“That night at the going away party, Wesley and I were hiding in the apple tree. We got into a fight about something”—I’m not about to tell her that we fought because I tried to kiss him and he backed away—“and I broke his magic wand.”
“Okay…”
“Anyway, he got mad and he told on me.”
She nods. “I remember that. I told him you’d buy him another wand out of your allowance.”
“And he said not to bother. Then he said that he hoped Dad found another job soon. And when I asked him what he meant by that, he told us his mom mentioned Dad had been fired.”
That was when I freaked out. Full on broke down. From the pained look on Wesley’s face, it was evident that he didn’t realize we didn’t know, but the damage was done just the same.
That was the end of my family.
“Right.” Mom looks confused. And I’m confused by her confusion.
“So if Wesley hadn’t opened his big mouth and told you, then you wouldn’t have ever known Dad was out of work. He could have gotten another job before you found out. You’d still be together.”
Instead, the night of the party, my mom wouldn’t even let Dad come back to the house to get his stuff. She packed it all up herself and sent it to Gran’s. His entire life, crammed into two suitcases.
Mom’s face softens. “Quinn, honey. That’s not what happened.”
“I was there, Mom. I remember it perfectly.” All too well, in fact.
Mom sighs and I can see she’s weighing her words. “Sweetheart, I already knew your dad had lost his job. He told me right before the party started.”
Um, what?
“It wasn’t the best timing. People were arriving and I was completely frazzled. But I guess he was worried it might come out that night, so he felt he had to tell me.” She reaches for my hand. “It was the last straw. I told him I wanted a divorce before Wesley’s family even arrived.”
My stomach drops. I’ve spent years blaming Wesley for the demise of my parents’ relationship, years believing that he’s the reason we’re not a family anymore. And it turns out that I’ve been punishing him for something he isn’t even responsible for.
“Your dad and I had problems long before that night,” Mom says. “He lied to me, for so long.” Her face tightens and I realize that she’s still a long way from forgiving him. So I guess I know where my issues with forgiveness come from. “Relationships are built on trust. Without that, you’ve got nothing.”
She’s right, of course. I couldn’t let Dad be the villain—even though losing his job was 100 percent his fault—so instead I cast Wesley in the role. I’ve always been too willing to overlook my dad’s shortcomings—and look where that’s gotten me.
“So you can let Wesley off the hook now,” Mom says.
I close my eyes. Letting him off the hook is the easy part. Fixing what I’ve broken is going to be much harder.
twenty.
Wesley flies into the restaurant, skidding to a stop in front of the hostess desk to say something to Rachel. Probably to thank her for calling him. According to my doctored schedule—the one that, until I arrived at work this afternoon, I forgot all about—he’s not supposed to be here for another hour.
My heart pounds as he speed walks across the restaurant toward me, tucking his billowy shirt into his pants. His black boots are unlaced and the tongues flap against the leather.
I’ve had to cover his section—along with my own—for the past hellish hour. Definitely something I should have considered before I changed his schedule, but no less than I deserve.
“I don’t know how this happened,” Wesley says, following me into the kitchen. “I’m sure I was supposed to start at six.”
“Really? Hm. That’s weird.”
He snaps his eye patch into place and then bends down to tie his shoelaces. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he says.
“Well, these things happen, right?”
Wesley glances up at me, his fingers stilling on the laces. He searches my face, like he’s wondering about something, and my heart skips. He can’t find out I was behind this.
He finishes doing up his boots. When he stands, I hand him a basket of bread.
“For table six,” I say. “And watch out, they’re supercranky.”
This is true of most of the customers tonight, at least in Wesley’s section. Because we’ve been short-staffed, everyone has had to wait longer for their food. And no one is happy about that.
Wesley takes a deep breath. “Sorry for the mix-up, Q. I know it’s probably meant extra work for you.”
He wouldn’t be sorry if he knew I was behind it. In fact, he’d probably never speak to me again.
Before Wesley can deliver the bread, Joe pushes through the kitchen door. “Wesley. A word,” he says. He turns on his heel and heads toward his office.
“What about my tables?” Wesley calls after him.
“Quinn can handle them.”
Um, no. Quinn can’t! Oh my God, I really don’t want to go back out there and deal with table six.
Wesley smiles grimly at me. “Wish me luck,” he says.
He’s not going to need luck. It’s not like they’re going to actually fire him. Not for being late once.
But, half an hour later, I’m starting to worry. Wesley’s still not back. The restaurant is full and table six has complained twice about the wait, even after I explained to them, as nicely as possible, that their orders are almost up.
I’m filling up their water goblets for the third time—seriously, these people are like camels—when Rachel tugs on my sleeve.
“You’re needed in the kitchen,” she whispers.
I shoot a nervous glance at the couple and their two kids, wondering if they’ve complained about me to Joe. “What for?”
“Staff meeting.”
“Now?” I leave the water jug behind on the table and follow Rachel. “What’s the meeting about?”
“No idea. Joe told me to gather everyone into the kitchen.”
All the staff is crowded around the dishwashing station. Well, most of us anyway. Wesley’s missing.
Wait … where is Wesley?
Joe waits until the dishwasher stops its rumbly cycle so we’ll be able to hear him. “We all have customers waiting so I’ll make this quick,” he says. “Mr. James is no longer with us. He’s been let go.”
Wait, what? Wesley was fired because he was late, one time? According to the manual, three write-ups result in termination. Not one.
Oh my God. I did this. I actually got him fired.
Maybe it’s all the steam back here or the smell of fried food, but I’m starting to feel really sweaty and light-headed.
“We’ve noticed that money has been going missing for the past few weeks. A lot of money,” Joe says. “And we’ve traced it back to Mr. James.”
Hold up. He thinks Wesley stole from the restaurant? Not possible. Wesley is a lot of things, but he’s not a thief.
But no one says anything. No one rushes to his defense.
Should I say something?
“I realize this is a shock. It’s a very unfortunate situation. We’ll need to cover his shifts for the next week or so, until we can hire someone else, so if any of you are interested in picking up hours, let me know.” And with that he stalks off.
Bruce shakes his head. “Okay, guys. Let’s get back to work.”