Chapter 23

CANDACE

The email came while I was sitting at my kitchen table, staring at an unfinished assignment and wondering how many more times I could reread the same paragraph without actually absorbing it.

I almost ignored the notification because I had spent the entire morning applying for part-time jobs and most of the responses I’d received had been polite rejections or automated emails thanking me for my interest.

I had started to assume the whole thing was pointless, but when I finally opened the message and saw the first line, I sat up so quickly that my chair scraped against the floor.

Dear Ms Winters,

My eyes moved down the screen.

We are pleased to offer you the position of part-time waitress at Bellini’s.

I read it twice before a smile spread across my face.

I had actually gotten the job.

The restaurant was only a block from campus, which was the main reason I’d applied in the first place. I could walk there after lectures, work a few hours and still make it back in time for anything I needed to attend later in the day.

The hours were flexible enough to fit around my classes, and the pay wasn’t terrible either.

I immediately grabbed my phone and called Bridgette.

She answered on the fourth ring, sounding breathless. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you calling me this early?”

“Because I got a job.”

There was a brief silence.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“Candace.”

“I got the job.”

Her voice suddenly became louder. “Shut up! You actually got it?”

I laughed. “Yes.”

“Oh my God. Wait, where?”

“Bellini’s.”

“The one near campus?”

“That’s the one.”

“That is actually perfect.”

“I know.”

She started congratulating and screaming before immediately switching into teasing mode, asking whether I knew how to carry three plates at once and whether I was prepared to deal with rude customers.

I told her I would figure it out, although secretly, the thought of working as a waitress was making me nervous.

I’d never worked in a restaurant before.

Still, I needed the money, and I wanted something that was mine. University expenses had a way of swallowing money without warning, and I was tired of having to think twice before buying anything that wasn’t necessary.

A part-time job would give me a little more freedom without interfering too much with school.

My first shift was the following afternoon.

The manager, a woman named Melissa, showed me around the restaurant before introducing me to the other waitresses.

The place wasn’t enormous, but it was busy enough that there was rarely a moment when everyone stood around doing nothing. There were tables spread across the main dining area, a smaller section near the windows and a bar along the back wall.

By the end of my first hour, I had already memorised more table numbers than I expected.

By the end of my first shift, I was exhausted.

I had forgotten one customer’s drink, mixed up two orders and nearly walked into another waitress carrying a tray of glasses.

Thankfully, nobody yelled at me, and one of the older waitresses showed me a few tricks for keeping track of multiple tables without losing my mind.

The second day was easier.

The third was better.

By the fourth, I stopped checking the table numbers every few seconds.

Six days passed before I realised I had stopped feeling like the new girl.

I had learned which customers wanted to be left alone, which ones liked making conversation and which regulars ordered the same thing every time they came in.

I had also discovered that restaurant work was far more tiring than it looked from the other side of the counter.

By the time I finished a shift, my feet would ache so badly that I sometimes wondered how I had managed to stand for several hours without collapsing.

Still, I liked it.

There was something satisfying about getting paid for something I’d worked for myself. I liked knowing that the money in my account had come from my own hours, my own effort and nobody else’s.

My classes were still a mess in some places, especially History, but at least I was keeping up with everything else. I’d submitted my extra-credit assignment and was trying not to think too much about whether Elias had read it since he wasn't around.

On the Saturday evening, my shift ended later than usual.

I changed out of my uniform, said goodbye to the others and walked across the parking lot toward my car.

My feet were killing me, and all I wanted was a shower, something cold to drink and several hours of doing absolutely nothing.

My 2004 Honda Civic waited exactly where I’d left it.

I unlocked it, tossed my bag onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.

“Home,” I muttered to myself as I started the engine.

The car came to life, and I pulled out of the parking lot.

For the first few minutes, everything was fine. Then I heard a strange sound. I frowned and turned down the radio.

The car made the noise again. It sounded like something was sputtering underneath me.

“Please don’t.”

I slowed down slightly, listening.

The sound became louder.

I glanced at the dashboard, but there was nothing obvious. No warning light. No indication that anything was wrong.

I kept driving.

A few seconds later, the engine coughed hard enough to make the entire car jerk.

My eyes widened.

“No, no, no. Don’t fail me, baby.”

I gripped the steering wheel and pressed down on the accelerator, hoping it would settle.

It didn’t.

The engine gave another ugly sputter, followed by a sharp popping sound from the exhaust that made me jump.

“Oh my God.”

I guided the car toward the side of the road, but before I could get far enough, the engine died completely.

I sat there for a few seconds in stunned silence.

Then I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

I’d been on my feet all day. My legs hurt, my back hurt and I was already dreaming about my bed. Now I was sitting on the side of the road with a car that had apparently decided tonight was the perfect time to betray me.

I hit my palm against the steering wheel.

“Seriously?”

The car remained completely silent.

I sighed, grabbed my phone and stepped outside.

The evening air was cooler than I expected, and I walked around to the front of the car, staring down at the engine even though I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to be looking for.

I crouched slightly and tried to listen for anything unusual.

Nothing.

I straightened and wiped my hands against my jeans.

“Great.”

I was about to call someone when I heard another vehicle approaching.

Its headlights grew brighter as it came down the road before the car slowed beside me.

I stepped back instinctively even though I was still crouching.

The vehicle pulled over a short distance ahead and stopped.

I stared at it.

The windows were heavily tinted, making it impossible to see the person inside.

For a moment, I wondered whether they were going to keep driving.

Instead, the car stayed where it was.

I stood beside my dead Civic, staring at the dark windows and wondering who was inside.