by Beth Flynn
“It’s probably not a bad thing you won’t remember this tomorrow. I know you don’t trust me, Barbie doll, and I’m sorry for that.” More kisses on my neck, my cheeks, my eyelids.
I groaned and reached for him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I grabbed the back of his head and guided his mouth until it found mine. His kisses were soft and exploring at first, and as they became more urgent, I started running my hands up and down his arms. His muscles responded to my touch, and I marveled at their hardness. I felt him shift on the bed, and I tried to maneuver beneath him, but I couldn’t because he wasn’t lying next to me, but still sitting, his hip hard against mine. His tongue tasted like moonshine, and I mourned its loss when he stopped kissing me to nip at my lips. I was determined to take this dream as far as it would let me. I wrapped my arms tightly around his back and pulled him closer. A moan escaped on his breath as he removed his mouth from mine and started kissing my neck again. His whiskers were scratching against my skin as his lips explored every inch of available flesh below my chin.
And then he stopped. I wanted to know why and to read his expression, but my eyelids weren’t cooperating. I felt him pull back and heard him say, “No. Not like this, sweetheart. If we ever make love, it’s going to be perfect, and you’re going to remember it.” I almost didn’t recognize his voice. It was gravelly like laryngitis was sneaking up on him. There was one last soft kiss at the base of my ear, followed by, “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Barbie doll. And I should stay away from you, but I don’t know if I can.” And then he was gone.
I mourned the loss of his heat, his scent, the loss of him. And before I knew it, I was running through the woods. The trees had long arms, and their hands were tearing at my new Wonder Woman pajamas. They were trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear them. Fireflies chased me, and even though fireflies are silent, these were shrieking. As they got closer, they emitted a loud shrill that hurt my head. As I continued to run, I realized that Mason jars were dropping from the sky and hitting the ground all around me, their contents splattering against the forest floor. The treetops offered no protection, as I continued to run with heaving breaths. I didn’t know where I was going, but there was a terror and desperation to protect my heart from the Mason jars. Even in my dream, I knew that was ridiculous. How could a Mason jar hurt my heart? It was my head that worried me. And immediately after having that thought, and before I could raise my arms to shield my head, one hit me and I felt an explosion of pain.
I opened my eyes and immediately shut them as I blindly grappled around for my alarm clock. It explained the shrieking fireflies from my dream. My brain felt like it was trying to squeeze itself out through my eyes. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my bladder was threatening to explode. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a hangover this bad. Probably never.
“What have you done to yourself, Barbie?” I croaked.
I hobbled downstairs to the bathroom. After relieving myself, washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I took a good look at myself in the mirror.
“You look like crap,” I said to the haggard creature that was staring back at me. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my neck looked red and blotchy. I inched closer to the mirror for a better look as I ran my hands over my neck. The dream. I dreamed Jake—at least I thought it was Jake—had kissed me. It seemed so real. I even felt his short beard as it grazed my skin. I put my fingers to my lips and tried to remember. Had Jake carried me upstairs and put me to bed? Had he stayed around long enough to kiss me?
I shook my head and immediately regretted it. I practically staggered to the kitchen for water and the extra-strength aspirin I kept in the cabinet. I took two pills and downed the entire glass of liquid. I flipped on the coffeepot and tried to make sense of my dream.
If it had happened, why would Jake say he’d loved me for as long as he could remember? Or was I remembering it wrong? What if it didn’t happen? I jumped up and ran to the front door. It was locked from the inside. I walked back to the kitchen and saw the back door was also secured. And he wouldn’t have climbed out a window. I puzzled over it for a few more seconds when it occurred to me that he’d admitted to being a thief. He might know how to leave a locked house undetected. Nah, you’re only wishing it wasn’t a dream, I told myself.
But, my neck. I touched my hand to it and smiled. My neck is tender. It was beard burn. He’d carried me upstairs, tucked me in and kissed me. I didn’t have an explanation for the things I thought he’d said, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop thinking about what it felt like to kiss him. Or what it would’ve felt like if we’d taken it further.
The rest of my morning went by achingly slow, but I was okay with it. I was a creature of habit, and shouldn’t have set my alarm yesterday for this morning, especially since I didn’t have anywhere to be today and could’ve slept in. Instead of going back to bed, I lazed around in my pajamas, drank my coffee, watched the news, and tried to recall as much of my evening with Jake as I could. I was reveling in the realization that the kiss had been real and I had the red neck to prove it. I felt much better after a mid-morning shower, and I headed upstairs to get dressed. I’d just tossed my robe on the bed when something caught my eye. It was the scarf I’d worn yesterday. The one that had been a gift from my sister over a year ago. I don’t know what inner nudge caused me to pick it up and look at the tag. I felt heat slither up my spine as an inner rage started to build.
I was allergic to the exact scarf fabric. It wasn’t a life or death allergy, but an irritating one that would cause me to break out in a burning red rash and Fancy knew that. She’d deliberately wrapped that scarf around my neck a year ago knowing it would cause a reaction. I must’ve been wearing a turtleneck then because I didn’t remember it bothering me.
Before I’d gotten too wasted last night, I distinctly remembered Jake telling me that Fancy would do something to put me over the edge when I least expected it. And it would be something small that would set me off. He was absolutely right.
“I’m done with you, Frenita!” I screamed.
I didn’t know what hurt more. Knowing that my sister had deliberately given me a gift that she knew would cause an allergic reaction, or that the redness on my neck wasn’t from Jake’s kisses. It had only been a dream.
Chapter 17
The Lonesome Keg
I couldn’t determine what made me crankier. The realization that my encounter with Jake had only been a dream or the relentless yearning for it to be real.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Darlene,” I confessed one afternoon. “I thought I came here for solitude and introspection. Instead, I’ve found…” I paused, wondering exactly what it was I’d found.
“Love?” Dar interrupted.
I rolled my eyes and stepped back while she waited on a customer. It had been four days since my encounter with Fancy, and my impromptu dinner date with Jake. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since but did notice the spare tire on my Jeep was replaced with a new one. A flat tire he must’ve retrieved from my trunk without me knowing.
Darlene thanked her customer and said, “Just because he did the tire switcheroo without you knowing doesn’t mean anything. It’s likely he didn’t want to bother you. Or maybe he’s embarrassed that he opened up to you that night.”
“He hardly seems like the type to be embarrassed.” I fiddled with a pair of eyeglass chains that were dangling from a display on the counter.
Darlene started laughing.
“What is so dang funny?”
“You. You’re funny, Barbie. You’re thinking about him. You like him. Admit it!”
I was going to deny it when I recognized a song that had come on. “I know this song. It was playing in Jonathan’s room my first day at Hampton House.”
“Jake gave it to me,” Darlene said as she motioned to the stereo on the shelf behind her. “He said he heard this guy when he played a small club down in Georgia. He bought a coup
le of the man’s CDs and gave me one. I don’t plan on giving up Loretta Lynn or Conway Twitty anytime soon, but I love this guy’s sound.”
I inclined my head as I let the lyrics wash over me:
Cuddled up tight got my arm around
The radio is crankin’ up a Southern sound
Brown hair’s blowin’
Anywhere we’re goin’ is fine with me
She gives me that look in the rearview
We don’t say much ’cause we don’t need to
As long as we’re together I’ll drive forever as far
as I can see
It doesn’t get better than this
“I didn’t know you and Jake were getting so chummy he managed to talk you into changing up your music repertoire. What else do you talk about?” I wouldn’t look at her as I feigned interest in straightening a rack of chewing tobacco.
“If you’re trying to find out whether or not he told me anything about his relationship with Dolly or Yvonne, you’ll have to ask him yourself, Barbie.”
“He may have told me the other night, and I might not remember,” I huffed.
“Then you’ll have to ask him again,” she countered with a snicker.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.” My words were accusing, but my voice was gentle. I loved this woman more than anybody in the world.
“Forget Jake.” Putting the subject to bed, she asked, “Tell me what you’re going to do about Fancy.”
“I’ve given it a lot of serious thought. I love my sister, but can’t bring myself to like her. I need to remove myself from her life.”
Darlene’s eyes flickered with empathy. I described how I planned on taking my father’s coin collection to get three honest appraisals. I would buy out Fancy for her half of the average fair market value.
“And?” she urged.
“I’m going to meet with a realtor in Greenville next week. I’ll be putting the condo up for sale and will make it a point to visit Fancy and tell her what I’m doing. That will be her warning to find a new place. She can stay there until it sells, but if she doesn’t leave before then, she’ll have to take it up with the new owners.” I stood up straighter and gave Dar a serious look. “I’m done with Frenita Anderson. For good this time. She is poison, and I’ve been more than generous. She saw me wearing the scarf Tuesday, and still couldn’t bring herself to do the right thing by telling me I would have a scratchy red neck before the day was over.” I paused and felt my shoulders slump. “I feel like I’ve given her so many chances, Dar.”
She gave me an understanding look. “You’re the queen of second chances, Barbie. Don’t ever let yourself feel like you haven’t done enough.” Changing the subject, she asked, “So, you’re still on with Dustin tonight?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. “We’re going to some country music joint that supposedly has the best wings around. Not that I’m a fan of wings, but I wouldn’t mind listening to some good music.” I stepped aside as Earl Adams came in and bought a pack of cigarettes. He looked at me sheepishly. “Caught.”
“I don’t need to tell you those aren’t helping your cough, Earl.”
“I know, Doc. And I’m trying to cut back.” He thanked Darlene, and had almost made it out the door when she yelled after him, “Be sure to remind your missus that she’s in charge of coffee and donuts after tomorrow’s service.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he told her as he tipped his hat and left the gas station.
“Dustin must be taking you to The Lonesome Keg.”
“Never heard of it,” I said with a shrug.
“It’s about an hour northeast of here. It used to be called Chicky’s,” she told me.
“Never heard of that either,” I admitted.
“You probably wouldn’t have.” Darlene looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “Chicky’s might’ve opened around the time you left for college. The new owners bought it a few years back and changed the name to The Lonesome Keg.”
After a little more chitchat with Darlene, I gassed up my Jeep, grabbed some groceries, and headed for home. Hours later, Dustin picked me up, and after giving me a peck on the cheek and admiring my outfit and new haircut, ushered me out to his truck. The drive to The Lonesome Keg was pleasant enough. Dustin truly was a nice guy. He was a gentleman and had a fun, quick wit that made me laugh a few times. After arriving at our destination, he came around to open my door and escorted me inside.
I immediately noticed a band setting up on a stage on the opposite side of the room. A long bar was situated on one side, and booths and tables took up the rest of the space. Alabama’s
“She Ain’t Your Ordinary Girl” was drifting from the jukebox.
“Ah, there they are,” Dustin blurted out while pointing to a table. One man, who appeared to be about Dustin’s age, was waving us over.
After being introduced to Dustin’s friends, I was happy to see they seemed like a friendly group and hoped we’d find something in common. Sadly, Dan, a web designer who stood and plastered his wet mouth all over my cheek, was already drunk. His date, Marcy, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, spent the next fifteen minutes telling the table in excruciatingly painful detail how all of her psychic’s predictions had come true. The other couple was married and looked closer to Dustin’s age. William was one of Dustin’s HVAC technicians, and Connie was a full-time student who was working on her second master’s degree. Dustin had already shared that I was a physician. After Marcy’s lengthy psychic discourse they all took turns telling me about their ailments, their misdiagnoses by quacks and their crappy insurance. After fielding as many questions as I could, I excused myself to use the restroom. Before returning to the table I made a beeline for the jukebox. I was glad to see it had a wide variety of artists spanning the past four decades. While selecting some songs, I struck up a conversation with a silver-haired man in a wheelchair who introduced himself as Mike, the former owner of the establishment. He told me that back when he’d owned the bar, and before he’d been confined to a wheelchair, the place was a biker bar.
“It’s a more mellow crowd now,” Mike explained.
“No more bikers?” I asked with a smile before choosing “Good Hearted Woman” by Waylon Jennings.
“Eh, a few show up now and then. Might get some tonight since we’ll have live music. Hopefully, they’ll be on good behavior.”
“And if they’re not?” I gave him a quick glance before selecting “This Kiss” by Faith Hill.
“That’s why I’m here. I’m good at keeping the peace.” He winked and politely excused himself before he rolled over to the stage.
After selecting a few more songs, I headed back to my table. When I took my seat Dustin said, “I think the music is going to start soon.” Our waitress showed up and I ordered another soda while the rest of the group asked for another round of alcohol. They teased me about being a lightweight. I didn’t care and definitely didn’t feel the need to explain that I’d drunk more in the last week than I had in the last year. Who’s supposed to be the designated driver? I silently wondered. William was starting to get loud, and when Connie tried to shush him, she only ended up aggravating him instead.
“Well, I don’t know why we can’t just ask her,” he shouted, sending a spray of spittle.
I felt five pairs of eyes land on me. I looked to Dustin and he said, “Everybody knows you were raised in Pumpkin Rest.”
“And that your farm was near the Pritchards’,” Dan, the drunk wet kisser, added.
I wasn’t sure what they were trying to say, but I didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“Everybody thinks you know how to make the Pritch guy’s moonshine.” This from Marcy who must’ve been feeling a little buzzed herself.
I twisted sideways in my seat so I could face Dustin. His expression seemed hopeful and, at the same time, apologetic. All of a sudden, I felt very out of place. Truth be told, I’d felt out of place after first meeting Dustin’s fr
iends. They were all very nice, but I’d spent the last hour trying to find one common thread with any of them, and came up blank. I let out a long sigh. I don’t belong here, I told myself. I looked around the table and tried not to shake my head. Another woman might be perfectly comfortable in this scenario. Not me. And I realized that it wasn’t because of our age differences or because I didn’t have anything to talk about with them. It was because I was pretty much a loner. And I already had a best friend. I didn’t need a fun buddy.
I was deliberating on whether or not Dustin was sober enough to drive me home when the band started playing. I recognized the voice immediately. It was the same one I’d heard coming out of Jonathan’s boom box, the same one I’d heard this afternoon at Darlene’s gas station. The deep timbre of the lead singer’s voice catapulted me back to the first time I’d locked eyes with Jake Chambers. And that’s when I felt him. I didn’t have to turn around to know he was in The Lonesome Keg. I didn’t have to turn around to know that he was looking at me. But I would have to turn around to know whether or not he was there with another woman.
Chapter 18
You Must Be Quite The Charmer
“Some bad-looking dude is staring at you,” William stated very loudly.
Marcy quickly added, “You mean that good-looking bad dude.” Her eyes were wide.
“Oh please tell me he’s not one of the bikers you picked a fight with last time,” Connie whined to her husband. I barely heard her over the band.
Dustin leaned over and whispered in my ear, “It’s your friend, Jake,” at the same time, William slurred, “Nah, he’s not one of ’em.”
I slowly turned around and met Jake’s level gaze. He was about three tables away, casually leaning back in a booth. He was alone. He raised his can of Dr. Pepper to me. I smiled and waved. “I’m going to go say hello. Do you want to come with me?” I shouted over the music to Dustin. Without waiting for him to answer, I stood, hefted my purse on my shoulder, and scooted in my chair.
