I almost hung up.

I held the stranger’s card in my hand. He’d asked me to call. I went over the conversation several times. I’d said I could work. He’d said he would hire me. He’d thrown out the flyer right in front of me. I pictured the pixie smile on his face, the curls of his hair, the way he’d wadded up the paper and lobbed it into the trash can.

“Bear Miller,” he said on the other side. The way a man with an actual profession answers the phone.

“Hi.”

I instantly felt stupid. Like I was back in school. A kid, trying to sound grown-up. I knew something had to change. I’d felt it deep in my sleep beside Baby Jane. The notion that everything was ending. That I would learn to do something else. That I could push my body to a limit it hadn’t known. Work an eighteen-hour day, sleep, work again. Get everything in order.

“Um, it’s Shannon,” I said. “We met at the diner?”

“Of course,” Bear said, smooth. “I’m so glad you called.”

“I’m happy to work,” I said. “I need to work. Could we talk about it? When could I start?” I asked.

I held the card so tight I bent it. I had worried all its edges soft and fuzzed.

“Where are you?” Bear asked, at once more direct and more intimate than I’d expected.

“At the diner,” I said.

“Are you done for the day?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Stay there,” Bear said, and hung up.

“Okay,” I said, embarrassed that it had all happened so quickly. “Thanks,” I said, and “Bye,” into the dead phone before placing it back on the hook so it sounded like a normal conversation. I felt my face fold in, threatening to cry, from everything: Birdie, the house, the whiskey, Baby Jane. I started coughing and excused myself from Junior, who wasn’t paying attention anyway.

I went into the bathroom and scrubbed my hands. They were permanently dry from the hot water and bleach in the kitchen. I washed my face with the cheap pink soap that Junior stocked the place with and dried off with rough, brown C-fold towels. I pushed my hair off my head with my fingers. It didn’t matter. It was dirty, dark at the roots. A cowlick was sticking up in the back that wouldn’t go down until I washed it. It needed to be cut. The longer it got, the younger and girlier I looked. My whole body was sore and tired, gritty under everything. I took three butter mints from the register and hoped I didn’t smell from a distance, or that if I did, it was only like bacon, or the grill.

Bear showed up in a dark-green Land Rover with caramel leather seats. He shook my hand tight, with full palm.

His face was like something I’d only read about. High cheekbones. Green eyes. His hair was pulled back in a loose bun near the top of his head. His jeans looked expensive, dark and slim but not tight, and his leather boots looked so soft I wanted to rub my face on them.