Lonely Lullaby

Chapter One

I idled in front of the sink, my foot tapping a steady rhythm while I dried my hands off on a worn kitchen rag. With the phone ringing, the frying pan sizzling, and the customers chatting, the noisy café around me only added to the tempo storming in my head.

I hummed softly along to the music playing at the back of my mind as I made my way around the booths to clean up after my most recent customers. Recently, my heart had felt restless, my mind filling full of its own music, and it made me antsy. I wasn't sure what it meant but hoped it was a good omen.

The chef, Arnie, eyed me from over the counter. His fuzzy, gray eyebrows went up in question at my daydreaming. I smiled reassuringly at him as I hauled the dirty dishes and utensils back to the sink to wash them.

Tonight, I was covering for one of my coworkers, which meant I hadn't slept in the last twenty-four hours. The dinner rush was just about over, and I was grateful I'd soon be able to take a short nap before heading out to my next job. My feet were swollen from standing so long, and I ached to take off my shoes so I could massage them.

It had been a fairly slow day at Clover Café, and I hoped for better luck with tips at my next job at the bar. With too many bills piled up, I wondered how I'd manage to pay for them all.

The owner of Clover Café had followed his sister and her family from Ireland, and he told us the café was a source of luck for them. Hence why he'd named it after the four-leafed plant. I believed him, though. When I'd seen the "Now Hiring" sign tucked in the corner of the café's window, it had been the best luck of my life...

My gaze roamed dejectedly down my newest bill.

There was no way I would be able to pay that much money.

"Sissy?"

I glanced up at Whitney's sleepy face. Her brown hair fell in disheveled chaos around her eyes, and a few strands stuck up at the crown of her head. She blinked a few more times to try to wake up.

"What are you doing awake, Whitters?" I forced a smile on my face. With the bill now set aside, I pulled my little sister onto my lap.

She situated herself so she could rest her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. "Just bad dreams."

My arms squeezed her frail body closer to my chest. "Do you want to tell me about them?"

She shook her head, and a couple of her stray hairs tickled my neck. She tended to have more nightmares than any eight-year-old should have. The things she'd witnessed growing up had left their mark on her gentle heart.

I lifted her up and carried her back to the bed the two of us shared in the motel we currently occupied. Carefully, so I didn't jostle her too much, I settled her back on the bed. Her purple nightgown didn't quite cover the fresh scars left by her recent heart surgery. They creeped up from the neckline of the fabric. Tiny green frogs hopped across the fabric, catching flies.

"Do you want me to sing for you?" I tucked the faded covers around her shoulders. I'd like to say it was because I didn't want her to get cold, but it was more so I could hide her scars. If I couldn't see them, I could pretend they weren't there.

She nodded and hugged her old stuffed animal, Froggy, to her chest. "Will you sing yours?"

I sat on the edge of the sagging mattress. "If that's what you want."

She nodded again, closing her young, brown eyes.

I cleared my throat and fiddled with the drawstring of my battered pajama pants. "I hid my heart so long ago..."