Valentina's
an excerpt

Eucharistia Epiphany Jones, known to most of her friends simply as Tia, did not look at all like a product of her upbringing, although no one who talked with her doubted that her history was exactly as she represented it. Her parents were devout Catholics who had met in an advanced Greek class at a reputable university, and prior to that meeting, the only kind of father one of them had ever intended to be was Father Whatawaste. That particular plan on James Jones’ part had come to a screeching halt when it was faced head-on with Juliana Santinelli’s infectious smile and absurdly sharp wit, and the end result was that shortly after graduation, he had found himself kneeling at the altar rather than serving at it.

Her parents’ first instance of studying together had involved reading the fourth chapter of Philippians in the original Greek, which had led them first to the word eucharistia and then to what they considered a logical conclusion that it would be a good name for a girl. Tia’s subsequent birth on January 6 had demanded the addition of Epiphany to her name, which amused her parents and sometimes Tia herself, but confused almost everyone else.

Tia’s parents held multiple degrees in half a dozen disciplines between them, and she considered that they had quite enough higher education in the family to cover her, as well. While she had done fairly well in school, she had absolutely no desire to continue past the level of a diploma, so after graduation, Tia had gone to work as a waitress and never really looked back. Three years of corporate waitressing experience had taught her everything she ever cared to know about the industry, and more than she had ever wanted to know about human nature in general (particularly the difference between excellent and piss-poor management), and at the tender age of twenty-one, she had traded in waitressing at a chain restaurant for tending bar at a hole-in-the-wall family-owned Italian restaurant in south Denver. Her parents were as understanding as possible, and everyone else smiled knowingly and commented that she seemed made for that line of work.

Six years had passed since then, and Tia was as much a fixture in Valentina’s Ristorante as the bar itself was. She stood about five and a half feet tall behind the counter, with an added inch or two from her steel-toed boots. She wore her brown hair in pigtails, each divided into six braids for no particular reason (although she had once or twice said that twelve was her lucky number), and she could most often be found in a black baby-T emblazoned with the word Valentina’s and baggy black cargo pants, tossing and flipping bottles as she mixed drinks and chatted with the regulars gathered at the bar top.

One late afternoon in mid-November found her mixing a cosmopolitan and a vodka martini with one eye on the bleak weather outside and the other on one of two regulars sitting in front of her while she talked over the tinny din of P.O.D. that came quietly from a stereo tucked just under the counter.

“Weather’s not looking too good tonight,” she said, tossing a bottle of dry vermouth to her left hand without so much as a glance. “Black ice, you think?”

“Without a doubt.” The reply was as clipped and precise as the owner’s Cambridge accent could render it. Dr. William Alleyn stared darkly into the depths of his gin and tonic, knitting his black eyebrows as he spoke. “One can hope for a foot or so of snow on top of it by tomorrow morning.”

Tia smirked and shook a mixing glass with her right hand while pouring out another with her left. “A day off from the skulls full of mush?”

Will snorted. “I can dream, can’t I?” He took a larger than healthy swig from his glass and shook his head. “Bloody sixteen year-olds. Two of them started an alcohol fire in class today, then had the gall to wonder why I raised my voice.”

“Missed the lecture on how Bunsen burners aren’t toys, did they?” Tia suggested.

“I wonder sometimes why I bother,” Will muttered. “I could paper the walls with my degrees and work in a reputable lab where I’d be appreciated and paid more, but no; I stoop to teaching high school chemistry.” He all but spat the last three words, gulped the rest of his drink, and turned over the rocks glass in front of him.

Tia shook her head, but the gesture was more amused than sympathetic; this was hardly a new rant. “Just wait ‘til the silver nitrate lab,” she said. “That one’s always good for a laugh.”

The mere mention was enough to bring an evil smile to the embittered teacher’s face; not a single year passed that didn’t see half a dozen girls looking desperately for some creative way to cover black spots on their arms and faces to keep from going to prom looking like an ink blotter. “That calls for another drink,” Will replied, sounding far more cheerful.

“Tangueray and tonic?”

His smile widened. “Make it a black Russian.”

Tia’s answering snicker drew the brief attention of the other regular at the bar, but Elena Mendoza didn’t stay distracted for long; her eyes flicked almost immediately back to the window in the door in front of her, which offered a limited view of the kitchen. A well-worn notebook lay unopened on the counter in front of her with an untouched pen beside it, but it was clear to anyone who watched for long that Elena wasn’t staring off into space looking for inspiration. The view beyond the window would periodically change, and Elena would just as periodically smile, blush, and look away, only to look back again when the coast was clear.

On the other side of the door, Chuy Romero couldn’t help but be aware of the attention directed at him, but he resisted the urge to look up every single time he thought there might be a chance of reciprocating it—if only because he knew it would open him up to the good-natured jibes of the kitchen’s other occupant. He kept his focus on tossing a pan full of penne and arrabbiata sauce, with half an eye on the oven timer, while Derric Moran ran like a madman between the fryer and the window, monitoring the progress of a serving of eggplant while finishing a five-top’s order of lasagna and ravioli. In spite of their split attention and quick movements, the two had time enough to chat idly in Spanish over the kitchen radio, which was playing La Jota, one of the local Spanish stations. They were inseparable friends, and except for the fact that Chuy was built like a refrigerator and Derric looked more like a whip, they could have been brothers. Both had black hair and dark brown eyes, light tan complexions, and accents that hinted at Latin-American heritage.

“Hey,” Derric called in English, catching the eye of a blonde waitress who was traying up the five-top’s food as fast as he put it in the window. “I haven’t seen an order for cheese bread and fet-alf yet. Your boyfriend running late?”

Beth Richards leveled an unsettling golden-eyed glare at him. “He’s not my boyfriend, asshole,” she replied acidly. “You got that vegetarian lasagna, or do I gotta tell my table you’re falling down on the job?”

Derric snorted and plunked the last plate down in the window. “Yeah, well, you tell your lover boy he needs to keep a better schedule. I almost put it on at the regular time—it woulda been dead in the window by now.”

Beth rolled her eyes, swung the tray up to her right shoulder, and turned to leave the kitchen.

“No worries—I’ll get it ready for him,” Derric called after her, grinning at Chuy. “He’ll be so impressed he’ll actually pop the question tonight!”

Beth didn’t bother replying out loud but offered a one-finger salute over her left shoulder as she left the kitchen. She was all smiles and propriety by the time she stepped into the dining room a few seconds later, though, and her five-top had no clue whatsoever that she had been anything else the entire time she’d been out of their sight. She dropped off their food, removed a handful of salad and bread plates, and sailed back into the kitchen long enough to drop off the dirty dishes, pretend Derric didn’t exist, and sail back out into the drink station.

“They’re in fine form tonight, huh?”

Beth rolled her eyes and nodded again. “I tell you what, Anthem, I’d pound Derric if I wasn’t wondering myself.”

Anthem Murray offered a sympathetic smile that reached even her usually impassive hazel-green eyes. “No worries, hon,” she said. “Robbie’s a smart boy. The weather’s bad—he’s just taking it easy, making sure he gets here safe.” She paused then gave the other girl an impish grin. “He’d never ditch out on a study session at Valentina’s—he’s crazy about the food, y’know.”

“Exactly.” Beth was a little too firm in her agreement. “The food, the atmosphere… He’s practically family; he’d call if something came up.”

“Practically family,” Anthem agreed, keeping a straight face. “Gotta check on my table.” She escaped, heavy auburn braids swinging behind her with what might have been the motion of her walking but was really suppressed laughter. Derric was a merciless tease… but Beth seemed to be the only one who didn’t think he might have a point.

Her timing was accidentally perfect; she entered the dining room just in time to see the hostess leaving a recently-seated table in her section. Anthem replaced her mischievous grin with a more work-appropriate smile and pulled her order pad out of her pocket.

“Hi!” she said brightly, coming up to the table. “How are you all this evening?”

Two young parents and a toddler smiled back at her, commented on the chilly weather, and listened while she described the nightly special. Anthem scribbled down an order for two cappuccinos and a hot chocolate, then glided away to the bar, ticket in hand.

“Bloody shame it’s still five months before that lab,” Will was sighing as she came up to the counter. “I’ll have to find something else to keep me cheerful in the meantime.”

“Silver nitrate?” Anthem hazarded, handing her ticket to Tia with a smirk.

“How’d you know?” Tia asked, already reaching for chocolate syrup and milk.

Anthem shrugged. “You could always teach ‘em how to clean out the drains with sodium.”

“Which would be as much fun for them as for me,” Will countered, “and consequently not nearly so entertaining.” He smiled darkly. “I have considered doing a demonstration with white phosphorus. I’m sure the administration would consider it far too risky, but it’s a heartwarming thought on a cold evening.”

Anthem traded blank looks with Tia. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll bite. What’s white phosphorus do?”

Will’s smile widened to a grin. “Properly treated… it explodes.” He turned over another emptied glass. “I’ll take another black Russian when you have a moment, Tia.”

The bartender shook her head and glanced at her watch as she poured steamed milk into a cup partially filled with espresso. “I’m cutting you off if you don’t slow it down, Wills,” she warned. “No way you’re getting plowed and going out in this weather.”

Will sighed in mock-defeat. “I promise to sip it as slowly as if it were proper tea.”

Tia rolled her eyes but picked up the Kahlúa bottle while she heated the hot chocolate. Bare seconds later, the bottles were in motion again, but Will Alleyn was doomed to disappointment.

Two women, one of whom Anthem recognized as a semi-regular named Melanie, stepped up to the bar, frigid winter air clinging to their wool coats and refusing to disperse in the warm atmosphere of the restaurant. The familiar one looked as if she had been crying for hours, and while her friend was dry-eyed, she was sober and morose.

“Can we eat at the bar?” the latter asked quietly.

Tia furrowed her brow in concern and gestured to the bar stools with a bottle of Stoli. “Yeah, absolutely.” She paused her movements in mid-spin, sensing that this was no time for lightheartedness. “Anthem, can you grab a couple of menus from Meghann?”

Anthem missed whatever was said next, but she returned with the menus just in time to hear the familiar-looking woman burst into fresh tears and see the friend shaking her head.

“This damn black ice,” the friend said viciously. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault—just a freak accident.”

Tia had frozen to stone. “Is Robbie all right?” she asked, her voice suddenly stiff and severe.

The friend shook her head again. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “They don’t even know if he’ll make it past this week.”

Time stopped for a long, excruciating eternity as Will, Anthem, and Elena stared first at the two distraught women, than at one another… and then shattered as the vodka bottle slipped out of Tia’s hand and hit the floor with an ear-splitting crash.