Tangled In Vengeance

Chapter 11: Isabella

I sigh and wipe the sweat from my face as I squeeze the mop out before dipping it into the dirty water again and repeating the process. The mop slaps against the floor as I mop up the mess one of the customers made when they threw up on the floor. 

My stomach heaves as I try not to throw up from the smell and sight alone. I'm one of those people who, if I see someone regurgitating, I'm going to start regurgitating, too.

"I'm so, so sorry, Destiny," the customer stammers, standing uneasily beside me. His face is as white as the diner's starchy tablecloths, a stark contrast to his earlier robust complexion.

I offer him a reassuring smile as I shift the mop in my hand. "It's okay, really. It's part of the job," I tell him, trying to ease his embarrassment. The smell is making my eyes water, but I push on, focused on cleaning up the mess.

The customer hesitates, his gaze flitting between me and the mess on the floor. "I could help clean it up..."

I shake my head vehemently, already guiding him back towards his seat. "No, no. You just sit down and rest. Drink that," I say, pointing to the glass of lemon-lime soda that I'd brought him. "It'll help settle your stomach."

With a shy nod, he accepts the glass, his hands trembling slightly as he takes a careful sip. I watch him for a moment, ensuring he's okay before I return to my task. It's been a couple of months since I fled, and life here has been nice. 

There are no ridiculous expectations and no elite image to maintain. To them, I'm Destiny Jones, a woman who ran away from an abusive relationship. Not Isabella Storm, a woman running away from a ruthless family because they believe she's a murderer.

Things here are nice and quiet. Well, except for today. Apparently, the meat has gone bad because everyone who's eaten a burger has an upset stomach and is throwing up left and right.

 Irene, bless her old soul, has no idea how to cook anything, and I went to the kitchen, took one look at the burger meat, and knew instantly that it was bad.

I never understood why George hired her in the first place until I realized she's his mother and she's struggling with dementia. Having her here is the best way to keep an eye on her, but she keeps getting into shit and creating a problem.

Maggie's voice echoes from the other side of the diner. "Destiny! George needs you in the kitchen!"

I glance over at her, eyebrows raised in question. "What's up?"

"Irene's cut her hand again," she sighs, a worried frown tugging at her lips. "George has to take her to the hospital. He wants you to help out in the kitchen."

With a nod, I hand the mop to Maggie with a playful grin on my face. "Enjoy," I say, leaving her with the mess. I make my way to the kitchen and wash my hands thoroughly before starting.

Moments later, George joins me in the kitchen, and his face is drawn with worry. "Sorry about this, Destiny," he says, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown. "I know this isn't in your job description."

I wave off his apology while keeping my gaze on the stove. "It's okay, George. We're all family here, right?" I give him a reassuring smile. "Besides, it'll be nice to have a break from mop duty."

George chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "That's the spirit, Destiny," he says before his expression turns serious. "I just...I worry about her."

"I know," I reply, turning to face him. "But you're doing the best you can for her. And we're here to help, too."

He nods, a grateful smile on his face. "Thank you, Destiny. That means a lot."

With a final nod, he leaves me to the task, and I turn my attention to the cooking, finding solace in the familiar rhythm of the kitchen. The spoiled meat gets dumped in the trash, and I spend the next few minutes thoroughly cleaning the kitchen area. 

Once satisfied, I start cooking fresh batches of burgers and fries. It's strangely soothing, the rhythm of the kitchen, sizzling burgers on the grill, the bubbling oil in the fryer, and the clatter of pots and pans. I lose myself in the work, forgetting about the chaos of my past life.

The door chimes as more patrons come into the diner throughout the day. The sound of laughter and chatter fills the air, reminding me of the sense of community in this small town. 

Maggie and another waiter, a young man named Tommy, join me in the kitchen occasionally, grabbing dishes to serve or help chop some vegetables. We share laughter and jokes, the atmosphere easing the stress of taking over the kitchen.

Tommy walks into the kitchen, holding up a tray of freshly washed dishes with a flourish. "Your chariot of clean plates awaits, dear Destiny," he declares with a cheeky grin on his face.

I chuckle while taking the tray from him. "Oh, my knight in shining armor, whatever would I do without you?" I play along, shooting him a teasing smile.

From the corner of the kitchen, Maggie shakes her head in mock disapproval. "You two are like a pair of teenagers," she scolds, but she can't stop her smile.

Tommy feigns a look of hurt. "Maggie, you wound me. I am nothing but the embodiment of maturity and professionalism."

I snort, nearly dropping a plate in my laughter. "Tommy, the day you become the embodiment of maturity is the day George trades his diner for a spaceship."

Maggie bursts into laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Now that's an image," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "Imagine George floating around in zero gravity, flipping burgers."

We all share a hearty laugh, the tension of the day melting away in the kitchen's warm atmosphere. As I trade banter with Maggie and Tommy, I can't help but feel grateful for the unexpected family I've found in this small town. I've kept in touch with Seraphina, but it's not the same. I truly do miss her.

As the evening falls, the last customer leaves, and it's time to wrap up. I clean up the kitchen with a sense of satisfaction washing over me. 

I've successfully run the kitchen for a day, an achievement I never thought I'd experience. As I hang up my apron, my heart is full of gratitude for this strange, chaotic, but beautiful new life.

I flip the sign to 'Closed,' turn off the lights, and lock the front door of the diner. With the jingle of keys in my hand, I breathe in the crisp night air. I live a simple walk away in a small apartment within a stone's throw of the diner. 

This life is humble and modest in comparison to the lavish lifestyle I once had, but it's peaceful, it's safe, and it is mine.

It usually takes me about ten minutes to get home. The rhythmic sound of my shoes against the pavement is comforting, a predictable pattern in this new life. 

But tonight, an uncomfortable sensation prickles at the back of my neck, a feeling of dread washing over me. The hairs on my body stand on end as an unsettling realization hits me. I feel like I'm being watched.