by Lucy March
I slid the drink across the bar to her, and she handed me a ten, keeping her slitted eyes on me. “I want my change. All my change.”
I punched it into the register, and gave her three dollars. She took the bills, her eyes still locked on me, and tucked them all in the pocket of her painted-on jeans. I whipped my bar rag off my shoulder, pretended there was a spill at the other end of the bar, and went to attend to it.
“You don’t think she’s pretty, do you?” I heard Amber say to Frankie.
I closed my eyes. Say no, dumbass.
“Who, Eliot?” he said, which was a good start, but then he followed it up with, “Yeah. She’s hot. What do you have to say about it?”
Oh, Frankie, you idiot. I filled a mug with draft beer, put it hurriedly on a round tray, and scooted over to the corner to check on Desmond, who was the only other patron there at the moment.
“Here you go, Des.” I set the beer down in front of him, next to the one he’d ordered when he came in. It was still full, but had gone warm and flat, with a puddle of condensation at the base.
Desmond looked up from his book, setting it down beside him before I could read the title on the cover.
“I didn’t order another beer,” he said.
“Yes, but I need to avoid that.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Amber and Frankie.
“Asshole!” she yelled, and then he shrieked, “Stop throwing peanuts at me! Jeez!”
“You know what? I think it’s my break.” I sat down across from him. “So, how’s it going?”
Desmond watched me for a moment. “It’s going well, thank you. And you?”
I shrugged and jerked my chin toward the domestic disturbance at the bar. “I’ll be better once they knock it off, or enough other people come in that I don’t feel like I’m starring in an episode of the Real Rednecks of Chautauqua County.”
More shrieking came from the bar. I slumped down in the booth a bit to avoid getting hit by any flying debris should Amber pick up a bar stool and whack it over Frankie’s head, an event I was giving two-to-one odds on.
“Whatcha reading?” I grabbed a peanut from the bowl on the table and shelled it.
Desmond picked up the book and handed it to me. It was a spy novel.
“Wow,” I said. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Yes, well, being well-read is as much about variety as it is about challenge.” He landed his sharp brown eyes on mine. “Besides, I didn’t want you to think I was trying to impress you.”
I felt a zing up my spine as our eyes locked, and I couldn’t help it; I smiled.
“Why are you worried about what I think, Jethro?”
He didn’t answer right away, but instead just watched me for a long moment, a hint of puzzlement on his face.
“You’re interesting,” he said finally.
I snorted. “Me? Interesting? How so?”
“Don’t ask a question unless you actually want the answer.”
“I asked,” I said, meeting his eye. “Now answer.”
He hesitated for a moment. “You’re an exceedingly contradictory person. You’re intelligent, obviously highly educated, but your speech is almost willfully common.”
“Unlike some people, I don’t like to show off.”
“Or, you want people to underestimate you.”
I freed a peanut from the shell and popped it in my mouth. “Maybe I’m just quirky.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “You say you hate your dog, and yet you won’t drop him at a shelter and be done with it.”
“He’s not my dog,” I said, “and just because I don’t want some shelter killing him doesn’t mean I like him.”
“You could find him a home yourself,” he offered.
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “You want him?”
He shook his head. “No. Thank you.”
“See? Finding a home for a shedding behemoth that poops in your shoes isn’t as easy as it looks.”
The edge of his lips quirked into something that was almost a smile. “I think that is perhaps the first time I’ve ever heard a person use both behemoth and poop in a single sentence.”
“You have to get out more.” I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hands. “Now tell me more about myself. I’m fascinated.”
His eyes narrowed in a manner that was almost playful. “You have attractive features, but you put willful effort into hiding it behind a haphazard ponytail and Goodwill chic.”
“Goodwill chic, my ass,” I said, feigning offense. “These jeans were $12.99 on clearance at Target. That’s some quality merchandise, at a hell of a bargain. And, for your information, I rock the ponytail.”
He smiled—actually for-real smiled—and I was surprised to see he had one crooked eyetooth. I hadn’t noticed that before. I probably hadn’t seen it before. I wasn’t convinced that anyone ever had.
“Yes,” he said. “You do.”
Again, our eyes locked, and this time the zing went all the way to my cheeks, which warmed immediately, and that’s when my breath caught.
What the hell am I doing?
You’re flirting, Ellie, Judd’s voice said in my head, and he didn’t sound happy, which shouldn’t have mattered, because he cheated on me and he was dead, anyway, and …
I lost my train of thought. My entire brain suddenly went blank, and my panic must have shown on my face, because Desmond’s smile faded and his expression went from amused to concerned.
“Eliot?” he said, leaning forward a bit. “Are you all right?”
I picked up my little round tray and said, “Break’s over,” and got up to head back to the bar, but as soon as I turned away I saw a flat hand with red fingernails coming at my face. The slap was hard enough to knock my head back, and I fell, cracking my head on the edge of the booth table on my way down, and the last thing I heard before I blacked out was, “Stay away from my man, bitch!”
*
I wasn’t out for long, because everyone was still scuffling when I came to. Amber’s legs were spiraling in the air as she struggled against the restraining hold Frankie had her in from behind, and she was screaming something. I couldn’t quite process what it was exactly, but I could tell it was directed at me, and it wasn’t flattering. Desmond stood protectively between us, his back to me. I tried to push up on my elbows, but the room spun, and I closed my eyes and lay back down, listening to the hubbub around me.
“Amber!” Frankie said. “Calm the fuck down!”
“She better calm the fuck down!” Amber shouted, which of course didn’t make any sense at all since I was presumably passed out at the time, but then again, Amber wasn’t exactly the Rhodes scholar of Nodaway Falls.
“What the hell’s going on out here?” Apparently, Larry finally decided to come out of his office.
“Amber assaulted Eliot.” Desmond. Even if I didn’t know his voice, he’s the only person within twenty miles of Nodaway Falls who would use the word assaulted in casual speech. I felt the heat of someone’s body kneeling down beside me. A moment later, a warm hand touched my face, and I knew it was him. Rather than look at him and face the embarrassment from my flirting—or from booting the burger I’d had for lunch all over his shoes which, at this point, was also a distinct possibility—I kept my eyes shut and pretended I was still out cold.
“I’ll slap her again!” Amber shouted. “That slut was hitting on my man!”
“That is a creative distortion of the facts,” Desmond said, and I could feel his arms slide under my shoulders and legs. Oh, God, he’s carrying me. I kept my eyes shut, trying to avoid the complete humiliation of it all. If I stayed out long enough, maybe they’d call an ambulance and admit me to the hospital, and they wouldn’t let Desmond in because he’s not family, and then I could run away when no one was looking. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best I had at the moment.
“There’s a couch in my office,” Larry said gruffly. “Put her in there.”
Desmond moved easily through the ba
r, hardly jostling me at all as he did. Unfortunately, I was supposed to be blacked out, so I couldn’t protest about being carried to Larry’s couch, which was an old orange thing of questionable origin. This was getting worse and worse. Why couldn’t he have just left me on the floor? I would have gotten up on my own eventually.
Frankie’s and Amber’s voices faded as I heard a door shut, and the next thing I knew I was laid out on Larry’s couch. I lay there, trying not to move, or breathe much, hoping Desmond would leave.
No such luck.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Busted.
I opened one eye and looked at him. “You knew I was conscious?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes.”
I groaned and sat up, putting my face in my hands. “It’s okay. I’m fine. You can go now. Leave me here to die of embarrassment, please.”
“Why are you embarrassed?” he asked, and I heard a note of anger in his voice. “You were attacked. That’s not your fault.”
I straightened. Right. I was attacked. Maybe I could ride that horse out of this barn.
“Amber Dorsey is eighty-five pounds dripping wet,” I said, trying to sound as though I were upset about being slapped, instead of embarrassed by flirting with Desmond. “How would you feel if she knocked you out?”
He shrugged. “Actually, she only surprised you. It was the booth table that knocked you out. Speaking of which…”
With a concerned look, he moved to sit next to me on Larry’s couch. I flinched as he reached toward my head, and he froze with his hands in the air.
“May I?” he asked, his eyes darting back and forth, looking into both of mine, and for a moment I thought he was asking to kiss me. My stomach lurched and I was so flummoxed by all of it, but especially by the tenderness in his voice, that I just swallowed and nodded.
He shifted my hair aside carefully, drew in a breath, and said, “You’re not bleeding, but it’s going to bruise a bit, I think.” He lowered his hands and looked at me. “You weren’t out long, but you were out. I think you should let me drive you to hospital.”
“No,” I said, resting my aching head against the back of the couch. “This is hardly my first bar fight. I’ll be okay.” I released a breath, trying to keep my mounting tension out of my voice, and succeeding only a little. Why did he have to sit so close to me, anyway? And why did I have to like it?
“I don’t have health insurance,” I said, not looking at him. “I can’t afford an emergency room visit.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll pay for it.”
I shifted away from him, putting some distance between us, although I couldn’t put much, because my butt was already half on the arm of the couch. “What? That’s crazy. It’s not a steak. You can’t just pay for it.”
“It’s not an inconvenience. I don’t mind.” He touched my shoulder, and I felt that stupid zing run through me, and it was too damn much. I hopped up off the couch like it was on fire. It was one thing to have Addie wiggle her eyebrows at me over Desmond; that was idle gossip, and it meant nothing. But I had flirted with him, and I’d liked it, and that was too much.
“I’m not … look, I know I told you a lot about me and maybe I gave the impression that I liked you, but…” I put my hand to my forehead and closed my eyes. “I’m not ready.”
There was a long silence, so long that when I opened my eyes, I half expected Desmond to be gone. But he wasn’t. He just sat there on Larry’s ugly orange couch staring up at me, looking at me like I was crazy.
“If I’ve given you the impression that I have romantic intentions toward you…” he began, but I waved my hand at him, unable to stand it.
“You didn’t. It’s me. My husband died eight months ago, and I’ve just met my father again for the first time. I’m confused and emotionally unstable. I might talk a good game, but I can’t back it up. Nothing can happen here.”
“Of course,” Desmond said kindly. “I’m so sorry if I made you feel—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I flirted with you, and now I’m freaking out, and I kind of wish Amber had hit me hard enough to knock me out for a day or two.”
“I sympathize.” There was a long moment of awkward silence, and then Desmond stood up. “If you’re quite well and don’t need me, perhaps it would be best if I left. You might be more comfortable … perhaps?”
I nodded. He stood up, then turned to look at me.
“I hope you won’t take this in any unintended way…” he began, and I waved a dismissive hand at him.
“I flirted with you,” I said. “I know, it’s all me.”
He paused, seeming to choose his words very carefully. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”
With that, he left. As soon as the door shut, I leaned forward and put my head in my hands.
“You always did have rotten taste in men. You know that, Ellie?”
I looked up and there he was, ghostly arms and legs spread out over Larry’s couch, taking up all the space in the room the way he always did.
“Oh, great,” I said. “It’s you.”
Judd’s eyes twinkled as he looked at me. “I was worried about you. You took quite a hit to the ol’ noggin out there.”
“Don’t give me a hard time about Desmond,” I said. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I wasn’t gonna give you a hard time,” Judd said. “What makes you think I was gonna give you a hard time?”
I gave him my best dead-eyed stare. Judd gave up the pretense and leaned forward.
“I don’t like that guy, Ellie. I get a bad feeling. You shouldn’t be making friends with him.”
“Gee,” I said. “You want me away from the handsome British guy. What a surprise.”
Judd got up and moved toward me, his ghostly form crowding me on the desk. “Look, you want to move on, move on. You have my blessing. Just don’t do it with him.”
“I’m not doing it with anyone,” I said. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m crazy. You made me crazy. You broke me and you left me here, all broken, and now I’m not getting involved with anyone else because between you and my father, I may never trust a man again. So congratulations, Judd. You got what you wanted, and I got the mess you left behind.”
Judd stared down at me, his eyes soft, the way he used to back when I thought he hung the moon. “You’re still my girl, Ellie.”
I was about to argue with him, tell him that I wasn’t his anything anymore, but then the door opened and Judd disappeared into a single point of light, like an old TV snapping off. I straightened my posture, my heart speeding up, and it wasn’t until Larry closed the door behind him that I realized, one, that I’d been expecting Desmond, and two, that I was disappointed when it wasn’t him.
Oh, that’s not good.
Larry trudged over to the desk. “You okay?”
I nodded. My head hurt a bit as I did, but it wasn’t too bad. “Yeah.” Something about Larry’s presence, cranky and mundane, was comforting. I motioned toward the bar. “Everything okay out there?”
“Frankie and Amber left, so, yeah. You need to go to the hospital or something?”
“No,” I said. “I’m okay.”
Larry eyed me suspiciously. “You’re not gonna go after Amber now, are you? Because I can’t have that personal vendetta shit going on at my bar.”
“No,” I said, and hopped off his desk. “I think I can let it go.”
He grunted approval. “You gonna sue me?”
I smiled. “Not unless you grab my ass, Larry.”
He nodded, and his shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “Can you finish your shift, or do you need me to cover for you?”
I clasped my hands over my heart. “Aw, Larry. You would do that for me?”
His eyes narrowed and he tried to look gruff, but I had seen it, and he couldn’t make me unsee it; Larry cared about me. Or at least he cared about the possibility that I could sue him, since I was attacked on his property. Either way, I was kind
a touched.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s only five-thirty. I don’t want to leave you stranded for the night.”
“Good,” he said, walking over behind his desk. “There are thirsty people at the bar, and I’ve got work to do. Shut the door on your way out.”
I smiled, even though he wasn’t looking at me, and put my hand on the doorknob … except, I didn’t. I didn’t actually touch it, but I could feel it, the workings of the metal as the inner shaft twirled and the door opened, as if on its own power.
Except it wasn’t on its own power. When I looked down, I could see disappearing trails of electric blue light as my hand clasped around the doorknob, just a second after it opened for me.
I hadn’t even been trying.
I turned around and looked at Larry in a panic. He was less than ten feet away. There were no tendrils of blue light, nothing dancing around the room, but still.
“You feeling okay, Larry?” I asked. “Any … um … tingling in your hands or anything?”
Larry looked up from his computer. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” I looked at my watch; it was barely six o’clock, and the sun wouldn’t be down for another three hours. I could go home, but I needed the tips.
“Bar’s on the other side of the door,” Larry grumbled, and I went out and finished my shift.
Chapter 8
Three days later, there was a knock on my door.
At first, I was annoyed. It had been my first day off since starting at Happy Larry’s, and my intention was to spend it in solitude. Bartending was keeping me in lights and kibble, but being surrounded by people every day was making my essential misanthropy worse. Although Amber Dorsey had had the good sense to stay away after the attack, between Frankie Biggs and the rest of the idiots who hung out at Happy Larry’s, I was beginning to think that Sartre was onto something with his whole “hell is other people” shtick. So when the knock came, I was inclined to ignore it, except that the windows were open, and whoever it was could probably hear my laptop playing the DVD I’d gotten at the library.
I hit the pause button and looked down at Seamus, who sat next to me on the couch, not moving as usual. I pushed his shoulder off my hip and went over to the front door, hoping I had the energy to politely turn away whoever was fool enough to knock on it.
