Imperfect

by Cherry Shephard

  I’m roused from my thoughts as I hear the front door of the bar open.

  It’s Grace, accompanied by a young boy I assume is her son.

  “Grace,” I greet with a smile, beckoning her over to the bar as I adjust my skirt self-consciously. I should have asked Stone to stop by my house so I could change clothes.

  As she walks over, I see she looks even paler today than she did last night. She’s supported at her elbow by her son, who looks as pale as she is. What the hell is going on?

  “Hi, Shannon,” she says in a voice so quiet I have to strain to hear her. We are the only people in the bar, so I walk out and sit with them at one of the small round tables. “This is my son, Zeke,” she introduces.

  “Hi, Zeke,” I give him my warmest smile. He gives me a quick, tight-lipped one in return, but says nothing. He has blond hair and blue eyes like his mother, but where she is small and delicate, he is tall and stocky. That must be from his father.

  “I thought maybe we could take you up on your lunch offer,” Grace states with a smile of her own, lovingly brushing the hair off Zeke’s forehead. “We have a big day today.”

  “Of course,” I agree. “What can I get you?”

  Grace pulls out her purse and starts counting change. I can see they’re both about to cry, and I gently lay my hand on top of hers. “It’s on the house,” I say quietly.

  Relief floods her face as she puts her purse away. “Thank you so much, Shannon,” she says. “Money is just so tight at the moment. Could we get two burgers, fries, and I’ll take a strawberry shake. Zeke? You want chocolate?” He nods, not looking up.

  “You got it,” I reply brightly, heading back to the kitchen to prepare their meals. I can’t help but think Zeke is a bit rude. Money is tight for everyone these days, but he could at least speak. It must be a teen thing. I take their food out and as I approach the table, I see them speaking in hushed tones.

  Huh, so he can talk. I put the plates down and return a moment later with their shakes. Grace gives me a small smile as Zeke digs into his fries. It’s almost like he’s trying to keep his mouth full, so he doesn’t have to talk to me. I remember the blood I saw Grace cough up last night, and I wonder when they last had a decent meal. “Grace?” I start quietly, glancing at Zeke as he gulps his shake. “Can I speak to you for a minute? Alone?”

  “Of course,” she says, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin before standing and slowly following me over to the corner of the bar. I help her into a seat and sit opposite her. Her hands are clasped on the table between us, her knuckles white.

  “What’s going on?” I ask gently. I’m not ready for the flood of silent tears that pours down her face. “Hey,” I say, laying my hand softly on hers. “You can tell me.”

  “I can’t,” she gasps, tears pouring down her face. I glance over at Zeke; he’s watching us, trying to be inconspicuous as he eats.

  “Is it money?” I ask, desperate to try and find a way to help them. I hate the idea of Grace and her son being without food. “Do you need a job?”

  Grace shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be able to keep it for long.” she sighs. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Back home,” she explains, her eyes connecting with mine. She looks exhausted. “To finish my palliative care.”

  “Your what?” Surely she didn’t say what I think she did.

  Grace nods. “I’m dying,” she says simply. There are no tears, no fear. Just a resounding sadness. It’s as though she’s accepted her fate.

  I sit back in shock, shaking my head in disbelief. “How?” My voice sounds hollow.

  “Brain tumor.”

  “Does Zeke know?”

  Grace nods. “Yeah, he knows. I’m taking him to his father tonight. I have no one else to look after him, and I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Of course,” I say, my mind still reeling. “Fuck, Grace, I’m so sorry.” I watch helplessly as she starts to cry again. I feel terrible. What the hell do you say to someone in this situation? I feel for Zeke, since I know what it’s like to lose a parent. “Where’s his father?” I ask, thinking the man must be a jerk to not be in his own son’s life, especially at a time like this.

  “Actually,” Grace begins slowly. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Me?” I ask, my eyes widening. How the hell should I know where his deadbeat father is? I’d like to, though; I’d have no trouble kicking him in the balls so hard he’d never be able to conceive another kid.

  The door of the bar opens and I turn to see Stone walking in. He stops for a moment at Zeke’s table to say hello. Zeke looks over at us, pointing to our table.

  Stone glances up . . . and freezes. It’s like all the blood has drained from his face. He slowly walks toward us, seeming like it’s an effort for him to put one foot in front of the other. “Stone,” I say with a smile, standing up as he finally stops at the table. “I want you to meet my friend, Grace.”

  “Hello, Ethan,” she greets him in a quiet voice.

  “Gracie,” he replies, his voice sounding strangled. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. My head whips back and forth between the two of them, and I’m sure I look as confused as I feel. “Do you know each other?” I ask, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as I look at Stone. I think deep down I already know the answer to that question.

  “I should say so,” Stone answers quietly, his voice laced with irony as he gives me a small, apologetic smile. What he says next rocks my world. I will never be the same again. “She’s my wife.”

  I’m almost certain I didn’t hear him correctly. “Your what?” I ask, hating that my voice has suddenly taken on a pitch much like Mickey Mouse.

  Stone nods, his eyes piercing me. “My wife,” he confirms.

  I feel as though the room is suddenly spinning. His face in front of me is blurry, and my legs are shaking.

  “Shan, are you all right?” I hear his voice ask me that question, but it sounds so far away. I want to laugh, I want to cry… but I feel numb.

  “Stone,” I hear Grace speaking quietly. “Can I talk to you? Privately?” Stone glances over at me, and I mutely nod my head. Holding the edge of the bar for support, I drag my feet one after the other into the office, closing the door behind me.

  I fall into the chair and stare at the wall, not really seeing anything. My hands blindly reach for the decanter that sits on the desk. It belonged to Daddy and is just another part of the bar I refuse to change. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, down it fast and pour another. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop the decanter as I put it down on the desk and recap it.

  He’s married. That thought plays over and over like a bad song in my head.

  He’s fucking married.

  How could I be so stupid? Don’t get involved with another damaged man. That’s what I’d been telling myself for the past year, but at the first sign of someone needing me, I’d jumped at the opportunity.

  With Troy, it’d been love at first sight. He’d swept into town on his black Harley Davidson, his short, black hair spiked into points, tattoos covering both of his arms and flashing that killer smile at me. He was so unlike any of the other boys in our town, and just what I needed to distract me from an overprotective father. For the first time in my life, someone was actually paying attention to me. Not just someone, a boy. And for the first time in my life, it wasn’t just to get close to my prettier, younger sister, Natalie. It didn’t take Troy long to seduce me with stories about the city, and before I knew it, I was nineteen years old, speeding off on the back of his Harley as we ran away together. For me, it was about running away from my awkwardness, my responsibilities. I was no longer ‘Shannon Harper, eldest daughter of Darius, older sister and mother figure of Natalie’. In the city, I was simply Shan – a curly haired, wide-eyed young girl, free to finally be herself.

  Or so I’d thought.

  Things were so different in the city, and it di
dn’t take me long to realize I was a fish out of water.

  The first time I saw Troy selling drugs, I was shocked. What the hell had I gotten myself into? Daddy had always instilled in us girls the dangers of peer pressure. But Troy took me in his arms and kissed away my fears. “This will pay for your dreams, kitten,” he’d tell me, pleading with me to understand.

  And I thought I did understand. I thought Troy just wanted to give me everything I wanted in life.

  But I was never given the opportunity. Six months after moving to the city, my dream turned into a nightmare. Even now, I can see her face, lifelessly looking back at me in the water. It was him. I know it.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I sit back on the chair and use my feet to slowly swivel around until I’m facing toward the window. My eyes widen in surprise as I notice it’s already dark. How long have I been sitting here?

  I try to stand and almost immediately stumble and drop to my knees. A glance at the desk shows the empty decanter. Fuck.

  Gripping the edge of the table, I carefully make it to my feet and peer through the window out into the main bar area. It’s empty. I vaguely recall Ruth coming into the office once. Stone must have called her to take over the bar for the night shift. I should feel a little bad about that, but instead I’m relieved. I don’t think I could have handled being nice to the customers tonight.

  As I exit the office, the door of the bar opens. I pause, cursing under my breath. It’s closing time; I don’t want to deal with this shit right now. I force a smile and turn around, but that smile falters when I see Effie standing at the bar, a short, pudgy man by her side. He looks ridiculous, like a fat version of the Monopoly man. “Hi, Effie,” I say in my most polite voice, hobbling over to the bar. “I’m afraid we’re closed.”

  “Yes,” Effie replies, staring down her nose at me in disdain. “I can see why.”

  I blush as I glance at my reflection in the mirror that hangs on the wall behind the bar. My eyes are red from crying and the eyeliner I’d hurried to apply this morning in the office before opening the bar has streaked across my cheekbones, giving me the ultimate panda look. I’d thrown my hair up in a loose bun earlier without brushing it, and pieces of hair are sticking up all over my head. No question, I’m a fucking mess. “What do you want, Effie?” I ask, smothering my question with a yawn as I cover my mouth. I’m tired, I’m drunk and I just want to go home. I glance over at Monopoly Man, who’s leering at me in a way that unsettles me.

  “I want you to meet Mr. Harold Kensington.” Effie beams, linking her arm through his. “Mr. Kensington, Shannon Harper.”

  “Miss Harper,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes my offered hand and places a chaste kiss on the back of it. I smile weakly as he releases it and resist the urge to wipe my hand on the mini-skirt I still wear. His lips are cold and wet. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you meeting us here tonight,” he’s saying.

  I glance at him, then over at Effie. She must sense my confusion, because she smirks. “Mr. Kensington has graciously agreed to buy this . . . this bar.” She spits the word out as though it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

  I take a step back from the bar, my guard instantly up. “I already told you, Effie,” I remind her. “I’m not interested in selling Daddy’s bar.”

  “I know what you said.” Effie waves away my words. “But you’ll think differently when you see this.” She produces a single sheet of folded paper from her purse and holds it out to me expectantly.

  “What is this?” I ask, gingerly plucking it from her outstretched fingers and unfolding it.

  As I read, I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. Surely this has to be some kind of mistake. There’s no way Daddy could have borrowed this much money.

  “It says Darius borrowed more than two hundred thousand dollars from me in the summer of 1998 to refurbish this bar. Since his passing, that debt has fallen to you, Miss Harper,” Kensington says grimly.

  I feel the room starting to spin, and I grip the edge of the bar for support. “I-I don’t have that kind of money,” I stammer weakly. Could any of this be true?

  Mr. Kensington nods. “I know,” he says, matter-of-factly. “This is why I’m prepared to buy this establishment from you at a slightly reduced rate, to cover your daddy’s debt and even leave you a little extra.”

  I shake my head vehemently. “How could I not know about this?” I demand. “I’ve been running this bar for over a year. If any of this were true, I would have found some kind of record.”

  “Incorrect,” Effie exclaims. “Your daddy’s business with Mr. Kensington was conducted, shall we say, under the table?”

  I want to slap the stupid smirk off her face. “You mean illegally,” I clarify. What does she know about this? It’s not a question.

  “Now, Shannon,” Effie says, her voice gratingly pretentious as she tries, and fails, to sound caring. I’m not falling for it for a minute. “Mr. Kensington is offering you a marvelous deal. You really should consider the –”

  “The only thing I’m considering,” I say hotly, holding my hand up as I interrupt her, “is whether or not I should call the cops.”

  “Now, now,” Kensington interjects, sounding a little panicked. “Let’s not be hasty. I’m prepared to give you some time to think about my offer. But Miss Harper,” he continues, his voice suddenly very serious. “You may want to consider my offer very carefully. Your daddy didn’t, God rest his soul.”

  Effie makes the sign of the cross and bows her head.

  Something he said makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “What do you know about my daddy’s death?” I ask, gripping the edge of the bar tighter.

  Effie and Harold exchange a glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by me. “Now, Miss Harper, let’s not get over-excited,” Harold says cajolingly. “I didn’t wish to alarm you.” He turns to Effie and offers her his arm. “My dear, I believe we should leave Miss Harper to go home. She did mention the bar is closed.”

  “You’re right,” Effie agrees, beaming at me once again. “Have a wonderful night, Shannon. Do give my regards to Ethan and his son. News really does travel fast around here.”

  “You have three weeks to decide, Miss Harper,” Kensington says over his shoulder.

  I stare at them in silence as they leave the bar, letting the front door slam behind them.

  I feel the fight go out of me as my legs give way and I sink to the floor behind the bar, still clutching the letter. The coldness of the floor causes me to flinch as it touches the bare skin of my thighs.

  “Oh, Daddy,” I whisper, tears pricking at the edges of my eyes. “Why? Why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me?” I put my head down on my knees and let my tears fall freely. I cry for myself, for Stone, Zeke, Grace . . . but most of all, I cry for my daddy. I wish he were here now; he’d know exactly what to do. And what did Harold mean about Daddy’s death? Did he have something to do with it? Everyone had always assumed his death had been a tragic accident . . . but what if it wasn’t?

  I don’t know how long I stay in this position, but eventually the tears dry up and I feel nothing but an overwhelming sadness. Daddy put himself in this position, and now he’s brought me into the middle of it. I’m only thankful that my baby sister, Natalie, is away at school and not here to witness any of this.

  I lock up the bar and stand directly outside the door, staring at my car. Do I dare drive home? I’m extremely tired and drunk, but not drunk enough not to know that would be a huge mistake.

  I start walking down the darkened empty street, pulling my jacket around me tighter as the first drops of rain fall against my cheek. Those few drops quickly turn into a downpour and I struggle to jog through it, the heels of my boots sticking in the mud of the wet dirt road. I stop briefly to take them off, holding one in each hand. The temperature seems to suddenly drop ten degrees, and even though I’m walking quickly, I can’t control the chattering of my teeth. I�
��m never going to make it home at this rate. I see a light at the corner of my right eye, and I instinctively turn my head to see the stables.

  My feet slow and I pause at the side of the road, glancing around. It’s dark, with no one in sight. They’re all smart enough to be tucked up in their warm houses. Why did I drink so much?

  I turn in the direction of the stables and pick up the pace. As I run across the slippery grass, my right leg skids out to the side and I quickly put my hands out as I feel myself fall.

  I land heavily and an intense pain shoots through my right leg. I lean forward and breathe heavily as the rain hits the back of my head, plastering my hair to my neck. Ugh, talk about frizz.

  I try to stand up and immediately sink back down, crying out as the pain in my leg intensifies. I lean forward and tentatively touch the rapidly swelling skin around my calf, letting out an ear-piercing scream as the muscle protests the disturbance. The pain is so intense that I bend over at the waist and lose the alcohol from my stomach into the wet grass.

  Movement is impossible; the ground is much too slick for me to hobble the rest of the way to the stables. I fumble around for my purse to grab my cell phone, letting out a curse as I realize, in my drunken state, that I left it on the doorstep of Saddles as I locked up. The rainfall increases and I lie back on the grass, letting the rain wash away the fresh tears that pool in my eyes. I’m tired, so tired. The pain in my leg is slowly numbing.

  I feel nothing as I close my eyes.

  My mind is still reeling from the events of the day. I’d gone to the bar to find Shannon, and instead I found a wife and son.