The Labyrinth of Love

Lettie, it's getting quite late, you should go on home, I’ll finish up here” the rotund middle-aged man wearing a Levi's T-shirt and cargo shorts called out from the door post.

Scarlett flashed him a tired smile from behind the desktop she’d just switched off and replied.

“No worries Bert, I’ll be done any time now. We can close up together. Plus, you’re my ride.” He returned her smile with a curt nod and disappeared into his office. She closed the door to her office and began to change from her uniform— a sunny yellow t-shirt with ‘Angie’s’ engraved at the front, and a pair of black jeans.

The day had been unusually busy with the restaurant experiencing an unusual customer surge, which Angie’s hadn’t enjoyed in a while. Bert, the restaurant owner, suffered through the day from trying hard not to explode from delirium and trying to manage the bustle to ensure productivity and professionalism. It was almost impossible to maintain that balance as Angie’s was grossly understaffed with just three waitresses: a chef, two cooks, a dishwasher, and a cleaner. So Scarlett, despite her position as assistant manager had to shuffle between bussing tables, being a sous chef, and bidding customers a wonderful day.

Bert nearly suffocated her with his apologies and appreciation and offered to take stock that night as compensation. She’d, regardless, ended up doing it anyway. The soft spot she had for him made her do it, and she realized that she could do anything for Bert. He’d been there for her in ways only family could and she was eternally grateful to him for it.

“Bert, I’m done here” she called out as soon as she had changed clothes and locked up her office.

“Can you wait for a second? I’m coming out now” Bert requested in a calm voice.

“Sure thing. Forgot you’re my ride home?” He chuckled.

Immediately he came out, Lettie was certain something was amiss. Bert had not been himself for weeks now. The day's events had perked up his spirits but seemed to have lasted only so long.

“Are you alright Bert?” the concern in her voice was unmistakable.

“As a matter of fact, no. There’s something I must tell you, Lettie. I’ve had a whole internal debate on how to break the news but I’d rather you heard it directly from me.” Unsure of how to respond to that information, she pulled out a bar stool and sat, eyes trained on him. Bert shifted nervously on his feet.

“I got a great offer for the restaurant and will accept.” His eyes didn’t quite look up. It would have seen the bewilderment on Lettie’s face if it had. It wasn’t just bewilderment, it was also the confounding worry that came with processing the information and accepting the implication—she would be out of a job.

“I’m sorry kid. But I’m shutting down. I can’t keep up. If only Angie were still...” He trailed off, his voice low and his tone solemn.

“I understand, Bert.” She patted his shoulders, fighting not to let her emotions creep to the surface. He nodded again

“I know your mind's made up, and I know how crazy this might sound, but, what if the ads worked? Huh? What if that’s the reason for today’s turn-out? Please give it another month.” She begged with hope in her eyes.

“Lettie...” He sighed, then continued “...I wish I could, but I can’t afford to. The property taxes on the restaurant have piled up since... I can’t afford to keep the restaurant running. I’m sorry.”

She nodded with what she wanted to be a genuine and understanding smile, but her countenance betrayed her. It came out constipated and tight-lipped.

They locked up in tense silence and walked towards his vehicle.

If Lettie was being honest, it wasn’t a big revelation. It was the wisest decision anyone in Bert’s situation could make. The restaurant was suffering and this year had been the worst of it. Lettie knew that much, as she was in charge of the finances, at least the accounting part of it. The monthly turnover in the first half of the year was only enough to restock on ingredients and pay the wages of 60% of the workers and by the third quarter, it had grossly reduced to 40%. Lettie suspected that he’d been paying wages out of his income and that he didn’t have much of a choice if she was being fair.

Knowing that did nothing to dispel the feeling of hurt and betrayal she felt. Bert knew how difficult she was at handling change. He knew how terrible the past two years had been for her, what with working multiple jobs and paying off what was left of her parent’s mortgage, only to have that same property requisitioned by the State of New York a year later.

The letter of Intent had been sent long before she moved back into her parent's property, and, given the time the letter was dated, a month after her mom passed. She hadn’t been aware of it, and frankly, she hadn’t the emotional capacity to be in the house much less sort through her mom’s stuff at the time.

It wasn’t until she moved back in months later, that her affected neighbours informed her of the State of New York's exercise of its right to eminent domain over select properties in the estate and public notices that had been published and hearings to be held.

She had confided in Bert and he offered his help. Following that, he informed his lawyer about her situation and she consulted with her. The woman had advised her that nothing could be done about it as it was a compulsory acquisition and the government was enabled under the 5th Amendment to exercise its power of eminent domain over any property, personal or real. The only option she was left with was to accept the compensation she had been offered. Unless of course, she had enough funds to invest in a suit against the state of which the best case scenario would be an increase in compensation offered. It was however not worth the financial commitment such litigation required.

“The compensation is fair”, the lawyer had said.

There was nothing fair about exchanging decades of memories for government money— it was in that house that she’d grown up. She’d celebrated birthdays, went to prom, lost her father, grieved with her mom, graduated college, lost her mom, and grieved for her. Yet life had taken that away from her too. She was sick of it. Sick of being a target. Sick of pain. Sick of going through the motions of healing over and over again.

“We’re here. Take care of yourself, kid.” He remarked as she got out of the car, his eyes apologetic. She paused to say, “I guess I’ll come for my things tomorrow then.

“Yeah, sure. I’m notifying everyone tomorrow but we’ll be open the rest of the week. I’m sorry again” She nodded swiftly, wrapped softly on the hood of the car, and left.

Once she was on the porch of her soon-to-be-demolished property, she placed her bags on the wall so she could open the door. Opening the door proved to be extremely onerous so she kept turning, reversing, and turning until the key got stuck.

She turned again, but nothing. Again, still nothing. She chuckled. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said coarsely under her breath, and angrily pounded the door with her fists, in utter frustration. She felt a little rush of relief.

“Fuck my life!” she huffed under her breath simultaneously pounding the door that just wouldn’t budge. Her frustration was surging slowly. Raw anger coming to the surface. She needed to break something. If only the door would cooperate, she would get her bat and bring down a wall or two. After all, in less than 72 hours, the requisitioned houses would be pulled to the ground.

Anger coursed through her like wildfire at the thought. It made her violently thrust her right foot into a vase on the porch, which pushed it into the wooden railing, and in quick succession broke the vase and a corner of the railing.

Pain, debilitating pain coursed through her from the impact.

“ow...ow...ow...” She squirmed as she hopped in a circle grabbing on tightly to her toe. The little earth dance didn’t last for long, her good leg gave way and she landed on her butt.

She yelped. Chuckled. Snickered and laughed like a person who had their crazy on. She laughed so hard that her stomach began to hurt. She laughed so hard tears began to roll. And as they began, the torrents wouldn’t stop, the laughs turned into sobs and snorts and whimpers.

She cried, not for the bodily pains. She cried for the unfairness of life. She cried for her mother, cried for her house, cried for her job, and cried for being left all alone in this cold world. When her mother left, she’d lost her only family, companionship, and true love. Now she was alone. Truly alone.

It took forever for the tears to stop. But, eventually, it did. The door flung open as if for pity's sake when she tried again. She didn’t bother with showering, neither did she bother with pumping the air mattress. She just lay on the cold floor, eyes red and puffy, determined to, for the last time, revel in the nostalgia that was the home of her heart and relieved to escape her reality, even if for a few hours.

Tomorrow was an end to a phase of her life, she surmised, sleepily. She hoped the next wouldn’t be nearly as brutal as this one was.