lookin’ for you.”
Though the other woman was already gone, Julianna nodded in response and hurried back out to the dining room.
The remainder of Julianna’s day passed minute by agonizing minute, hour by excruciating hour. As the lunch crowd thinned, then became nonexistent, Julianna became aware of how much her feet and back hurt, of how tired she was.
She worked alongside the other waitresses, refilling the condiments, wiping down the tables and putting up the chairs, preparing for the next day. Buster’s stopped serving at three. Opening for dinner would be a waste of time and money—this part of the central business district became a graveyard at 5:00 p.m. when the law offices and other businesses let out for the day.
Julianna didn’t listen to or participate in the other women’s chatter. Every so often, she would become aware of one of them looking speculatively at her or making an ugly face in her direction. She ignored them and kept her attention fixed on her tasks so she could finish up and go home.
Finally, all the preparations for the next morning had been made, and she’d punched out. As Julianna reached for the door, Lorena stepped in front of it, blocking Julianna’s way. The other three waitresses came up beside Lorena, flanking her, their expressions tight and angry. “Not so fast, Miss Priss. We’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
Julianna stopped, glancing nervously from one to the other of the women. “Is something wrong?”
Lorena, obviously having been voted the leader of the pack, took a step toward her. “You could say that. We’re sick and tired of your attitude. Of you thinking you’re better than the rest of us. And we’re sick and tired of having to cover for your lazy butt.”
At the animosity in the older woman’s tone and expression, Julianna inched backward, glancing over her shoulder, looking for Buster. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Where do you get off, thinkin’ you’re so much better than us?” Lorena took another step; the others followed. “Just ’cause you went and got yourself knocked up, you think you don’t have to work? You think a bun in the oven makes you special or somethin’?”
Another one of the girls, Suzi, pointed a long, bloodred fingernail at her. “When you show up late, we’ve gotta cover your tables. That means we’re working our tails off and getting crappy tips all around.”
“And we’re sick of it,” Jane said.
“I overslept,” Julianna said stiffly. “I didn’t do it on purpose, for Pete’s sake.”
That, obviously, wasn’t the response they wanted, because angry color flooded Lorena’s round face. She looked like a bleached blond balloon about to pop. “I’ve got a question for you, princess. One we’ve all wondered about. If you’re so frickin’ high and mighty, why’re you working in a dive like this? And if yours is so special it don’t stink, where’s your old man? Why’d he go and dump you the moment you got knocked up?”
“Yeah,” Suzi added. “Or do you even know who the baby’s father is?”
“Bet she doesn’t,” Jane taunted, before Julianna could jump to her own defense. “She’s just a little slut who likes to put on airs.”
Lorena laughed. “You’re pathetic, you know that? I feel sorry for you. We all do.” She leaned closer, smelling of Juicy Fruit gum and drugstore perfume. “You’re not going to make it, you know that? You or your little bastard. Come on, girls.”
With that, the three turned and flounced out of the restaurant.
Julianna watched them go, tears welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Is that what they thought of her? What everyone thought of her? She brought her hands to her belly, self-conscious, humiliated. That she was pathetic? A woman rejected and without options? Lower, worse off than they were?
It had never occurred to her that others would look at her that way. That they would feel sorry for her.
Nobody had ever felt sorry for her before. She caught her breath and dropped her hands from her belly. She had never felt sorry for herself before. Not this way, not to the very core of her being.
She closed her eyes and thought of Washington, of the fine restaurants where she had dined on a daily basis, of the day spa where she’d had massages and facials and manicures, of her pretty apartment and closet overflowing with expensive dresses.
But mostly, she thought of John. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth.
Could he really be the monster her mother said he was?
From the kitchen, she heard Buster and the cook finishing up, preparing to lock up for the day. Not wanting them to catch her near tears, she hurried out of the restaurant and into the chill, late afternoon.
Julianna pulled her coat tighter around her. The sidewalks were crowded with workers heading home after the long work day. The St. Charles Avenue streetcar rumbled to a stop at the curb before her. Sun glinted off the glass, momentarily blinding her. A cloud drifted over the sun; the streetcar passed.
And she saw John.
He had found her.
She caught her breath, and took an involuntary step backward, panicked. He stood directly across the street from her, his head turned slightly away, as if gazing up St. Charles Avenue, looking for someone or something.
For her. Or for a place to take her and kill her.
Julianna froze, uncertain what to do—able to do little but stare, her heart pounding so heavily in her chest, she could hardly breathe.
The way it had fourteen years ago, when she had met him for the very first time. He’d been the most handsome man she had ever seen, tall and strong-looking and young, not shriveled and prunelike the way Senator Paxton was or fat and bald like Justice Lambert.
John hadn’t been like any of her mother’s other men friends.
Her mother had introduced her to him, calling her softly forward, letting her Alabama roots show in her gentle drawl.
“This is my baby,” she said. “My Julianna.”
Julianna curtsied, keeping her eyes downcast, the way her mama had taught her.
“Julianna, honey, say hello to Mr. Powers.”
“How do you do,” she said, her cheeks growing hot, wanting more than anything to really look at him.
“Hello, Julianna,” he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She dared a bold peek up at him, then another. She made a small sound of surprise. “Your hair’s white,” she said. “Like snow.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But how come?” She drew her eyebrows together, confused. “You’re not old and wrinkly like Dr. Walters and he has white hair.” She tilted her head. “You’ve got lots more than him, too.”
Her mother gasped, and Julianna knew she had made a mistake. But John Powers wasn’t angry. He laughed, the sound deep and rich and really…nice. She decided she liked him better than all her mother’s other friends.
He squatted down before her and gazed into her eyes—in a way none of her mother’s other friends ever had. In a way no one ever had.
As if she were as important as a grown-up. As if she were special.
“It turned white overnight,” he said. “I was on a mission. I almost died.”
She widened her eyes. “You almost died?”
“That’s right.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I survived by eating bugs.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Bugs?”
“Mmm. Big, ugly ones.”
“Tell me about them.”