Spring Tide Read Free Page B

war with my boss at Crazy Jim’s, cleaned up Sylvia’s place while she was passed out, slept, and of course, worked.

CHAPTER TWO
    T he alarm pierced my eardrums at four a.m., the entire Western Hemisphere asleep except me. Dazed, I smacked the nightstand until I hit the off button. I rose, my friends’ voices in my head telling me I was deranged for taking a job with these hours. Maybe they were right, but it was only three days a week. I brushed my teeth and pulled back my hair, noting that my shirt was on inside out.
    “What’s the big deal?” I asked the voices. “It’s better than sitting around all day like Sarah. Ugh, the boredom. No way. I really like this gig and four is just a number.”
    Arriving at The Bakery, I stopped several feet from the building and rubbed my eyes. I thought I saw someone standing by the rear entrance. In the meager light dispensed by a failing bulb, glittering, black fog wafted from the brick of the shop and joined with darkness. I rubbed my eyes again and it was gone. I need caffeine bad, real bad. I unlocked the back door and flipped the switch inside, lighting the black-and-white tile floor and sherbet pink walls. After firing up the ovens, taking loaves off the racks, and starting coffee, I was well underway but couldn’t move fast enough to stay warm.
    Deborah, the owner, came in the back a little after six.
    “Morning, Deborah.” I handed her a mug of coffee. “When you have a minute, I have a couple things.”
    “You’re shaking.” She put her hand on my forehead. “Are you getting the flu? You can’t get sick.”
    “I’m just cold.”
    “I’m hot.” She walked to the thermostat in the back hall. “It’s set to seventy-four. I have a jacket you can borrow.”
    “I’m okay. So this morning when I got here there was … like a blackish mist out back. You ever see that?”
    Her head jerked. “Smoke?”
    “It didn’t smell like anything. Might be condensation from the a/c units, like a lot of condensation. It might be nothing. It was early. I was kinda whack.”
    “I’ll look into it.” She blew on the mug.
    “Any interest in adding Irish soda bread to the offerings?”
    “Mrs. McCarthy asking?”
    “Sourdough-Two-Éclairs chick. Crazy cool, ultra nice.”
    “It’s McCarthy. She brings it up every couple of months.”
    Customers filled up the hours. A few were snippy. Some were thoughtful, like they were making the most important decision of their lives. Others were like dogs at a butcher shop, big paws marking up the glass and killing my soul. I was boxing an order for pick-up when the bells on the door clattered. Glancing up, I saw a guy who was so phenomenally perfect I thought I was going to combust. Wavy, blond hair to his shoulders, high cheekbones, indigo eyes set off by flecks of turquoise, a brown T-shirt and faded Levi’s. Baby, baby, please.
    “Let me know what you’d like whenever you’re ready.” I know what I’d like and I’m ready anytime. Ferry boat, my boss’s office, it’s all good …
    His forehead creased and he looked left and right around the store, not in the cases. “A, uh … muffin.”
    “Flavor? Plate or bag?”
    “Chocolate, a bag.” He half smiled. “Please.”
    I got his order and reached across the counter to take the money from him. Our fingers touched and a visible spark of electricity crackled. Where’s the static coming from? The soles of my shoes were rubber and the floor was tile. I apologized but he didn’t respond. He was staring at my hand. Then I realized he was probably checking out the scars that lined my forearms, like so many other people did. His sight moved to my face and he looked at me with confusion or wonder or aversion. I couldn’t tell which.
    He walked to the door. “It’s cold in here.”
    “Right?”
    “Too cold.”
    And yet the sight of him made me warm, so warm. He scanned the shop and left.
    Deborah came to the front. “You can go, Kris. Thanks for doing the restocking and