off to comply.
Once the other waitress had hurried away, Miss Joan turned her attention back to Holly. “She’s right, you know,” Miss Joan said, lowering her voice. “I hate to admit it, all things considered, but Laurie is right. You do only have one chance to be young. You can act like a fool kid in your sixties, like some of those pea-brained wranglers who come here to eat, but you and I know that the only right time to behave that way is when you are young. Like now,” she told Holly pointedly. “Did Laurie have anything specific in mind? Or was she just rambling on the way she usually does? If that girl had a real thought in her head, it would die of loneliness,” she declared, shaking her head.
“She had something specific in mind,” Holly reluctantly told her.
Holly braced herself. She could already see whose side Miss Joan was on. She loved and respected the redheaded woman and she didn’t want to be at odds with her, but she really had no time to waste on something as trivial as dancing, which she didn’t do very well anyway. She just wished the whole subject would just fade away.
Miss Joan waited a second but Holly didn’t say anything more. “Are you going to give me details, or am I supposed to guess what that ‘specific’ thing is?” Miss Joan asked.
Unable to pile any more dishes onto the tray, Holly hefted it and started across the diner. With Miss Joan eyeing every step she took, Holly had no choice but to tell her what she wanted to know.
Reluctantly, she recited the details Miss Joan asked for.
“There’s a band playing at Murphy’s this Friday. Laurie and some of her friends are planning to go there around nine to check it out. And to dance,” she added.
Miss Joan nodded, taking it all in. “So why aren’t you going?” she asked.
Holly shrugged carelessly. “I’ve got too much to do.”
“Why aren’t you going?” Miss Joan repeated, as if the excuse she’d just given the diner owner wasn’t nearly good enough to be taken seriously. Before Holly could answer, the woman went on to recite all the reasons why she should go. “It’s after your shift. I’m sure that your mother is capable enough to babysit Molly, especially since it’ll be past your niece’s bedtime—and if for some reason your mother can’t, then honey, I certainly can.”
That surprised Holly. She knew that Miss Joan tended to be less blustery with children, but that still didn’t mean that she was a substitute Mary Poppins.
“You’d watch her?” Holly asked incredulously.
“Sure. I’ve got to get in more practice babysitting, seeing as how my first grandbaby is almost here,” Miss Joan answered, referring to the baby that Alma, Ray’s sister, and Cash, her stepson, were having. The baby was due at the beginning of January, and as time grew shorter, the woman was becoming increasingly excited.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Holly protested. “Even on standby.”
Miss Joan frowned at her. “Unless my hearing’s going, girl—and I’m pretty damn sure that it isn’t, you didn’t ask me to babysit this Friday night. I just offered.” With her hands on her small hips Miss Joan fixed her with a penetrating look. “Okay, you got any other excuses you want shot down?”
Apparently Miss Joan was not about to take no for an answer. But Holly wasn’t ready to capitulate just yet, either. “I’ve got classes.”
Miss Joan made a dismissive noise. “Online classes,” she emphasized with a small snort. “That means you can take them the next day. Or on Sunday, if you’re busy making memories Saturday night.” The final comment was punctuated with a lusty chuckle.
Holly blushed to the roots of her long, straight blond hair. “Miss Joan.” The name was more of a plea than anything else. Though she knew Miss Joan didn’t mean to, the woman was embarrassing her.
“Lots of ways to make memories,” Miss Joan informed her, brushing aside the obvious meaning behind the previous phrase she’d used. She looked at Holly intently. “Okay, like I said, any other excuses?”
“Yes, a big one,” Holly answered, unloading the last of the dishes onto the conveyor belt that would snake the dishes through the dishwashing machine against the far wall. “I really don’t know how to dance.” Because she felt it was a shortcoming, she said the words to the wall next to the conveyor belt, rather than to Miss Joan’s face.
“Well, that’s an easy one to fix,” Miss Joan informed her, brushing the excuse aside as if it was an annoying gnat. “Dancing’s fun. I can teach you. Or my husband, Harry, can. You want someone younger, I’ll ask Cash to show you the finer points,” she said, waiting to hear who Holly wanted to go with.
Had Miss Joan forgotten that her stepson was in a very unique situation? “Just what he wants to be doing when his wife’s on the verge of having their first baby. Teaching me how to dance,” Holly quipped.
“Sure, why not?” Miss Joan asked. “I think it’s perfect. It’ll take his mind off worrying about everything for a little while—and it’ll perform a useful service for you.”
Holly sighed. The woman was like a Hydra monster. No matter how many heads she lopped off, Miss Joan just grew some more and kept coming right back at her.
“Miss Joan, I appreciate everything you’re trying to do here, I really do,” Holly said emphatically. “But I don’t have time for any dancing lessons, just like I don’t have time to go to Murphy’s and—”
Out of the blue, Miss Joan gave her a look. The kind of look that made strong men doubt the validity of their cause and rendered frightened young waitresses like Laurie speechless. Holly, however, was made of far sterner stuff than the average person, due to all the responsibility she had shouldered from a very young age.
So she braced herself and listened, hoping she could offer a successful rebuttal.
“You like working here at the diner, girl?” Miss Joan finally asked after a sufficient amount of time had gone by.
Here it comes, Holly thought. “Yes, ma’am, you know that I do.”
Miss Joan’s expressive eyes narrowed, bringing in her penciled-in eyebrows. “Then if you want to have a job on Monday, you’ll go to Murphy’s with your friends on Friday and you will have fun,” she ordered forcefully.
“Hey, old woman.” Eduardo, the longtime cook, called to her as he stopped puttering around in his kitchen and came forward. “You cannot just order someone to have fun. It does not work that way, but then, perhaps you have never had any fun yourself so you would not know that.”
“Maybe you can’t order someone to have fun, but I can,” Miss Joan assured the short-order cook in a voice that said she wasn’t going to brook any sort of rebellion or challenge, especially from him.
That resolved, Miss Joan turned her attention back to Holly. “So, girl, what’ll it be? You going to Murphy’s on Friday night and coming to work on Monday, or are you staying home, studying and looking for a new job come Monday morning?” Miss Joan asked.
“You wouldn’t fire me over something like that,” Holly pointed out with some certainty.
“No,” Miss Joan agreed and let her savor that for approximately two seconds before adding, “I’d fire you over your insubordination.” When Holly looked at her, confusion in her eyes, Miss Joan elaborated. “I told you to do something and you out-and-out refused. That’s pretty sassy if you ask me.” Miss Joan smiled at her, and it was one of the few genuine smiles that seemed to register on the woman’s lips and in her hazel eyes, as well. “In other words, insubordination. So what’ll it be?” she prodded, waiting to hear the answer she wanted to hear.
Holly sighed. She’d known in her heart it was going to end this way.
“I’ll go,” she said.
Miss Joan’s eyes met hers and