Magnolia Court

Prologue

There’s not much in this world a teenage girl won’t do for love. Decades later, amid healthy, mature, meaningful relationships, we tend to realize that what we experienced at that younger age probably wasn’t love at all. But try telling that to a naïve and optimistic teenager, still riding high from graduation and blinded by the attention of a boy whose name has been scribbled in every corner of her three-ring binder since junior year. There is no talking sense into the senseless.

I just don’t see any reason to involve her, Brian says, lowering his voice but not quite muted enough to evade Ruby’s eager ears. She’s always liked Brian. From the day she transferred to Hope Elementary School in the second grade, when he pointed to an empty chair for her in the lunchroom after none of the other kids dared to associate with the strange new girl. He wasn’t afraid to speak up against any form of injustice, small or large, and that character trait remained strong throughout their high school days. Although he hung with a rough crowd, Brian Davies was known as a peacekeeper and never allowed the little guy to get picked on, at school or otherwise. His teachers often gave him a sympathetic smile and pat on the back while returning his quizzes, graded with a D, which surely would have been an F if he wasn’t so damn likable.

The boys share a few more words, this time hushed enough that Ruby can’t quite make them out from behind the closed door of the bathroom in Riley’s basement. Brian and Riley are leaning forward on the faded suede couch a few feet from the door, intensely debating the logistics of their next brilliant idea. Their schemes always cause discomfort for Ruby, who is well-intentioned to a fault. They have repeatedly assured her that they are victimless crimes. Nobody gets hurt, and they only target those who are so wealthy, they won’t even notice if a few things are missing. Riley is the ringleader, and Brian his loyal follower. She often wonders if Brian really wants to exist in this life of petty crime, or if he simply comes along to ensure the safety of his best friend.

They’d never actually involved Ruby in the process until tonight. Riley, the boy she plans to spend the rest of her life with, casually asked if she’d drive them on one of their errands around midnight. They had been eating one-dollar slices in the back booth at Nino’s and talking about summer plans when he dropped the request, apparently to the surprise of Brian, who calmly set his slice down on the grease-soaked paper plate and stared a hole directly through his best friend.

Now Ruby is in the undersized, musty bathroom of Riley’s parents’ basement, straining to hear through the thin wooden door and bracing herself for the hours to come. She loves Riley. She trusts him. He’d never ask her to participate unless he was absolutely certain of her safety. Of that, she’s sure.

She flushes the toilet to make it seem like she needed to use the bathroom and, after running the sink water for a few seconds, emerges with a tight smile. Ruby returns to her seat in the oversized recliner adjacent to the couch and claps her hands together. So, what’s the plan, boys?

Brian sits back quietly as Riley leans farther forward and places his rugged hands on Ruby’s knobby knees. It will be the easiest thing you’ve ever done, babe. You’re going to drop us off a block away from the house and sit there, with your lights off, until we text you that we’re ready. When you get my text, you just pull up out front, we hop in, and the job is done. It’s that easy.

And what if we get caught?

Riley’s lips curl into a smile, without losing eye contact. Ruby Tuesday, I’m telling you, it’s not possible. The family that lives in this house just left for some expensive-ass summer vacation in Europe, and the rich idiots don’t even have an alarm. They pay their housekeeper to stop by every day at noon to bring in the mail and check the place out. By the time she gets there tomorrow, we will be long gone.

Nobody has ever called her Ruby Tuesday other than her father. She wishes it wasn’t so effective at softening her edges.

And how do you know all of this? she asks.

Riley leans back and looks at Brian. Let’s just say we have some inside information.

Brian shakes his head. Riley, I’m telling you, we don’t need a driver. Let’s just grab what we can fit in our sweatshirts and walk back to the car like we always do.

Riley’s tone becomes clipped and dark.

"And I told you that the items I know are in this house could change everything for us. We can’t risk walking down the street; we need to get out of there."

Brian redirects his attention to Ruby. Rubes, if you don’t feel comfortable with this, you don’t have to do it. I mean that. There will be no hard feelings.

For the second time that night, Ruby wonders what it would be like if she had chosen Brian instead of Riley. Sure, Riley has beautiful olive skin, washboard abs, and a smile that makes her knees nearly give out, but Brian is kind. Brian is sensible. She trusts Brian. She feels safe with him. She feels guilty for even considering the idea.

I’m in. She nods.

Riley leaps from the couch and scoops Ruby up into his arms, swinging her around so quickly that Brian pushes himself deeper into the couch to avoid a collision.

Okay, let’s go over the plan a few more times.

Chapter 1

Ten Years Later

Watching thirty hours of Anthony Bourdain couldn’t have prepared Ruby for the absolute chaos of working in the restaurant industry. In fact, nothing can adequately prepare someone to work twelve-hour shifts on blistered feet while being inexplicably berated by entitled guests, before collapsing into a stiff leather chair in the manager’s office at the end of the night, praying to average twenty percent in tips. Successfully navigating the hospitality world is not for the weak of heart; luckily, Ruby Windsor could never be described as weak.

Ruby, can you run my food for table thirty-three? shouts a desperate server, cake in hand on his way to sing Happy Birthday to his fifth table of the night. Ruby makes a mental note to suggest that they start asking for ID; surely this many people in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, were not born on the eighth of April. Somehow, the allure of free dessert brings out the worst in people.

As Ruby arrives at the expo station to garnish the plates for table thirty-three and crouches to brace herself before hoisting the oversized black tray with her left hand, another server asks if she can check on their booth, as it’s been over five minutes since they’ve received their entrees and the server is too deep in the weeds to make it over. Ruby nods and adds it to her mental list of activities, in addition to running two cocktails for the swamped bartender and making sure her own guests are happy within her five-table section, in which every seat has been filled since the restaurant opened at four for dinner service.

She drops off the food, checks on booth five, runs two brandy old-fashioned drinks to a bar top, and swings by her section to drop off checks, process payments, and take orders before reentering the kitchen to take a frantic sip of her Diet Coke, which is now watered down from melted ice, yet somehow still gives her a jolt of satisfaction.

I don’t know what I’d do without you, Windsor, says Mason, one of the servers who has asked her for assistance several times on this busy Saturday night. "I don’t know what any of us would do."

Don’t sweat it. She smiles and sets her drink down on the stainless steel employee table, pulling the towel out of her back pocket to wipe her forehead and rushing back out the kitchen door. Coming out! she yells, which is Server 101 when exiting any door during the rush. She promptly runs directly into a barback, who she knows is on his second shift. He is carrying a bus tub, overflowing with dirty dishes and remnants from uneaten dinners, which quickly slips from his hands and lands on the dining room floor, clinking the dishes together and splashing liquid in every direction.

Ruby takes a deep breath. If there’s anything she’s learned in the last decade, it’s patience. She bends down to help him clean the mess.

It’s Connor, right?

His face is crimson. Yes, Ruby. I’m so sorry.

"Everyone makes mistakes. Just remember, the out door is on the outside of the Mackie’s Supper Club sign. The in door is on the inside of the sign when you’re looking from the bar. That’s how I remembered when I first started."

Connor’s shoulders drop, and he shakes his head. Thank you for being so nice. People are really intense here.

Ruby gives him a sympathetic smile. Everyone is just concerned about making money, and sometimes they forget that we’re all human. Chin up, you’ll get the hang of it.

She finishes placing the dishes back in his bus tub, and miraculously, only one of them is broken. She pats his shoulder and continues in the direction of her section. The bartender, Jace, gives her a tight-lipped nod, which is the closest thing to a thank-you she’s going to get from the arrogant prick for once again saving his ass during the rush.

Three hours later, Ruby is sitting in the manager’s office after running her nightly checkout and dumping all the crumpled bills out of her apron to organize the money she owes before calculating her tips. Tonight, she’ll walk away with a little over two hundred dollars, which is a nice haul for a Saturday night in April. She’s worked her way up from the three-night-a-week barback she was hired as, to a full-time server who basically gets her pick of the shifts thanks to her stellar performance.

It hasn’t been easy. Ruby’s only previous work experience was as a part-time cashier at the movie theater during her high school days. She worked two days a week and spent the entirety of her shifts letting her friends into R-rated movies and flirting with her boyfriend Riley, who insisted on spending hours drinking Mountain Dew and playing the arcade games in the lobby, both on Ruby’s dime. At eighteen, she was flattered that he wanted to spend so much time with her. At twenty-eight, she sees the situation a little differently.

Coming with us to Mo’s? asks Connor as he’s clocking out.

Jace, the bartender, chirps out a sarcastic laugh. Ruby doesn’t associate with us unless she’s getting paid.

She ignores Jace and turns to Connor, giving him a sympathetic smile. I appreciate the offer, Connor, I’m just not a big drinker, and I value sleep too much. I’ve got a double tomorrow, and brunch shifts around here are no joke.

Jace rolls his eyes and pulls his car keys from his front pocket, before patting Connor on the back. Come on, new kid, you can ride with me.

Ruby grabs her fleece jacket from the employee locker and zips it all the way up, as the winter cold hasn’t quite surrendered to spring in Wisconsin, and she has ten blocks to walk in socks and shoes that are still wet from the spilled bus tub incident. Luckily, there are a pair of unclaimed mittens in the lost and found box that have been there for months; she knows nobody will notice or care if they disappear. She mentally calculates how much she’d have to set aside from tips next week to afford some waterproof nonslip shoes as she exits the back door of the restaurant, saying goodbye to the closing shift cooks who are scrubbing grills and cleaning the fryers on her way out.

A Honda Civic full of servers gives a quick honk when Ruby enters the parking lot. The passenger-side window rolls down and Haleigh, one of her favorite coworkers, reaches her head out.

Girl, I know you won’t come drink with us, but can we at least give you a ride home? It’s on our way!

Ruby gives a polite smile before lifting her hand and saying, I appreciate the offer, but I need the exercise!

Haleigh laughs and shakes her head before the driver of the car peels out of the parking lot. Ruby knows a ride would get her out of the cold and off her tired feet, but she also knows it would make them feel obligated to offer her a ride after every shift, and that’s an awkward situation she wants to avoid. It’s hard enough turning down after-shift drinks with her coworkers five days a week, but it’s not nearly as difficult as it would be explaining herself to her parole officer if she got caught leaving a bar at two in the morning, three sheets to the wind.

Chapter 2

Ruby Windsor doesn’t believe in superstitions or omens. She doesn’t quite buy into there being an afterlife, and she certainly doesn’t support the idea of a divine, all-knowing power that decides everyone’s fate the minute they are thrust into this cruel world. Despite all of Ruby’s apprehensions regarding what cannot be explained, she is absolutely certain of the fact that nothing good in her life will ever happen on a Wednesday.

She got her first period, which bled through her white jeans, in front of the entire school during lunch. Her father died suddenly in the early morning hours. She was arrested and booked just before midnight. She was sentenced to an eternity in prison mid-afternoon. The pipes burst in her apartment just after dinner. It didn’t matter the time of day; it only mattered that the calendar said Wednesday. It was precisely why she told the manager at Mackie’s that she could work any day, any time, just not on that horrid day. Lucky for her, it was typically a slow day in the restaurant industry, and they easily avoided scheduling her. She spent that one day each week tucked into the twin-sized bed in the cramped bedroom of her minuscule apartment, watching Netflix and avoiding the outside world. One step beyond her front door on a Wednesday would risk adding yet another catastrophe to her growing list.

Just as Ruby selects a ’90s sitcom to binge in her never-ending attempt to get lost in a euphoric state of nostalgia, her phone vibrates on the nightstand beside her. She sets her mug of hot tea down and rolls her eyes as she tilts the phone screen to see the call is coming from Mackie’s.

What’s up? she answers.

How’s my favorite server? asks Dan, her general manager.

Oh god.

He laughs uncomfortably. Look, I know your policy about working on Wednesdays, but—

But you’re still going to ask me.

Ruby, you know I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t in a completely desperate position. We are so short-staffed tonight, it’s ridiculous. You can be first cut; I’ll even help you do your side work. I’ll give you an extra shift meal to take home. There’s a party of twelve in the back room and you can take them by yourself.

Ruby looks to her right at the oversized calendar taped to the outside of her closet door. Next week, she has to pay rent, utilities, her phone bill, and her victim’s restitution payment. This doesn’t leave much for groceries. She could really use an extra shift, especially if she’s guaranteed a large group.

She lets her exhale go on a little longer and louder than necessary, and Dan’s laugh tells her he understands.

See you at three? he asks hesitantly.

You owe me, Dan, she responds before hanging up the phone.

You are a strong and capable woman, and you can do hard things.

She shakes her head at the absurdity of saying affirmations out loud, a trick she saw in a TikTok video, in which the creator swore the practice was life changing. That’s enough girl-boss for me today, she mumbles, before reluctantly climbing out of bed and into the shower. Nothing bad can come from picking up an extra shift—no matter what day it is. Money is money.

Two hours in, she grabs her manager Dan by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye.

Never again, Dan. Never again will I pick up on a Wednesday. Don’t even fucking call to ask.

She instantly regrets the harshness in her tone after realizing that this nightmare of a shift has been just as hard on him, if not harder because he’s the face of every issue in the restaurant, not just the ones in Ruby’s section.

He begins to respond, with sympathetic yet panicked eyes, before a short