Turtle Soup Page 8

  A strange woman punched in something on the register with a confused look on her face. There was a line of three or four people, some of them anxious. He walked up to the counter. "Where's Sara?"

  She glanced up at him and then at the woman in front of her. "Six-fifty," she murmured, and the woman handed over cash. Jack exhaled loudly and tapped his fingers on the counter. Some of the other customers rocked on their feet, obviously worried he was going to cut line.

  "You need some help?" Jack asked loudly.

  "Yes, Jack, I do," she answered, reaching under the counter for a baguette.

  Jack walked around the counter and went to the sink to wash his hands. No one was in the back.

  "You must be her sister. Is she okay?" He dried his hands on a floury towel.

  "She's home, and I'm Ellen." Ellen pushed another bag of goodies across the counter and asked an old gentleman in a windbreaker what he wanted. "Get me a dozen of the orange vanilla chips," she ordered.

  Jack hurried over to the cookies and searched for anything with white chips. He crammed the closest match in a paper bag, lost count, and had to pull them back out and start all over.

  "You're no help."

  "Sorry." He grinned at the customer. "First day." After the last visitor had gone, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping so she didn't kick him out.

  "Did you want something?"

  Jack slowed his sweeping. "I was looking for Sara. I need to talk to her."

  "About last night."

  Jack grimaced at the way she said it. "I guess she told you."

  "She's my sister."

  "Is she okay?"

  "I don't know. I came in before lunch. She needed to go home."

  "Was she upset?" Jack thought about the planner and wondered if she'd discovered the mix up.

  "Obviously."

  He was silent. Ellen stood with her back to the register, arms crossed. "I don't mean to pry," she began, but Jack cut her off.

  "Then don't."

  "She's my sister."

  "That doesn't make it your business."

  "Actually, it does."

  Irritated, Jack said, "Look—" but the bells jingled at the door.

  Carly breezed in, a look of surprise on her face. "Mom? What are you doing here?"

  "Sara went home."

  "She okay?" Carly came around the corner and put her books down. She looked curiously at Jack. "You working here now, too?"

  Jack smiled. "Yeah, part-time during the rush."

  Ellen jerked her head at the empty store. "That was the rush."

  "Do I get to boss him around?" the girl asked her mother.

  "No, he was just leaving."

  "I have something for Sara. She left some things at my house."

  "You can bring them in. I'll see that she gets them."

  Jack eyed the older sister trying to gauge how far he could push her. "Actually I thought I'd take them over to her place."

  "She lives with me. Bring them inside and I'll take them home."

  "I don't have them with me," he said carefully.

  The woman called his bluff. "Then bring them by tomorrow."

  Defeated, he handed over the broom. "How about some food?"

  "I'll get it," Carly sang out.

  He waited patiently for her to get it together while avoiding Ellen's eye. The knot in his stomach made it very clear that he'd be sorry if he actually ate anything, and sorrier still, if he didn't get to Sara soon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sara sprawled out on her bed and positioned the wet washcloth over her face. Her nose was stuffed up from crying but she felt better. The letter had been in her post office box. She'd gotten to work early and opened the mail first. Her usual collection of junk mail had come with some supply catalogues and the rent bill for the store space. It seemed to come due faster than anything else.

  In her head, she was sure she'd break even. She'd taken a hit the first quarter but things had improved. The accounts were on the computer and she'd been avoiding them. The shock when she pulled up the numbers almost made her hyperventilate.

  As if the computer had miscalculated she'd run everything again, but it hadn't made any difference. Her credit cards were maxed out, her bank account empty, and she was two months behind.

  They kindly called it her grace period. Now there would be a threat letter or a phone call. Only a few months into her lifelong dream and savings, and it was over. She should have never left her job at the catering service. Her old boss had warned her the odds were she wouldn't make it and she'd been right.

  The tune of Take Me Out to the Ball Game rattled the silence. Her cell phone was going off again. It'd been buzzing off and on all afternoon near the coat rack in the living room, but she didn't want to get up. She knew it was Ellen calling to see if she had pulled herself together. Or maybe, she feared, it might be Jack calling to see if she was okay from the night before.

  What a nightmare. She rolled over on her stomach and threw the washcloth on the floor. It had been fun at first, giving him a taste of his own medicine, but she hadn't meant to actually care. Now she'd gone from giving him a hard time to being completely distracted. Ellen and Carly were sacrificing everything they had to help her and she was letting them down.

  The phone went off again and she made a noise of protest. It would drive her mad if she didn't pick up. She caught it on the last refrain before it went to voice mail.

  "Sara?"

  A painful silence followed as Sara struggled with her feelings at the sound of Jack's voice.

  "I was just calling about last night to see if you're okay."

  Sara found her mouth and made it move. "I'm sorry I left. It didn't seem right to stay."

  Jack took a breath. "I went by the deli today and you weren't there."

  "Something came up."

  Again he was quiet for a pause before he said, "The planner?"

  "Planner?"

  "I have your planner. You left it on the counter and I took it to work by mistake."

  Taking a seat on the couch, Sara dug through her purse. She pulled the black book out and turned it over in her hand. Funny she hadn't noticed before. She put it to her nose. It smelled like him. "You're right, I got yours right here."

  He seemed relieved. "Can I swing by and get it?"

  "Now?" Sara put a hand to her head and smoothed her hair down. She knew she looked a mess. She'd cried all her makeup off.

  "Now would be great." He stopped short as if afraid she would say no.

  "If you really need it I could just bring it by." She smiled, remembering the first time she'd taken him his naughty book.

  "No, I don't mind. You live with your sister?"

  "Yes, but I'm on my way out."

  He made a noise as if he wanted to disagree with her. "You sure I'm not putting you out?"

  "I don't mind at all. I'll see you in an hour." She hung up and blew her nose. Tossing the tissue aside, she opened the book and thumbed through the pages. His cruel comments were still penciled in alongside some of the entries. For a man who could be so sincere, he had a vicious sarcasm. Maybe it was a reflection of how he feared the world to be.

  Scientists did not handle fame and recognition very well, Sara thought. Perhaps it was because they did not aspire to it. At least Jack Brandon didn't.

  Curiously, she turned to the S's and then to the H's to see if he'd written her number in. He had not. No telling what he would write about her if he had the chance. She chuckled under her breath as she turned to the T's. Turtle Soup was written in bold letters, all capitals. The number was jotted down beneath it. She caught her breath as a dart of pain struck her breast. A notation had been penciled in alongside the entry: Short, Fat-Assed Pollyanna

  Sara threw the book to the ground like it was a snake. Fat? She wasn't fat! She ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She wasn't short. She wasn't tall. She turned around and looked at her butt. Oh, no. She dropped her pants to see if there was any cellulit
e on the back of her thighs. She peered under the shelves of her cheeks.

  Yes, there it was. Had everyone in dive class seen it? She moaned aloud, unable to rip her eyes away from the reflection. Too many cookies. She wasn't getting enough exercise. The dive class wasn't cutting it. Her eyes met the twin's in the mirror and common sense came flooding back.

  What was she doing? There was nothing wrong with her. And there was nothing wrong with her body. She wasn't a scarecrow or a perfect ten, but she was healthy. Jack thought she was short and fat? A Pollyanna? Who was he to insult her like that?

  A gust of rage swept over her, the force of it startling. She had gone out of her way to excuse his initial behavior. She'd given him the benefit of the doubt and given him a second chance. How shallow did a man have to be to jot savage insults in his address book?

  She buttoned her jeans and washed her face. It was time to go back to the deli and let Ellen off the hook. She'd canceled two appointments to fill in for her. Sara needed to get back. Somehow, she'd find a solution to her financial mess.

  The Blazer seemed to enjoy her revving. She made it to the interstate in record time and took the aquarium exit that also led to Turtle Soup. Jack's book sat like a tombstone beside her, a dark supple marker of what once could have been a fruitful relationship.

  Heat tinged her cheeks. The kiss the night before would live forever, she admitted. You could never forget a kiss like that, but she wasn't stupid enough to pay the price for it. He'd do a number on her that would make Adrien's heartbreak look like a hairline crack.

  When she came to the light that separated her place from the aquarium, she turned left instead of right. He wanted his book back and he was going to get it. She parked in visitor parking and jogged across the lot. When she asked for him at the ticket window, the girl checked a clipboard hanging over her register. She handed Sara a laminate pass on a lanyard and motioned toward the administrative doors.

  Down the hall, up the elevator, and into the passages, her feet dug into the floor. Her heart was in her throat, her hands shaking. Through a glass wall, she saw him come out of his office. He beat her to the door, stepping out into the hallway, a look of premonition on his face. He knew. That's why he was in a hurry to get it back. He was afraid she'd look up her name.

  She wound up and pitched, aiming for his head. It would have hit its mark if he hadn't thrown his arms up.

  "Sara!" he cried. She kept moving, taking the momentum with her and throwing herself into him. Their legs tangled and they both fell to the floor.

  "You pig!" She swatted at him with girly punches. He caught her by the wrists, his face a violent shade of maroon under his tan.

  "Sara, stop!"

  She tried to jerk free but he held fast, pulling her close so that their faces almost touched. "I'm sorry!" he said.

  In her rage, tears cranked up and she hated herself for it. "Who do you think you are?" He rolled over and pulled the both of them up.

  "I'm sorry," he repeated, too curt to satisfy her.

  "You're not sorry!" She yanked her arms but he refused to let her go.

  "Just listen."

  "What's your story this time? You were having a bad day? I made a terrible first impression?" She pulled again but his hands were iron bands.

  "Come into my office and talk for a minute."

  "I don't want to talk to you," she bawled. "I don't ever want to speak to you again."

  Behind her desk, Trudy stood at attention. She had a What has he done now? look on her face.

  "Let me go," Sara sobbed. "You're the most horrible person I've ever met." Jack tried to force her inside his office but she planted her feet. "You have no right to even speak to me."

  "It was a joke."

  "You call that a joke?"

  "I didn't mean it. I wrote it the day after you came in."

  Sara swallowed and tried to summon some dignity. Heads of the curious were sticking out of other doors. "I don't care when you wrote it. I'm not one of your avaricious concubines!"

  "Concubines?" Jack smiled at her poetic description. "Come here." He tried to lead her into the privacy of his office.

  "No." Sara shook her head. She hated the gentle tone his voice had taken. It was unforgivable, writing terrible things about her. If he'd written it, he'd meant it.

  "You really think you're too good for anyone, don't you?" Sara's voice shook. "That you're some kind of celebrity because National Geographic made you their cover boy? Well let me tell you something, Jack! I don't need a world seal of approval to help me sleep at night. I don't need looks or money to buy me a circle of friends, and I don't need some beach bum telling me what I am!"

  Looking embarrassed, Jack dropped her hands. In a low voice he said, "If that's who you think I am than you can leave."

  "Thank you," Sara shouted, "I will!" She flung the door open on the way. The planner was still in the middle of the hallway, a few pages hanging out of it. She gave it a vicious kick and it smacked into the wall. "That's what I think about you and you're stupid Foundation," she shouted over her shoulder. She kicked it again and again until pages scattered everywhere.

  He was still watching from his office door, looking like he wanted to shove a sock in her mouth. All around the office people sidled into range to see more. Satisfied she'd humiliated him she took the stairs to the ground floor. She wanted to be exhausted when she walked out of the place. She wanted to feel so tired she would never have the energy to come back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jack slunk into his office with mortification hanging over him like a cloud. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He hoped by the end of the day the excitement would blow over. Trudy waited fifteen minutes to bring the mail in.

  "I meant it as an adjective."

  "You meant what as an adjective?" Her eyes sparkled as if she was finally getting the details she'd been starving for.

  "You know how I tag people sometimes. It just comes out. And she is a Pollyanna."

  "That's actually a noun."

  "No, I called her a fat-assed Pollyanna."

  Trudy pursed her lips at the curse word.

  "I didn't mean it like that."

  "She's very shapely. I wouldn't call her fat."

  The sternness of Trudy's words made Jack feel even more ashamed. "I know she's not fat! She's just right." His chest hurt. He leaned over the desk and fingered the mail. "It was just an expression."

  "Expressions can be painful, depending on the expression." Trudy gazed off into space. "Depending on whether it's an expression of love, of endearment, of revenge, et cetera, et cetera." She looked fiercely at Jack over the top of her glasses. "Jack, you must keep your first impressions of people to yourself. You're seldom correct."

  He smiled weakly. "I know."

  Before sailing out the door, she asked, "You haven't written anything about me have you?"

  "No," he answered. She arched a brow as if she didn't believe him.

  No, Trudy, he thought to himself as soon as she was out of sight, you are not a senile, interfering, old biddy.

  ****

  Jack waited until the scurry of human life drained from the aquarium, marking the day over. He took the scenic route to the parking lot, and found himself mesmerized by the quiet gurgle of the tanks. He walked through the Caribbean exhibit, touching the cool glass and studying the coral dwellers that seemed to eye him back with just as much curiosity.

  It didn't matter which side of the glass you were on, he realized, you always wondered about the other; the place you couldn't go, the people you didn't understand, the chances you weren't willing to take.

  It was juvenile to jot crude anecdotes about the people he came into contact with. It smacked of immaturity even if it was an ego buffer, like a wetsuit to protect him from the ocean's chill.

  His heart yearned to make a phone call and set it all straight, but Sara was probably too hot to listen. His stomach cried out for nourishment, for something heavy, like a steak.

&nb
sp; She didn't serve that at Turtle Soup, thank goodness, but it didn't stop him from driving past the store. The lights were out and her white cardboard sign was flipped to CLOSED. A passerby idled at the door, checking his watch. Jack hit the button that dropped the car window. "You looking for somebody?"

  The heavyset stranger walked right up to the car. "What's that?"

  "Are you looking for Sara?"

  The man turned back and motioned with his bearded chin toward the deli. "I thought they were open until six."

  "Usually are."

  "You know this place?"

  "I do."

  The fellow took a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out for Jack to see. It was an area flyer with a coupon for Turtle Soup.

  "She might have taken off early."

  "I'm Roy Dobbs. A friend suggested I try it out for the paper. Do you know the owner?"

  "We're acquainted," Jack said cautiously. "What paper are you from?"

  "The Constitution."

  Jack balked. The biggest paper in Atlanta wanted to review Turtle Soup? Why wasn't she open? A guilty noose tightened around his neck. "I heard she got some bad news today. That's why I was dropping by to check on her. You might want to come back in a couple days. It's a great place." He grinned as if it this was a well kept secret.

  "I'll have to see. Thanks." The food critic stuck his hand through the window. Jack fumbled for a card from the Foundation and passed it over. "Nice meeting you."

  "You, too, Mr. Brandon," Dobbs answered. He waddled off importantly down the street making Jack see adjectives.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next day Sara opened the back door that led to the alley's blue dumpsters lined like books on a backstreet shelf. She almost tripped over the body slouched against the wall.

  "Polk?" She watched breathlessly to see if the old man moved. He opened one eye and mumbled something she didn't understand.

  Sara didn't really know if his last name was Polk. It was stamped on a tag sewn over the pocket of his tattered green jacket. Someone at a shelter had probably given it to him one cold winter, and he had never taken it off. It would reach the low eighties today and he would be hot. She crouched beside him breathing through her mouth so the power of his odor didn't show on her face. "Are you okay?"