Descension (3 page)

Travis noticed and leaned over, looking for her hidden face. “Green’s one of your favorite colors, right? I thought it’d go great with your eyes.”

“Not to mention that tan skin of yours,” Phyllis offered, rubbing Layla’s bicep.

Travis was right on both accounts. Green was one of Layla’s favorite colors, and since her eyes were also emerald green, the necklace would go great with them. “It’s beautiful,” she squeaked, feeling weak and foolish. Her head was saying she didn’t deserve something so beautiful, but it would be rude for her mouth to repeat it. “What kind of stone is it?” she asked, relieved it came out clearly.

“Mawsitsit,” Travis answered, “a type of Burmese jade. I searched the internet for three days tryin’ to figure that out, but ended up havin’ to take it to an appraiser.”

“They didn’t tell you what it was when you bought it?” Layla asked.

“I found it at a thrift store,” he explained. “An old man was droppin’ off some costume jewelry when I got there, but he didn’t have a clue what he was givin’ up. Mawsitsit’s a pretty pricey stone.” He looked from the necklace to Layla’s face. “So ya like it?”

“I love it,” she answered. “It’s perfect. And you’re right about green being my favorite color.” She looked up, trying to convey appreciation with an enthused smile. “Thank you. Both of you.” She was thankful for much more than the impromptu party, cake and gift. Layla owed them a thank you for her sanity. If she didn’t have Travis, she might have detached from reality altogether, and since Katherine’s stroke, Phyllis was the only person to offer motherly encouragement.

“I’m glad ya like it,” Travis approved. “Phyllis might’ve killed me otherwise.”

“Darn tootin’,” Phyllis confirmed, always quick to give Travis a hard time.

Layla smiled at their banter as she held out the necklace. “Will one of you help me put it on?”

“You do that,” Phyllis told Travis. “I’ll serve the cake. We got just enough time for a piece before our shift starts.”

Layla turned and lifted her ponytail, letting Travis nestle the mawsitsit in the hollow of her throat. Once the chain was fastened, she turned and tilted her chin up. “How does it look?”

Travis whistled and raised his eyebrows. “Do I know how to pick ’em or what? I hate to boast, but I was right, it matches your eyes perfectly.”

“You love to boast,” Phyllis corrected, passing out huge pieces of cake. “But he’s right. The necklace looks lovely.”

“Thank you,” Layla murmured, turning her attention to her plate.

A moment of silence passed as they ate, and as usual, Travis finished first. “Phyllis, my sweet, if I ask ya to marry me, will ya bake me goodies every day?”

“What would I be getting’ outta the deal?” Phyllis smirked.

Travis shifted his shoulders back. “A young stud of course.”

“Hmm… What are hound dog stud fees up to these days?”

Travis smiled as he bowed his head, yielding to the witty comeback. Then their boss walked in.

“Happy birthday, Layla.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

“I sat tables one, three and nine,” he announced. “I’ll let you guys fight over ’em.”

“You guys finish up,” Layla offered. “I’ll take their drink orders.” She gave her leftover cake to Travis then retrieved her apron, dusting it off as she left the break room.

The rest of her shift proceeded without incident, and she was in a fairly decent mood thanks to the surprise party and the storm raging outside vapor shrouded windows. Not only did she admire Mother Nature’s mysterious beauty and strength, the torrents of rain kept the dinner rush to a minimum. Bad for tips, but good for stress.

Shortly after midnight, she clocked out and patiently waited for Travis and Phyllis to do the same. Then the three of them worked out a game plan. Phyllis would follow Travis to his house so he could drop off his car. Then they’d head over together.

Great, Layla thought. This would give her time to clean. She hadn’t hosted company since the day of her mom’s funeral, and her messy house proved it.

Once home, Layla scrambled to pick up dirty clothes, junk mail, and unread newspapers. When the doorbell rang, she was finishing the dishes. “Come in,” she shouted, drying her hands on her t-shirt.

A few seconds later, Travis and Phyllis entered the kitchen, each bearing five bottles of alcohol.

“What did you do,” Layla asked, “rob the bar on your way here?”

“No,” Phyllis laughed, discarding bottles on the counter. “Travis’ liquor cabinet.”

“I like to entertain,” Travis explained. “And I didn’t know what the birthday girl prefers,”

Layla eyed him suspiciously. “I think all this would do a pretty good job of getting me drunk.”

“I’m merely givin’ ya options, sugar. So, juice or pop?”

Layla scanned the array of liquor bottles and mixers. “Juice.”

“How ’bout you, Phyllis?” Travis asked.

“I’ll have what Layla’s havin’,” Phyllis answered, seating herself at the kitchen table with a deck of cards.

Travis mixed three identical drinks, garnishing Layla’s with a birthday bow. Then he joined them at the table for a game.

By one o’clock, the liquor had relaxed Layla more than she’d been in… well, she couldn’t remember. And by two o’clock, she was downright tipsy.

Travis and Phyllis observed Layla’s mellow mood and decided to take advantage. “So…” Travis hesitantly began, “what’s next, sugar?”

Phyllis shot him a disapproving look, and he apologetically shrugged, but the reprimand was unnecessary; the broad question flew right over Layla’s tipsy head. If she hadn’t been drinking, she might have noticed the shift in body language or the sudden tension in the air. As it was, she assumed Travis was talking about the game they were playing.

“I don’t know, Trav. It’s your turn.”

Travis contemplated his hand. “So…” he started once more. Then he cleared his throat and looked at Layla. “I know ya don’t like talkin’ ’bout your personal life, Layla, but you’re my friend, and I like to think I’m your friend. And as your friend, I wanna know how you’re doin’ and what you’re doin’. You’ve been cooped up in this house for too long. Ya did the right thing by your mom, but she’s…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Gone
. He didn’t have to say it. Layla knew. And he was right, about all of it.

Layla kept her eyes on the table, sad and ashamed. “You are my friend, Travis. You, too, Phyllis. The only friends I have. And you do have the right to ask me how I’m feeling and what I’m doing.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look Travis in the eye. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression you shouldn’t.” She felt awful that Travis and Phyllis thought they had to tip toe around her. She never meant for it to be that way.

Phyllis laid a hand on Layla’s arm. “I remember when ya first started workin’ at the diner, honey. I looked at ya and thought that girl can do anything she wants; she’s goin places. Ya were so outgoin’ and spirited, not to mention the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. Now I know all your plans were pushed aside when your mom got sick, but now’s your chance to start fresh.”

Layla stirred her cocktail into a cyclone, trying to remember the carefree girl from her past. Once upon a time there were things she dreamed of doing, places she wanted to see, and relationships she yearned to form, but it had been so long since any of them were a possibility, they’d become delusions.

“If ya don’t mind me askin’,” Phyllis continued. “How’s your finances?”

“Well,” Layla answered, “I don’t know, but I’m meeting with my mom’s lawyer Monday to figure it out. She had some money set back for me, but I don’t know how much, and the house is paid for, but I don’t have a clue what it’s worth. Other than that, I have about three thousand in the bank.”

Travis was wiggling in his chair, waiting for Layla to finish. “Hey, didn’t ya say somethin’ one time ’bout wantin’ to live in California?”

Ever since Layla could remember, Katherine talked about moving to the west coast following Layla’s high school graduation. She’d make up bedtime stories about visiting the ocean, where they’d meet beautiful people and live a fairytale life. But the stories were distant dreams now; they’d floated away with her mother’s spirit.

“California?” Layla asked, raising an eyebrow at Travis. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No, but if you lived there, I could visit. I’ve always wanted to see California.”

“Well plan a vacation and book a motel, because there’s no way I can afford a move to the west coast. The cost of living there is ridiculous.”

“Whatchya wanna do then?” Travis countered. “I know there’s better out there for ya than a dirty diner off the highway. No offense, Phyllis.”

“None taken,” Phyllis assured. “Layla’s way too good for the diner.”

“See?” Travis pressed. “Even Phyllis agrees with me. So what is it ya wanna do with yourself now that ya got nothin’ keepin’ ya here?”

Layla considered this as she flipped through her cards, but the alcohol hindered her thought process, and not even a lame excuse for a life plan came to mind. She had to give them something. They were looking at her with hopeful expressions, desperate to help.

“I don’t know,” she finally replied. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about stuff like that. I guess I’ll wait until after I talk to my mom’s lawyer then weigh my options. I have a lot to consider in the meantime.”

Phyllis gave her a motherly smile. “We’re not tryin’ to rush ya, honey. We just want ya to be happy. You’ve always been so sweet and responsible. We think it’s high time ya acted selfish. Time to do what’s best for Layla.”

“Thanks,” Layla mumbled. “I’d be in awful shape if it weren’t for you guys. And I promise to make an effort to… move on with my life.” She meant it, but didn’t have high hopes for the endeavor. “Now,” she added, anxious to abandon the subject, “can we get back to this game so I can kick your butts?”

She did, in fact, kick their butts. Then she thanked them for everything as she walked them out. After watching Phyllis’ taillights disappear, she stepped inside and shuffled to her room, falling into bed partially clothed and fully scatterbrained. She was alone again, left with nothing but her thoughts, and her head was full of them.

Could she really turn her old, empty and sad life into something new, purposeful and happy? What was holding her back? Her mom was gone, she’d never known her father, and to her knowledge she didn’t have any other living relatives. She was a lone woman. The only permanence in her life was a lonely house full of sad memories, a dead-end job, and a couple of co-workers she was lucky enough to call friends.

Her thoughts faded as she drifted to sleep, and for the first time in three years, she had a dream that wasn’t a nightmare.

She stood naked on the edge of a cliff, towering over a gray ocean, waves crashing below as wind whistled through the forest behind her. The only source of light was the moon, its rippling reflection littering the sea with diamonds.

Layla wasn’t fazed by her uncharacteristic nudity, nor was she afraid of standing on the cliff’s edge. She was euphoric—peaceful yet charged, every nerve ending, bone and hair follicle crackling with intoxicating energy.

The wind picked up, tickling her bare skin like delicate, cold fingers, twisting and lifting her onyx curls. She tilted her face to the sky and closed her eyes, concentrating on the tingling of her body as she inhaled salty air. She felt as if she could walk off the cliff and fly to the massive moon. A mere jump away, it serenely floated atop endless water, a beacon of peace tempting her to take the leap.

Her lids slowly drifted open… and she was deeply disappointed to see the clock on her nightstand. She slammed her eyes shut, trying to retrieve the dream, but it was too late. She was wide awake.

When Layla’s alarm clock buzzed Monday morning, she blindly pushed several buttons then tossed it on the floor, dreading the meeting with her mom’s lawyer—a man she’d never met. As she stumbled out of bed, closing the curtains on sunshine and birdsong, her feet felt like they were coated in cement.

Layla didn’t know Katherine had a lawyer until after the stroke, when a man named Gerald Greene called to tell her about the $1,000 check she would start receiving every month. Apparently Katherine had arranged a contingency plan, making sure Layla would be provided for in the event of her incapacitation. When Layla asked Gerald where the money was coming from, he said he couldn’t tell her. She’d wondered, so sadly, what kind of sacrifices Katherine made to build that nest egg for them—a wise investment despite its price. If not for that money, Layla would have had to work overtime, leaving Katherine in the constant care of strangers.

A month after Katherine’s death, Gerald called again, offering his condolences and suggesting they meet. Katherine had left something in his possession, instructing him to give it to Layla upon her death, along with what was left of their nest egg. Convinced it would yield little more than emotional turmoil, Layla procrastinated for another month before committing to a meeting. Now it was time to pull her head from the sand and irritate wounds that would never fully heal.

As she backed her car out of the driveway, she cursed herself for being so weak. Whatever Katherine bequeathed must have held value or she wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of a lawyer. She could have kept it at the house like everything else she owned. Layla would have found it, eventually, once she found the guts to explore Katherine’s bedroom.