Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I walk in the front door and greet the new hostess. I pass customers who have stopped in for an early lunch, through the heavy wooden four-top tables, and weave along the red vinyl booths that line each wall. I duck under a large tray of food, but stop to ask, “Need any help, Luca?”
“All good, Delaney.”
As I push into the kitchen, the staff is hustling, so I don’t want to distract them. I turn into a narrow corridor, pass the bathrooms, and enter the last door on the right. My dad looks up at me over the top of his glasses. He smiles and then rocks back in his office chair. “My sweet Delaney.” He holds his hand out to signal the chair that’s crammed in the minuscule space beside the door.
The room really only holds his desk and a small one in the corner, two beige filing cabinets shoved in the opposite corner, and this chair. I’m used to the cramped quarters, so I sit. “Hi, Dad.”
“How’s my little cannoli?”
I still smile every time I hear the well-earned nickname. “Yeah. It’s all good. How about you?”
Taking his glasses off, he sets them on the desk and pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s staving off a headache. “I’m good. Though I can’t say the same for these books. I’m surprised we haven’t been audited with such bad bookkeeping.”
“I thought Joe was doing the books on the side of his day job?”
“Your brother is, but it’s a full-time job, and he can only work on it at night.” He smiles, showing off the lines that dig deep into his cheeks. “Did he tell you he has a new girlfriend?”
Why is Warner suddenly on my mind? I glance down at my naked finger and shake my head. “No, I hadn’t heard.”
His hair is graying, but I don’t remember him without even a few here and there. It’s so easy to see against the dark color. “She’s a buyer at Macy’s in the men’s shoe department. That’s how they met.”
“Oh yeah?” Imagining my brother trying on shoes and flirting with someone isn’t so far-fetched. “I’ll have to get the details when I see him next.”
“Your mother said you’ve been staying with friends from school.”
It was one thing to fib in a text to my mom, but telling a bold-faced lie to my dad’s face is a new low for me. “It’s been fun.” Not a lie. It’s been a ball torturing Warner.
“It’s good to get out of the house sometimes, to live your life like the young woman you are instead of being stuck with your folks in an apartment above a restaurant.” He shuffles some papers, but then his smile fades as he looks at me. “How are you really doing, kiddo?”
His calming voice has always been a comfort to me. He just has a way of making me feel safe to be me and say anything I need to get off my chest, to confess secrets and crushes. This isn’t something I can share with him. Anthony Bayetti would send me to an early grave if he knew what I was up to. That’s why he can’t and won’t know. He’s too proud to ask for help even when he needs it most.
Good thing for him, I have no pride to worry about. There is no low too low for me to go, apparently. I should feel more shame . . . or any at all, but as I look at the lines weighing the corners of my father’s eyes, my resolve solidifies. This is all for him. He’ll understand when I save the family business.
I stand and shimmy along the wall to get to the other side of the desk. He stands to wrap me in those big dad arms of his and kisses the side of my head. I whisper, “I’m doing good, Dad. No need to worry about me.”
“It’s my job to worry about you.”
When we part, I tap the desk. “It’s your job to cook these books.” I laugh. “Legally, of course.” As I maneuver out of the tight space, I add, “Don’t want our family fighting tax evasion charges.”
He chuckles as he settles back in his chair. “Bayettis are always on the right side of the law. And if we’re not, we’ll blame your brother.” His chuckle is hearty, though I know he’d never let anything happen to us. When the laughter softens, he asks, “How’s the job search going?”
“Crickets.” I shrug. “You might be stuck with me at the restaurant forever at this point.”
“I can think of worse things. Seeing you every day would be a dream, honey.” He’s a big guy, old school about stifling his emotions, but sometimes they get the best of him. Inhaling a deep breath through his nose, he appears to suck back whatever he was feeling. “I know you’ll get something soon. Hopefully, it will be in the city so we can still see you.”