The smile just fought its way back onto her face. Even when she tamped it down, her eyes lit up. “Guess what?” Sugar squeaked. “I got a job.”
Bertie answered her with a hearty burp, excused himself, and said, “On the way to the ladies’ room? How much of a genius are you? Way to go.”
The fist he extended across the table came in slow motion and stopped, hovering expectantly in the middle. Sugar touched one knuckle to his and drank in his warm smile. He wasn’t even trying, she could see. He thought nothing of words of encouragement and a fist that didn’t come full speed with intent to harm. For Sugar, they were strange and delicious.
A man in an apron brought a pen and paper. “Just hand it in on the way out. We’ll see you on Monday at 10:00 AM for training.”
The logo that marked everything in the restaurant appeared on the upper right corner of the paper beside the bolded words, “Application for Hire.” Sugar’s heart pounded when she saw the lines below. They wanted her address, phone number, and references. She sagged and set her chin against her hand.
“What is it?” Bertie asked.
“I can’t fill this out. I don’t have a home anymore.”
“What’s the job?”
“Just…cook’s helper.”
“Okay. We’ll put the address and phone of the first church we see in the phone book and then we’ll go there. We’ll keep going back for messages until we have a place to stay. Then you’ll change your address.”
Sugar’s doubt slid away when she saw the nod of his head. He was right. He knew what to do. She lifted the pen. Then again, here was another man telling her what to do and her following his instructions. She wrote an address in the blanks.
“What’s that?” Bertie asked.
“A friend’s address. An old lady who was kind to me.”
“That works.”
She skipped the phone number. They’d find that in the phonebook later. For “last name,” she wrote, “Daniels.” That was the truth and the old lady wouldn’t know her any other way. She’d be careful what she told her so Oscar wouldn’t come after her. For “first name,” she wrote, “India.”
“India,” Oscar repeated. “That for real?”
Sugar pulled out her driver’s license and held it up.
“Beats the heck out of ‘Sugar,’” Bertie declared. “Not to mention Jimmy.”
Sugar wrestled with the references. Maybe that Bobbi who lived next door with the old lady? Maybe the professor? He seemed like a decent guy. Maybe Angel, the school teacher across the way. He treated his wife so nicely, at least in public. Maybe it was only in public though.
“Jimmy’s my actual name,” Bertie said. “You’ve never asked me that, you know. I lost my driver’s license so I’ll have to deal with that later. I’m a wanted man anyway.”
“Jimmy,” Sugar muttered. “Sounds like a little boy’s name.”
“So it does. What do you think of ‘Albert?’”
