospital or something?”

He shrugged. “My parents are on their way from their party to take me over to the ER, but don’t worry, I’ve done more damage to myself than this business.”

“You look like hell.”

He snorted, then winced. “Yeah, well he looks worse.”

Four in, eight out.

I stood up, steadier than I thought I would be. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Jogging inside, I snagged a brining bag and headed to the bar, sneaking around Addison to scoop crushed ice into it. After a quick stop to down a migraine pill and wet a hand towel, I returned to the parking lot. My dad was talking to the cops, making some sort of statement, so it was probably going to be a minute before they got to me or Zach.

I sat down beside him again, cross-legged and turned towards him. Holding the bag of ice to his eye, I released it when he took over and started cleaning up his face a little with the towel.

We were quiet for the longest time, our silence interspersed with his sharp inhalations any time I hit a more tender area of his face. I wasn’t sure where to start the conversation, so I said nothing instead, my mind turning over everything I’d heard him say.

He’d defended me.

He’d fought hard, not just for me, but for himself, too.

He was bleeding and bruised because he’s finally stood up to the biggest asshole I’d ever known.

“Hey, Zach?” I said at last, gently wiping away the drying blood on the side of his neck.

“Hmm?” He lowered the ice pack, looking out at me from swollen lids.

“Seventy-thirty. In your favor.”

The half of his mouth that wasn’t busted turned up in a grin. “Extra points for bleeding?”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “No, but kid Margie would’ve loved that part.” Lowering the towel, I stared at my hands. “I’m not happy you got hurt.”

“Then that makes two of us. But, Margie?”

I looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the cops collecting him for a statement and my dad ushering me away. It was half an hour before they got to me, and Zach’s parents collected him the moment he was done with the police. Whatever it was he was going to thank me for, I’d have to wait to find out.

By the time the night was over, it felt like something had changed drastically. All I knew for sure was that I wouldn’t miss Fourth of July on Carrinaw Island when I left. That, and my bed was the most comfortable spot on the planet.

The next three days were a blur of having to explain over and over what happened at the restaurant on the Fourth of July. By day four I’d figured out how to condense the story into about five sentences that I repeated almost mechanically. I didn’t see Zach the entire weekend, though my parents assured me he was fine. He had a slight concussion, a fractured rib, and his throat was pretty raw from the choking, but he was resting and would be healed up in no time.

By Monday I was a little worried that no one had seen him, however. Not so much as a carrot flower had graced the hood of my car since the blowout with Matt. Mulling it over as my cup of coffee cooled down, I made a decision.