Fated (2 page)

'Do you want me to serve him?'

'Huh?' Evie turned back to face Joe.

'I saw the way he was looking at you,' Joe said. 'Do you want me to serve him?'

Evie smiled as she took the cup of coffee from Joe's hand and slid it onto a tray. 'No, I got it. I need the tips, anyway.'

'Things can't be that bad, surely?' Joe asked. His grey moustache tightened around his lips like a caterpillar undergoing some kind of metamorphosis.

'Nope. I just want out of here - you know that, Joe.'

Joe pulled a face. The kind of face that Evie was sick of seeing. She grabbed the tray before he could say anything else and carried it towards the man at the table.

'One decaff latte,' she said, lowering the tray. 'Grande,' she added, looking at the little cup Joe had given him. At the same moment the door opened and Evie's attention swung towards it. The coffee cup slid sideways.

She heard Joe shout for her to watch out at the same time as she saw the boy in the doorway's eyes widen. Evie's arm shot out, rescuing the coffee cup as it bounced off the edge of the tray. She held it in mid-air, watching as the coffee stilled itself.

She placed it down carefully on the table. 'Sorry about that,' she murmured, glaring over her shoulder at the guy still standing in the doorway.

'Good reflexes,' the man said.

'Huh, yeah,' Evie muttered, backing away towards the counter. Joe was there, watching her with that look on his face again. She shrugged at him. He scowled over the top of her head at the boy in the doorway, before turning his back and starting to wipe down the counter.

Evie took a deep breath and pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. She tried to tell herself to stay calm but she could already feel the heat rising in her lungs and scorching up her windpipe. She could feel her pulse quickening with the usual endorphin hit of rage.

She turned furiously to face the boy, catching him just as he was about to speak. 'What?' she demanded, cutting him off.

The boy shut his mouth and took a step towards her. He glanced around. The coffee shop was empty at this time of night, apart from the guy in the weird outfit. She was thankful. The whole town had already had their noses smashed up against the windows of their business. She didn't need any more witnesses to what had happened between the two of them.

'What do you want? I'm working,' Evie hissed.

'I know. I'm sorry,' the boy began, then stopped, staring down at his feet.

Evie huffed impatiently, aware that her hands were curled into tight fists at her sides.

'I just wanted to talk,' the boy said.

'I have nothing to talk about,' Evie said, studying him, realising that her voice was shaking. If he looked up, if he looked at her with those hangdog brown eyes of his, if she allowed herself for one moment to feel sorry for him, then she would hate herself later. She turned her back on the boy and moved over to an empty table to clear the cups and plates.

She started stacking, aware that the boy had crept up behind her and was now hovering by her shoulder. She put the stack of cups down carefully on the table and turned to face him. 'Tom, I'm working. Please leave.'

'OK.' Tom nodded. He was close to her, almost brushing arms with her. 'But later, after work, can we talk then?'

She glanced up at the clock over the counter and saw that Joe was looking sideways at her, concern splashed all over his face. God, it was like living in a goldfish bowl without even a stone or some fancy plastic plants to hide behind.

'Tom, why would I want to talk to you? You killed my best friend. The best friend you were also seeing behind my back. Or had you forgotten?'

Tom took a step back, his face crumpling. 'Ev, it was an accident.'

She took a step back. 'Oh, so you
weren't
driving?'

Tom swallowed hard. It was a strangled sound. Evie hesitated for a second but all the anger and the hurt dammed behind the smiling waitress routine rushed to the surface. It made her cheeks and jaw ache; it made her whole body ache, until she felt like her muscles had calcified from the effort of holding everything she was feeling inside.

She stared now into Tom's familiar brown eyes, measuring the reaction her words had caused, thinking how strange it was that once upon a time she had run her hands through his hair, linked her fingers through his, had kissed him and thought it was possibly the best feeling in the world.

It was strange because now she hated him.

She drew in a breath. 'She shouldn't have even been in the car.'

Tom dropped his eyes to the floor again. Evie felt the anger subside like a break in the storm. She was suddenly overwhelmingly tired. She just wanted to not have to go through this scene every day like she was living on repeat.

She wanted to have someone wipe her memory clean. But seeing as she wasn't likely to get hit on the back of the head and wake up tomorrow with amnesia, the only alternative was to get the hell out of this small town filled with small-town people where the gossip about her and Tom had kept the knitting circle busy for so long they had knitted enough blankets to see the Salvation Army through a nuclear winter.

She wanted to be able to walk down the street among strangers - people who didn't know her and who didn't look at her with crinkled eyes and tilted heads and ask her how she was doing with that strange inflection in their voices that made her want to scream until she was hollow.

She wanted out. So she picked up the stack of cups, walked past Tom and set them on the counter. She kept her back to him until she heard the door jangle behind her.

'You all right?'

Evie looked up. Joe was standing in front of her, his face folded into a frown.

She sighed. 'Yeah, I'm fine. I just . . . you know, I'm just sick of him apologising, as if an apology can ever make up for what he did.'

Joe nodded, taking the tea towel from where he'd flung it over his shoulder and starting to wipe the counter. 'That kid's sure got some guilt to live with.'

Evie glared at Joe. 'Well, he should be living with it in jail.'

Joe pressed his lips together and nodded non-committally. 'This one's sure taking his time,' he said, changing the subject and nodding his head at the man in the red cravat.

Evie shot a glance over her shoulder. The man was still looking out of the window. 'Listen, if you want me to lock up, I've got it,' she said to Joe.

'Are you sure, Evie?' he asked, taking the cups and placing them one by one into the dishwasher below the counter. 'Don't you have a home to get to?'

'No, it's OK. I need as many hours as I can get.' She shrugged.

'Still planning on leaving town, then?' Joe asked with a sigh.

Evie considered his face before answering. He reminded her of her father, the same ridge-lined face and deep-set eyes, the same soft tone and silvering hair.

'Sorry, Joe,' she said finally. 'I've got to get out. Only bad stuff happens here.'

Joe nodded slowly. 'I hear you,' he said. 'Listen, if you get any trouble from this one,' he indicated the man drinking coffee, 'then you just call me.'

Evie smiled at him. 'I've got it, Joe. I can take care of myself.'

'I know, I know,' Joe said, reaching for his jacket on the peg behind him. 'One thing your father did right was seeing you could take care of yourself.'

'Just one thing?' Evie asked, smiling, her eyebrows raised.

'Oh, you know what I'm saying,' he mumbled. 'Your father was a good man, Ev Tremain.' He paused a moment. 'And speaking as his best friend I know that he'd be real proud of you.'

Evie's stomach muscles contracted violently, forcing all the air out of her lungs, and leaving her feeling like she was underwater, drowning silently. She swallowed twice and tried to smile at Joe. He reached over and patted her hand before leaving.

When she heard the clang of the door, she reached forward, resting her palms on the counter, and took a deep breath and then another. She pushed her hair back out of her face and straightened up before turning around with a smile.

'Can I get you anything else?' she asked the man at the table by the window.

He was looking straight at her, as though he'd been watching this whole time. Her back straightened and her shoulders tensed.

The man's face suddenly split into a wide smile. 'Just the check,' he said.

Evie ripped a page off her pad and went to place it in front of him, then hovered by the table with her arms crossed over her chest.

The man rummaged for his wallet, then drew out two crisp ten-dollar bills. He dropped them onto the table and Evie frowned before looking up. The coffee only cost a dollar something.

The man caught her eye. 'Sounds like you could use the extra tips,' he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Nothing came for free. That had been one of her father and Joe's favourite sayings. Her dad would walk in here, pull up a counter stool and demand a free coffee. Joe would laugh, pour him one and tell him nothing came for free, before setting the bill in front of him.

Evie stepped forward and, with her eyes still on the man, picked up the notes. She folded them and put them in her apron pocket. 'Thanks,' she said, reaching for the empty coffee cup.

'I'm opening a store just over the road there,' the man said. Evie looked at where he was pointing, over the street at Cardman's Old Bookstore. It was boarded up and had a
To Let
sign hanging off it.

'Really?' Evie asked, unable to contain her surprise. Her mum usually knew everything going on in this town before the people it was happening to even knew it themselves, but she'd said nothing to Evie about a new shop opening up.

'Yes, it's more of a boutique than a store, really,' the man said and Evie noticed for the first time that he had an accent, though she couldn't quite place it.

'What kind of a boutique?' Evie asked. Her mother would want to know.

'Clothing. Fashion,' he said. 'Seems like the one thing this town is missing is some good fashion.'

Evie studied him again for any sign that he was joking. 'Are you expecting to turn a profit?' she asked.

The man threw back his head. 'Sometimes it's not about the money, it's about the dream,' he laughed.

'Your dream is to dress the women of Riverview in couture?' Evie laughed. 'Good luck with that. This is a farming community, the only fashion the women here are into involves denim and leather - and probably not in the way you're thinking.'

She shook her head and made to move off. Weird. This man was so weird. And so soon to be bankrupt.

'You know, I'm looking for a sales assistant, if you're interested,' the man called to her back.

Evie paused. She put the coffee cup down on the counter and turned to him. 'What are you paying?'

The man shrugged. 'Thirty dollars an hour.'

Evie's eyebrows shot up. Thirty dollars
an hour
? Was the man insane? That was almost four times what she made here.

'Forty,' she replied, blanking her face.

An amused smile seemed to be skirting the man's mouth. 'Thirty-five.'

She wanted to burst out laughing but she held it in, biting the inside of her cheek instead. 'Deal,' she said. 'When do I start?'

'Tomorrow.'

Evie thought about it. 'I work two other jobs - this one three evenings a week from five till ten and then I help my mother out in my dad's store on Saturdays and Wednesdays. Other than that, I'm all yours.'

The man appraised her. 'When do you find the time to sleep?'

'I'm trying to save as much money as I can right now, so any extra work is good.'

'Well then, Evie, I guess we have a deal. Tomorrow is Tuesday, so I'll see you at ten a.m.'

She frowned at him. How had he known her name? She guessed he must have heard Joe or Tom say it earlier. 'OK.' She nodded. 'Can I know who I'm working for?'

The man stood and Evie stepped back involuntarily. He was enormous - solid muscle underneath his suit - and the seams looked fit to burst on his inside thigh, not that she was looking. But she sure as hell noticed that he wasn't built like the farmers around here, who were wiry and tough - he was built more like a body builder.

'My name is Victor,' he said, holding out his hand. 'Victor Lassonde.'

2

Evie turned the lock in the door. Main Street was dead. All the stores were dark - only the yellow street lights were eclipsing the darkness now. Two cars were parked up in the shadows out front. Someone climbed out of the passenger seat of one and walked in her direction. She flipped the
Closed
sign quickly. There was no way she was serving another customer tonight. Not even if they waved a twenty-dollar tip in her face.

She backed away from the door and flipped the light switch, collapsing the whole place into blackness, and then she headed behind the counter to gather up the trash bags. The sound of someone trying the door made her jump. She looked around, irritated. Couldn't they read? That was a
Closed
sign on the door.

There was a guy standing in front of the glass looking in, staring directly at her. His hand was still on the door handle. He was about six feet tall and wearing a floor-length black leather coat. Evie took in the whole of him in one glance and felt something similar to a rock settle on her stomach. Something wasn't right about him. In fact, something was most definitely off. Then she realised it was the sunglasses he was wearing. Ray Bans. In the middle of the night.

'We're closed,' she mouthed, wondering whether he could even see her, shrouded as she was in the shadows behind the counter.

The boy didn't respond or smile or act in any way as if he'd seen her, though his hand did drop from the door handle. He turned on his heel and strode back towards his car, coat flapping like a windsock behind him.

Evie stood there a full minute, trash bags clutched in her hand, waiting for the sound of a car engine turning over and accelerating away. Nothing. The street stayed fathomlessly silent. She edged towards the door and peered through the glass. The cars were both still sitting there; empty as far as she could tell. The guy in the long trench coat was nowhere to be seen.