Chapter 7 - A Debt From the Past| Dela's mother, Ruth Marsh, had a way of detecting trouble through the telephone.
She could hear it in the pause before Dela answered, in the brightness of a laugh that arrived too quickly, or in the way her daughter suddenly became interested in discussing the weather.
So when Dela called from the bus stop after her shift, Ruth did not ask how work had been.
She asked, “What did he do now?”
Dela leaned against the shelter and watched the headlights moving through the rain.
“Who?”
“Don't insult me. The manager.”
Dela sighed.
“He cut my hours.”
Ruth went quiet.
“How much?”
“Enough to notice. Not enough to panic.”
“Dela.”
“I'll pick up shifts somewhere else.”
“You shouldn't have to.”
“No. But I do.”
Ruth had spent most of her life working jobs that left her hands aching and her back stiff. She had raised Dela alone after Dela's father left when she was six, and she had never forgiven herself for the years when they were one unexpected bill away from losing their apartment.
Dela knew that guilt. She had inherited it like a family heirloom.
“Maybe you should look for another restaurant,” Ruth said.
“I like the Aster Room.”
“You like the people. That's different.”
“Marisol is there. Priya is there. Most of the staff are good.”
“And the manager?”
“Not everyone can be a masterpiece.”
Ruth laughed softly.
Then her voice became serious.
“You have a habit of protecting people who remind you of yourself.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It becomes a bad thing when you start paying for everyone else's mistakes with your own future.”
Dela looked down at her shoes. One heel had begun to separate from the sole.
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can. That's what worries me.”
After the call, Dela walked three blocks to the bus stop on the next street. She was trying to stretch every dollar until the next paycheck, and the route there was cheaper.
She had almost reached the corner when a black sedan pulled alongside the curb.
The passenger window lowered.
Julian Rock sat inside.
“Do you always walk this far after work?”
Dela stared at him.
“Do you always follow your servers home?”
“I wasn't following you. I was leaving the building.”
“Convenient.”
He accepted the accusation without protest.
“Lena mentioned your hours were cut. I wanted to ask whether you had found another shift.”
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn't have to choose between helping a coworker and paying rent.”
Dela's face cooled.
“I'm not looking for charity, Mr. Rock.”
“I'm not offering charity.”
“Then what are you offering?”
“A fair review of the way this restaurant operates.”
“That sounds like something that should happen whether I work there or not.”
“It should.”
“Then do it.”
Julian studied her. Rain tapped against the car roof.
“You're very good at telling people what they should do.”
“Only when they ask me questions.”
He almost smiled.
“I'll remember that.”
“Please don't. You'll have a long list.”
She stepped away from the car.
Julian lowered the window farther.
“Dela.”
She turned.
“If I offer you a chance to speak directly to the people responsible for this review, will you take it?”
“Will speaking put my job at risk?”
“It shouldn't.”
“That wasn't my question.”
He considered her words.
“I can't promise nobody will retaliate. I can promise that retaliation will be investigated.”
Dela studied him for several seconds.
“Then I'll speak.”
She walked away before he could say anything else.
Julian watched her cross the wet pavement, her shoulders straight despite the rain.
He had expected gratitude. He had expected fear, perhaps suspicion.
May you like
He had not expected someone to make him earn her trust one honest answer at a time.
And that, he realized, might be precisely what he needed.
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