The Scapegoat's Return: Watch Me Shine Now

The interior of the Ford pickup smelled exactly as Crysta remembered. Cinnamon and baked flour.

Margo drove them away from the grocery store. She did not take Crysta back to the motel. She pulled into the parking lot of a discount department store.

"Come on," Margo said, turning off the engine.

"Where are we going?" Crysta asked, her hands gripping the straps of her cheap backpack. It held everything she owned.

"You cannot serve food in those clothes," Margo said. "You look like you are going to a funeral."

Inside the store, Margo grabbed two black polo shirts and two pairs of sturdy, dark denim jeans. She threw in a pack of white socks and a pair of non-slip black shoes.

Crysta stood at the register, her heart racing. "I cannot pay for this. I only have four dollars."

Margo pulled a credit card from her wallet. "I am taking it out of your first paycheck. You work for me now. My staff looks clean."

The words hit Crysta hard. My staff. She belonged somewhere. The tight knot in her stomach loosened slightly.

Ten minutes later, Margo parked the truck behind a brick building on Main Street. A faded wooden sign above the back door read: MARGO'S PLACE.

Margo pushed the door open. The blast of heat from the kitchen hit Crysta's face. It smelled of frying bacon and strong coffee.

A young man stood at the prep station, aggressively chopping onions. It was Leo.

Leo looked up. The knife stopped mid-air. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked under his skin. He immediately crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"Mom. What is she doing here?" Leo's voice was low and dangerous.

Margo walked past him, setting the grocery bags on a stainless steel counter. "She is our new waitress. Start showing her where the plates are."

Leo grabbed his mother's arm and pulled her into the dry storage pantry. The door swung shut, but it was thin.

Crysta stood frozen by the deep fryer. Her thumb found her left wrist, rubbing the skin furiously.

"Are you out of your mind?" Leo hissed through the door. "She is a felon! You picked her up outside that place!"

"She is a girl who needs a job, Leo," Margo shot back.

"She could be a thief! She could be violent! We cannot have an ex-con around the cash register!"

Crysta closed her eyes. The words felt like physical slaps. He was right. From the outside, she was a massive risk.

The pantry door flew open. Margo walked out, her face flushed. Leo followed, his arms still crossed, his eyes glaring daggers at Crysta.

"Ignore him," Margo said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Follow me."

Margo led Crysta out of the kitchen and up a narrow, creaking wooden staircase. They reached a small landing with a single door. Margo unlocked it.

It was an attic room. The ceiling slanted downward. There was a twin bed with a faded quilt, a small dresser, and a window overlooking the alley. It was tiny, but it was spotless.

"This was Ricky's room," Margo said quietly. She ran her hand over the back of the wooden chair. "You can stay here. No rent. Just do your job."

Crysta's knees went weak. She grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling. A job. Clothes. A safe room with a lock.

"I..." Crysta's voice broke. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I will not let you down."

"I know," Margo said. "Change your clothes. You start in twenty minutes."

When Crysta walked downstairs in her new black polo and jeans, the lunch rush had begun. The diner was loud. Plates clattered. People talked over each other.

Leo shoved a laminated menu into her chest. "Memorize it. Do not mess up the orders."

Crysta took the menu. "I won't."

For the next four hours, Crysta did not stop moving. Her feet throbbed in the stiff new shoes. Sweat dripped down her neck. She carried heavy trays, wiped down sticky tables, and poured endless cups of coffee.

Every time she walked past the kitchen window, she felt Leo's eyes on her. He watched her hands. He watched her pockets.

She ignored him. She focused on the physical labor. The exhaustion was a blessing. It silenced the memories in her head.

At 3:00 PM, the diner emptied out. Margo flipped the sign on the front door to CLOSED.

Crysta leaned against the counter, her legs trembling from fatigue.

Margo walked out of the kitchen holding a heavy ceramic plate. She set it down in front of Crysta. It was a massive pile of spaghetti covered in rich meat sauce, with two slices of garlic bread.

"Staff meal," Margo said. "Eat."

Crysta stared at the food. Steam rose from the pasta. Her mouth watered so violently it hurt her jaw.

She picked up the fork. Her hand shook. She took the first bite. The hot, rich flavor exploded on her tongue. It was the best thing she had ever tasted.

Leo stood at the end of the counter, wiping down the espresso machine. He watched her eat. He didn't say a word, but his arms were no longer crossed.