“Where’s the doctor’s note, then?” Mattie demanded, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Oh my God, I didn’t think I’d need to keep it for decades. How was I supposed to know my own sister would use this incident to question my integrity for the rest of our lives?” Frankie lightly smacked my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Back me up here.”

“I mean, it sounds believable from what little I’ve managed to gather so far. She does seem unathletic,” I added, jerking a finger in Frankie’s direction.

She turned to me, mouth agape. “Hey! Who asked you anyway?”

That made me chuckle. “Prove me wrong, then. Let me take you snowboarding.”

“I don’t think so.” But even as she folded her arms and glared at me, I could see the little crack I’d managed to form in her resolve.

Before I could press, Bev materialized at our table again. “Hey, Frankie,” Bev said. “Sorry to interrupt again, but before you leave, I wanted to give you this shirt for your first shift tomorrow. Jeans are fine with it.”

Frankie took the black shirt from Bev and let it unfold in front of her torso. Marie’s was spelled in a cursive font across the chest. “Thanks,” Frankie said. “I’ll see you at four.”

My eyebrows rose as Bev walked away. “You working here or something?” I asked.

“Apparently,” Mattie said with a sigh.

Frankie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am.”

Mattie took a sip of wine, eyeing her sister warily. “Please try, and don’t make Bev’s life any harder, okay?”

“It’s going to be fine,” Giles said. “Frankie will do a good job, and Bev is drowning back there.”

Frankie was about the last person I could see hustling behind a bar while simultaneously being polite to customers. But I would definitely be first in line to see it with my own eyes.

“See! Thank you, Giles.” She balled up the T-shirt into her lap and rested an elbow on the table. “Besides, it’s just taking orders and running food and drinks to people. How hard can it be?”

EIGHT

Frankie

“Frankie, that table still needs their drinks,” Bev called, effortlessly pouring three shots of vodka with one hand while customers swarmed the bar at least three bodies deep.

“I’m going right now,” I said.

Shit. What had they ordered again? I pulled out my pad of paper that was now puffy and hard to read due to the pitcher of water I’d spilled on it earlier.

This was the end of my fifth shift. At first, Bev had been quite confident I would improve. Now, I think she saw me as more of a liability and likely regretted asking for my help in the first place.

If you’d asked me last month, I’d have insisted multitasking was one of my strong suits, but working at Marie’s had made me come to the realization that I was sorely mistaken. I couldn’t take the constant onslaught of customers pulling me in every direction. “Can I get a side of fries?” “Don’t forget about my espresso martini.” “Another napkin when you get a chance.” I couldn’t think straight with all of the demands. But I still showed up every time I was scheduled, which Bev said was better than nothing. Likely the highest praise I would get out of her until I showed some real improvement.