That Friday, a couple was seated in my section shortly after seven. They looked like they belonged at this restaurant: wealthy enough to treat the prices as decorative suggestions.
They were celebrating their anniversary, they told me.
They were polite—kinder than many of our regulars—but distracted. The man kept checking his phone beneath the table. Every time he did, the woman stopped talking and watched his face.
“Could we have the check?”
Still, they ordered like people determined to celebrate: oysters, filet mignon, lobster, three cocktails, and a bottle of Bordeaux from the locked cabinet.
By the time they declined dessert, their bill had reached $407.63.
“Could we have the check?” the man asked, glancing at his phone again.
I set the leather folder beside him and went to deliver drinks to another table. I couldn’t have been gone more than three minutes.
When I returned, the booth was empty.
“They left.”
So was the payment tray.
I checked the restrooms, then hurried toward the entrance. No sign of them.
Jett barely looked up when I rushed into his office.
“They left,” I said. “Table twelve. They didn’t pay.”
He exhaled through his nose. “Maybe they’re in a restroom or grabbing a smoke?”
“Check the cameras. You’ll see them leave.”
“I don’t have time to dig through footage during dinner service.” He finally looked at me. “You know the policy. Walkouts come out of the server’s pocket.”
“That’s four hundred dollars.”
“Then take it as a lesson.”
A lesson.
As though I had invited them to steal from me.
“Then take it as a lesson.”
I paid the bill at the end of my shift with shaking hands. By the time I stepped outside, anger had hardened into something heavier.
Four hundred dollars was gone, my mother was still missing, and I had no idea how I would explain either one to my family.
Jett called me at eight the next morning.
“Can you come in?” he asked.
I hadn’t slept more than three hours, and my eyes still burned from crying. “My shift doesn’t start until five.”
“I know.” His voice sounded strained. “Just come as soon as you can.”
“Can you come in?”
Twenty minutes later, I walked into Bellamy’s wearing yesterday’s jeans and expecting another lecture. Instead, I found Jett waiting beside table twelve.
He looked nothing like the dismissive man who had taken my money the night before. His face was pale, and he kept rubbing the back of his neck.
