The Lost Daughter. Diane Chamberlain
of the coffee shop. “Do you know that every time I walk through that door, I’m afraid you won’t be here?” he asked. “As soon as I come in, I look for your hair.” He’d told her that he loved her hair. She’d never cut it, and it fell in dark waves to the small of her back.
“I’m always here,” she said. “It’s like I live here.”
“You’re off on Saturdays, though,” he said. “You weren’t here last Saturday.”
“And you missed me?” Was she flirting? That would be a first.
He nodded. “Yes, but I was happy to see that you had some time off.”
“Well, not time off, really. I tutor on Saturdays.”
“You’re always working, CeeCee,” he said. She loved when he used her name.
“I need the money.” She looked down at her order pad as though she’d forgotten why she was holding it. “I’d better put in your order or you won’t get out of here in time for your class. Be back soon.” She excused herself and walked toward the swinging door to the kitchen.
Inside, the aroma of bacon and burned toast enveloped her, and she found her fellow waitress and roommate, Ronnie, arranging plates of pancakes on a tray.
“You do have other tables to wait on, you know,” Ronnie teased.
CeeCee clipped Tim’s order to the carousel where the cook would see it, then twirled around happily to face her friend. “I’m useless when he’s here,” she said.
Ronnie hoisted her loaded tray to her shoulder. “He does look particularly hot today, I have to admit.” She backed up against the swinging door to push it open. “You should say you had a date last night or something,” she said as she left the room.
Ronnie, who was far more experienced in dating than CeeCee, was full of bad advice when it came to Tim. “Pretend you have a boyfriend,” she’d say. Or “Act indifferent sometimes.” Or “Let me wait on him so he misses you.”
Not on your life, CeeCee’d thought in response to her last suggestion. Ronnie was gorgeous. She looked like Olivia Newton-John. When they walked down the street together, CeeCee felt invisible. She was five-three to Ronnie’s five-seven, and although she wasn’t heavy, she had a stockier build than her roommate. Except for her hair, her features were forgettable.
She was smarter than Ronnie, though. More ambitious, more responsible, and far, far neater. But when a girl looked like Olivia Newton-John, guys didn’t care if she could solve a quadratic equation or diagram a compound sentence. Tim would care, though. She didn’t know that for a fact, of course, but the Tim she fantasized about would definitely care.
She checked her other tables, getting extra napkins for a bunch of frat boys who’d made a mess with their cinnamon rolls. The fraternity types were a turnoff. They reeked of stale beer in the mornings, they never tipped, and they treated her like a slave. Then she got tea for the elderly black couple seated in the booth next to Tim’s. The husband had very short-cropped gray hair and wore thick glasses. He had some sort of palsy; his hands and head shook uncontrollably. The woman, her own hands gnarled with arthritis, fed him his breakfast with a patience CeeCee admired.
Setting the teapot in front of the woman, she glanced at Tim. His head was lowered over a book and he was taking notes as he read. Maybe she was kidding herself about his interest. Maybe he was just a friendly guy. They probably had zero in common, anyway. She was barely sixteen and he was twenty-two. She’d graduated from high school only four months ago, while he was in his first year of graduate school. And his major was social work, while her only contact with social workers had been as the recipient of their services. This was like having a crush on a rock star.
But when she finally delivered his plate of bacon, eggs and grits, he set down his pen, folded his arms in front of him, and said, “I think it’s time we went out. What d’you think?”
“Sure,” she said, as though his invitation was no big deal. Inside, she was bursting.
She couldn’t wait to tell Ronnie.
“Miss?” The black woman in the next booth waved her over.
“Excuse me,” CeeCee said to Tim as she took a couple of steps to her left. “Are you ready for your check?” She pulled out her pad.
“I know we’re supposed to pay at the register, miss—” the woman looked at her name tag “—Miss CeeCee. But I was hoping we could pay you. It’s so much easier on us that way.”
“Oh, sure.” CeeCee added the figures in her head, jotting down the total. “It’s five seventy-five,” she said.
The woman dug through her patent-leather purse with twisted fingers. A gold wedding band, worn smooth, graced the ring finger of her left hand, locked in place forever by a knobby, swollen knuckle.
“Sorry, miss,” she said, as she handed CeeCee a ten-dollar bill. “Everything takes me so long these days.”
“That’s okay,” CeeCee said. “I’ll be right back with your change.”
The couple was standing next to their table by the time she returned. The woman thanked her, then slowly guided her husband down the aisle toward the door.
She watched them for a moment, then looked at Tim. He was cradled by the corner of the booth, coffee cup in his hand and his eyes on her. She started clearing the couple’s table, stacking the plates on top of one another.
“So, where were we?” she asked him.
“How about a movie?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, but her eyes were drawn to the seat where the old woman had been sitting. Two crumpled ten-dollar bills rested on the blue vinyl.
“Oh!” She grabbed the money, then looked out the window to try to find the couple, but the sea of students on the sidewalk blocked her view. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She ran out of the coffee shop and, after searching for a few minutes, found the couple sitting on a bench at the bus stop.
She sat down next to the woman. “You dropped this in your booth,” she said, pressing the money into her hand.
“Oh, my word!” The woman drew in her breath. “Bless you, child.” She took the bills, then caught CeeCee’s hand. “You don’t move, Miss CeeCee,” she said, reaching for her purse. “Let me give you something for your honesty.”
“Oh, no,” CeeCee said. “Don’t worry about it.”
The woman hesitated, then reached out and tugged lightly on her long hair. “God surely knew what he was doing when he gave you hair fit for an angel,” she said.
CeeCee was breathless by the time she returned to the coffee shop and began loading a tray with the couple’s dishes.
“What was that all about?” Tim asked.
“Two tens must have fallen out of her purse when she was getting money to pay me,” CeeCee said.
Tim tapped his pen against his chin. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You need money and twenty dollars just landed in your lap and you gave it back.”
“How could I possibly keep it? Who knows how much they need it? Maybe a lot more than I do.” She eyed him with suspicion. “Would you have kept it?”
Tim grinned at her. “You’d be a great social worker,” he said. “You care about the underdog.” This wasn’t the first time he had suggested she’d make a good social worker, even though he knew she wanted to be a teacher. The world would be a better place if everyone became a social worker, he’d said.
He looked at the clock above the kitchen door. “Gotta get to class.” He slid across the seat. “How about we meet at the Varsity Theater at six-thirty?”