He glanced around, confused. “What I just did. Weren’t you paying attention?” He downed the rest of the water bottle. “I’m not really impressed with your attention to detail, kid.”
“I’m a good cook. Would I be making anything besides hot dogs?” I ate the last bite, stuffed after so many days with little to eat. I was thinking about those warnings to starving people not to eat or drink too fast for fear of it coming right back up. I put my hand on my stomach again, willing the dog to stay right where it was.
He looked me over, speculation clear in his eyes. “You can cook, huh? Now, that is interesting. What kind of stuff—food-truck stuff—can you make?”
“Well.” I crumpled the napkin in my hand and tossed it in the nearby garbage can. “I can make better chili than this from scratch. And if you grilled the jalapeños first, they’d taste better. I also do amazing grilled cheese sandwiches?—”
“Sweet. That asshole Jimmy runs the grilled cheese truck. He’s only around in the summer months, though. You’d have a couple of months to build a loyal following, so when he shows up, we can put him out of business.” He smiled broadly, transforming his hangdog expression. “What else ya got?”
I shrugged. “Anything, really. I can make cheesesteaks, burgers, corn dogs. Whatever.”
There was a gleam in his eye when he said, “You’re hired, kid.”
My heart leaped, but wariness followed close behind. “How much will you pay me, and what are my hours?”
“Enough, to my way of thinking, but probably not to yours. And as many as I need. Jeez, you ask a lot of questions.” He wiped down his prep area. “So, you want the job or what?”
I needed a job to survive, and I could make this work. It’d be like my own personal tiny restaurant. Thinking about the dark recesses of the food truck, I amended that description to a tiny, filthy, possibly rat-infested restaurant. I’d be a fool not to say yes.
“You need to give me an actual dollar amount and a general idea about my hours before I can agree.” Standing my ground, I looked him in the eye and waited.
“Fine. Fine. But I’ll fire your ass if you do a lousy job.”
“Agreed.”
“Ten bucks an hour, and you’ll be working the lunch shift—ten thirty to about two thirty. But weekends will be longer hours. And if you can make something people want to eat for breakfast, something that pays for itself and you, you can open earlier and sell that, too.”
“You do know that ten bucks an hour is below minimum wage, right?”
He grumbled a few choice words. “It’s my damn truck. I get to decide what to pay people, not those worthless politicians.” He paused for a second, studying me. “This is all under the table, too. I’m not paying for any insurance or withholdings or any of that crap. You work an hour, I hand you ten bucks. Deal or not?”
I thought about the quickly dwindling bag of dog food in the pantry. “Deal.”
“Good.” He opened and closed a drawer, then held up a key. Tossing it to me, he said, “I don’t want to deal with you today. My head is killing me as it is. Get here tomorrow at nine and you can clean up before you begin cooking.” He turned his back and walked toward the front of the truck.
“Wait! Why the key? Won’t you be here to train me?”
“I’ve got a second truck I take to Bangor. There ain’t enough people in the Harbor this time of year to make much of a profit.” His voice was muffled as he continued, “You can cook, right? Figure it out.” The engine rumbled to life.
I ran to the front of the truck, but my new boss was already looking the other way and pulling out onto the road. “I don’t even know your name,” I shouted at the back of the moving food truck. “And your service panel is open!”
Great. If a drunk hires you, are you really hired?
I trudged back up the other side of the street on my way to my car but looked in the window of a clothing boutique. The periwinkle silk cocktail dress on display called to me. It was ethereal and lovely. It felt emblematic of a better, more serene life.
A light tinkling sound came from overhead as I entered. Mesmerized by the play of light on the iridescent silk, I slid a finger down the skirt.
“Would you like me to find your size?”
I spun to find a tall, stunning, dark-haired woman waiting for my response. “Oh, no. Thank you. I just—well, it’s beautiful.”
She brushed nonexistent dust off the back of the dress. “It certainly is. And it’s done its job, bringing you in.”
The shop was deceptively large. It appeared quite small and narrow from the street, but it was long, allowing for different sections within the store. There were light, feminine dresses near the window, but I spied jeans and sweaters, coats and gloves, even shoes farther in.
I noticed the woman looking me over. She smiled and said, “I thought that was you. Welcome back, Katie. I was wondering when you’d stop by.”
I stared a minute, not able to place her. “I’m sorry.” I shook my head, embarrassed.
