The Family Legacy Contract

By half past eight, I'd wiped down the same stretch of counter three times, refilled a salt shaker that didn't need refilling, and rearranged the sugar packets into a neat little fan. The diner was practically empty. Mr Hensley occupied his usual stool at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. He'd been coming in for as long as I could remember, always ordering black coffee and occasionally a slice of apple pie if Ruth had made one that morning. He never seemed particularly interested in eating it. I suspected he came for the company, although he rarely said much beyond asking after my parents. Two booths down, a middle-aged couple were finishing their dinner. They'd been arguing quietly about directions when they arrived, but had apparently reached some sort of agreement over a shared piece of chocolate cake. There was another man sitting alone near the window, an unfamiliar face among the handful of people who'd stopped in that evening. He'd ordered eggs and coffee and was eating while looking at his phone. I turned another sugar packet around so its label faced the same direction as the others. "You're going to wear the laminate off that counter." I looked up. Ruth stood in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel. Her grey-blonde hair had escaped its clip, and there was a floury handprint on the front of her apron. "Then you'll finally have an excuse to replace it." "I've got plenty of excuses. What I haven't got is the money." "Fair point." She looked around the diner, taking in the empty booths. "Been like this all evening?" "Pretty much. We had the Hendersons around six, and a couple of truckers stopped for coffee." "That's it?" "Unless you're counting Mr Hensley twice." "I heard that," he called from the counter. "Would you like another coffee, Mr Hensley?" "No, thank you, sweetheart." "Then I'm only counting you once." He gave a little grunt that might have been a laugh. Ruth smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Come see me before you go, Nat." "Sure." She disappeared into the kitchen and I watched the doorway for a moment. There was something about the way she'd said it that made me uneasy. Ruth wasn't particularly formal. If she wanted to ask whether I could work Saturday, she'd usually shout it across the diner while I was carrying a tray. If I'd done something wrong, she certainly wouldn't wait until the end of my shift to tell me. I checked the clock, eight thirty-four. The kitchen clock insisted it was eight twenty-seven, but that clock had been seven minutes slow for at least three years. Ruth claimed she liked it that way because it made her feel as though she had more time. I'd never understood the logic. I collected the empty plates from the couple's booth and carried them through to the kitchen. The radio was playing something soft and instrumental, a melody that rose and fell with the slow, mournful sweetness of a song without words. Ruth liked stations that played old music, although this sounded older than most of the things she listened to. It reminded me of the pictures of Ireland I'd once cut out of a travel magazine: green hills falling towards the sea, little white houses along narrow roads, and enormous skies full of clouds. I'd never been to Ireland. I'd never been outside the country. Actually, apart from a school trip to Chicago when I was sixteen, I'd never been particularly far from home. I rinsed the plates and stacked them beside the dishwasher. There were plenty of places I wanted to go. Ireland was on the list. So were Italy, Japan, Iceland, and a dozen other countries I'd added after watching travel documentaries or reading articles online. The list had started when I was fourteen, written in the back of an old school notebook. Over the years, I'd transferred it to my phone, added photographs and links, and organised the destinations into categories. Places I wanted to visit, things I wanted to see, experiences I wanted to have. It was a surprisingly elaborate system for someone whose travel budget currently amounted to eighty-seven dollars and forty cents. That was what remained in my savings account after I'd paid for Dad's replacement work boots last week. I'd been hoping to reach a hundred by the end of the month. There was still time, technically. If I picked up an extra shift somewhere. And nothing broke... The second condition was usually the difficult one. I dried my hands and returned to the diner. The couple had gone, leaving a ten-dollar tip beneath their plate. That was generous. I slipped it into my apron pocket and wiped down their table, then checked whether anyone needed anything else. The man by the window had finished his meal. I collected his plate, topped up his coffee when he asked, and left the bill beside his cup. By nine, Mr Hensley had finally finished his coffee and gone home. The last customer paid and left a few minutes later, and I locked the front door behind him. The diner seemed to settle into itself once everyone was gone. Without conversation or the scrape of cutlery, I could hear the hum of the refrigerators and the faint rattle of the ventilation fan above the kitchen. The radio was still playing. That same gentle, melancholy music filled the empty room, the notes lingering beneath the fluorescent lights. I switched off the sign in the window as Ruth emerged from the office carrying a clipboard. "Got a minute, love?" "Of course." She nodded towards the booth nearest the kitchen. I followed her over and sat down. Ruth remained standing for a moment, looking at the clipboard, before sliding into the seat opposite me. "I've been going over the numbers." My stomach sank. "Right." "It's not good, Nat." I looked around the diner. "I'd noticed." She gave me a tired smile. "We're barely covering the overheads during the week. Fridays and Saturdays are keeping us afloat, but even those aren't what they used to be." I nodded, there wasn't much to say. "I've been trying to hold off making changes, hoping things would pick up after summer." "They still might." "Maybe." She didn't sound convinced. I folded my hands on the table. "How many hours?" She sighed. "I can keep you on Fridays and Saturdays. Maybe the occasional Sunday breakfast if we get busy." I stared at her, Fridays and Saturdays that was twelve hours. I'd been working twenty-four, sometimes twenty-eight. "Starting when?" "Next week." I nodded slowly. There was no point asking her to reconsider. I knew what the takings had been like. I'd spent half the evening polishing things that were already clean. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know." "I really am. You've been here longer than anyone except me and Pete." "It's all right." "It isn't." I looked at her. Ruth's eyes were tired. There were new lines around her mouth, and I noticed she'd been chewing at the skin beside her thumbnail again. She'd owned the diner for almost twenty years. Her husband had worked at the factory until it closed. After that, he'd started helping her in the kitchen, and they'd managed to keep the business running while other places shut their doors. I knew she wasn't cutting my hours because she wanted to. "Are you going to be okay?" She looked almost offended. "You're the one losing half your shifts, and you're asking about me?" "Well, I assume you're not having a particularly good evening either." She laughed, although it sounded a little strained. "I'll manage." I hoped she was right. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "If things pick up, you'll be the first person I call." "I know." Ruth studied me for a moment. "You're such a pretty girl, Natalie. It's a shame you spend so much of your time working yourself to death." I smiled politely. I'd been hearing some variation of that sentiment for most of my life. My mother's fair hair, my grandmother's blue eyes, the sort of face people seemed to think belonged in photographs rather than behind a diner counter. Apparently, it was all being put to rather poor use. I had never quite understood what people expected me to do about it. Being pretty hadn't paid for my father's work boots last week. It hadn't made college any more affordable, and it certainly wasn't going to convince the electricity company to overlook Thursday's bill. Still, people seemed to find it reassuring, as though having a pleasant face meant things would eventually work themselves out. "Well," I said, glancing at the clipboard between us, "if you find someone willing to pay me for it, let me know." Ruth laughed. "Oh, sweetheart. If only it were that simple." I stood and smoothed my apron. "Is there anything else you need done before I go?" "No, sweetheart. Pete's finishing up in the kitchen. Go home." I nodded and headed towards the back room. I didn't cry, there wasn't much point. Crying wouldn't put the hours back on the roster, and Ruth would only feel worse if she saw me upset. Instead, I took my phone out of my locker and opened the calculator. Twelve hours at my hourly rate. Minus tax. Plus whatever tips I could reasonably expect on a Friday and Saturday. I stared at the number. Then I opened my notes app. I'd been keeping a weekly budget for almost four years. Every regular expense had its own line, along with the amount I contributed towards groceries, electricity and the mortgage. There was also a section labelled College. And another labelled Travel. I scrolled past them. I could probably pick up another cleaning shift at the motel. Mrs Donnelly had mentioned needing help when they were busy, although busy was a relative term at the Willow Creek Motor Lodge. There was also a woman on Oak Street who occasionally paid me to walk her dogs, and Mr Patterson still needed someone to help organise his garage. That would cover some of the difference for a bit. I sat on the wooden bench beneath the lockers and looked at the figures again. I'd have to tell Mum. Not tonight, though. She'd spent the afternoon at work, and Dad had an early start tomorrow. There was no reason to make everyone worry before I'd worked out what to do. I transferred fifteen dollars from my everyday account into savings. The balance changed from $87.40 to $102.40. For a moment, I felt pleased. I'd made it past a hundred. Then I remembered the electricity bill was due on Thursday. I looked at the number for a little longer before locking my phone. Outside, the air had turned cool. My bicycle was chained to the metal railing beside the kitchen entrance, beneath a light that flickered whenever the wind picked up. It was an old blue commuter bike I'd bought second-hand three years ago. The gears occasionally slipped, the basket rattled over potholes, and the back tyre needed pumping up every few days. But it worked. And, unlike a car, it didn't require petrol, registration or insurance. I pulled on my jacket, tucked my hair beneath my helmet and fastened the strap. Through the kitchen window, I could see Ruth and Pete moving around beneath the bright lights. I wondered how much longer they'd be able to keep the place open. Then I pushed off into the street. The town was quiet. Most of the shops along Main Street had closed hours earlier, and several hadn't opened at all. Their dark windows reflected the streetlights as I passed. A faded banner still hung above the entrance to the old furniture store, advertising a closing-down sale that had ended two years ago. I pedalled past the pharmacy, the library and the little park where Ben and I used to play when we were children. The road sloped gently downhill towards the river. I liked this part of the ride. There was rarely much traffic, and for a few minutes I could let the bicycle carry me without having to pedal. The cool air slipped beneath my jacket, and the wheels made a soft, steady sound against the asphalt. I thought about the music Ruth had been playing. Those long, rising notes. The way they'd made me think of somewhere far away. I wondered what it would feel like to wake up in a place where nobody knew me. Somewhere with unfamiliar streets and a language I didn't understand. Somewhere I could spend an entire day wandering without worrying about being late for work. I wanted that, not forever, necessarily. Just once. I wanted to go somewhere because I felt like going, rather than because someone needed me there. At the bottom of the hill, I squeezed the brakes and turned towards home. There were dishes to wash, a load of laundry I'd promised Mum I'd put on, and a message from Mrs Donnelly I still needed to answer. I could think about travelling later. For now, I needed another job.