She woke up late the next morning, slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the window -- halfway expecting to see that dog down there, waiting for her, but she saw grass and trees -- and no dog -- so she showered and dressed quickly for work. She fixed coffee and toast in the kitchen, looking out the window at his house, then walked out the door and down the street, passing his house with her head down, as quickly and as quietly as she could -- but the Land Rover was gone, a black Suburban in it's place now. She saw US Government plates on the back bumper and shook her head, saw a young man inside the house looking at her as she passed and she quickened her pace, made it to the café in record time.
She wrote out the specials on the chalkboard, took the chairs from the tabletops and arranged them just so, swept the floor -- again -- and went to the kitchen. Darren was working away on today's soup -- a cream of celery with shaved gruyere and scallion garnish -- and she heard a commotion out back, just outside the kitchen entry.
"What's goin' on out there?" she asked Darren, and he looked up from the cooktop and smiled.
"Permits approved yesterday. Starting the new patio soon. Check it out..."
She went to the door and opened it, looked outside to the land between the back of the building and the water's edge. A big yellow bulldozer was clearing the site, surveyors were placing stakes and a construction shack was already in place and she nodded her head before going back inside, wondered what this would mean to the future.
"It's going to double our seating," Darren said. "Almost all glass, like a greenhouse. In fact, it's going to be full of plants!"
"What about the kitchen?" she asked. "Aren't you going to need to expand that too?"
"Yes, we're going to put a bigger walk-in downstairs, and that'll free up enough room to add two tops and a huge prep station."
"So, going from 12 tables to what? Twenty five?"
"Thirty. And we'll have room to put a little bar up here too."
"Geez. How many...?"
"Bruce figures we'll need three girls waiting tables, maybe a barkeep full time if business picks up. He'll work prep and the bar while I work the kitchen, but we'll probably need another cook, too."
"Oh."
"We were thinking, maybe you'd like to move to hostess and being a manager, that type of thing."
"Yeah, why not," she said, crestfallen.
"Hey, Tracy...it would be a promotion..."
"I know. I get it. Too old to work tables, I guess."
"No...that's not it at all...we just thought you'd like a change, that's all. Maybe make some more money, ya know?"
"Yeah. Sure, if that's what you want."
"Oh, Tracy," he sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"
She shrugged. "Told you a long time ago, I have zero ambition. I do what I do because I like it."
"So, how was Prince Charming?" She looked away and he did too. "Well, so it didn't work out?"
"I have no idea," she said. "He's kind of a busy man."
"I thought you said he was retired?"
"I don't think he is. Not really. Anyway, I think he's out of town."
"You think?"
"I don't know where he is, okay?"
"Ah. Well it's time, honey. Better open the door and let the starving masses in."
She nodded her head, went to the door. "Starving masses. Right."
+++++
She walked home after the café closed for the evening, walked up the hill and by his house, and the black Suburban was still parked out front, the blue Land Rover still gone. She relaxed after that, walked to her house and locked her doors before going upstairs for the night.
She never locked her door anymore, she thought. So why now? She gotten over all that other stuff a long time ago, hadn't she?
But the Land Rover was back the next morning, and all those feelings seemed close again.
She saw it from her living room, saw Jimmie out in the front yard. Sitting. Looking up the hill, at her. She looked at the dog for a long time, and he never once looked away from her. What was he thinking, she wondered? Or was he thinking about him, and how she might be a threat? Or was he even thinking?
She walked down the hill a few minutes later, saw Jim on the ground, on his back under the Land Rover -- swearing at something up under there -- and she laughed.
He heard her laughter and turned, looked at her -- and she stood as if transfixed. Like a deer in the headlights, tail up and motionless. Waiting to see what would happen next.
"Howya doin'?" he asked.
"Fine. You?"
"Not bad."
"Jimmie?"
"Oh, he's fine," he said standing up, wiping greasy hands on a coarse, red shop towel. "He doesn't like it when I leave him like that, but c'est la vie, I guess."
"Oh? Where'd you go?"
"Down south. Washington."
"Fancy house-sitters you have. The machine guns are a nice touch, too."
He looked down, shook his head. "I was gonna fix some coffee. Want some?"
She shook her head, said "I don't know," and he looked at her for a moment, at her indecision.
"Well, suit yourself," he said, turning away.
"Just who the fuck are you, anyway?"
He spun around, his eyes narrow and hard again -- but he relaxed again, as quickly. "You want to talk, we can talk inside," he said, turning and walking inside.
And she followed him. Right up the steps and into the living room. Right through the living room and into the bedroom. He was standing there when she walked in, unbuckling his belt, smiling, then he turned to her. "I took a blue pill this morning. One hundred milligrams. I could drive a nail with this fucker," he said, grinning -- and she walked over and felt it.
"Damn...does that hurt?"
He nodded his head a little. "Pressure seems to be building a little."
"I take it you could use a hand with that?" she said, slipping her skirt down to the floor.
"A hand?"
"My mouth's dry. Think you have something that could lube it up a little?"
