Chapter 17
By the time they got back to Nick’s house, Vincent noticed how late in the day it had gotten. Do you want a retractable leash or a standard leash? What type of material would you prefer? How often will you be walking him and how far? Are you aware of the safety concerns with certain models and brands? And that was just the leash. While they were there, Vincent convinced Nick to buy food and water bowls so he wasn’t using his china and cooking pots and pans. They perused the multiple varieties of dog foods and came up with a 40 pound bag for an unreasonable $65 purchase price. Vincent argued since he was already so far in, he should go ahead and buy a dog bed for the gigantic fluff ball. By the time they reached the checkout line, Nick was spending upwards of $150.
“Would you like to make a monetary donation to the Dumb Friends League?” the cashier asked him. Nick gave an expressionless stare at the purple haired teenager behind the register.
“No, I think I’m tapped out. Maybe next time.”
They strode out of the store with Bernie in tow, sporting his brand new black and green collar and a nine foot black nylon leash. Nick heaved the dog food bag on his shoulders so he could manage carrying the new bowls while fishing for the truck keys in his front jeans pocket. Vincent wisely carried the awkward, yet significantly lighter, dog bed.
“That worked out well, don’t you think?” Vincent asked.
“I’m not talking to you for at least the next five minutes,” Nick replied.
“O.K. I can wait. Trust me it will all be worth it. I promise you.” True to his word Nick remained silent the entirety of the drive home. As the truck came to a stop at the end of his driveway, he glanced over at Vincent. Vincent sat there with a beaming smile and raised eyebrows.
“So, it feels like 5 minutes have passed. May I continue conversing?”
“You’re going to stay here with Bernie and watch him for a few hours. Make sure he eats, goes outside and takes care of business, read him a bedtime story, whatever the hell he needs. I don’t get off until closing, but I’m not telling you to be here that long.”
“Telling, me?”
“Yeah, I’m not asking, Mr. “Why don’t you go buy a dog and go bankrupt.” Nick looked over at Vincent who still sported that same goofy smile. Nick exhaled and slumped his shoulders. “O.K., I’m asking. Just get that stupid smile off your face.”
“Done.”
So with that agreement, Vincent became an official St. Bernard dog sitter. Nick raced from his bedroom and into the kitchen. He grabbed a half-eaten sandwich out of his refrigerator that sat perched on the top shelf beside three Coronas and half a lime. He kept on his jeans, but changed into a Slippery Beaver polo shirt. Even with a collar, a bucktooth grinning beaver holding at vat of K-Y embroidered on the front left chest pocket didn’t come off as overly professional, but it was still kind of funny. He wiped his mouth with his forearm as he made his way into the front room where he found a black leather belt laying on a sofa that was stacked with unread newspapers from the week. He shoved the sandwich into his mouth as he navigated the belt loops on his jeans.
With a muffled voice Nick said, “Eat whatever you want. Mi casa, su casa.”
“Muchos gracias, but I think I’ll order a pizza and forego the botulism and food poisoning. Unopened beers are fair game, though. I don’t often drink beer, but when I do, I drink yours.”
“You are the most uninteresting man alive.” Nick headed in a trot to the front door.
“Drive fast, take chances,” Vincent said as he raised his hand to gesture a nonverbal goodbye.
“I always do,” Nick replied as he leapt off his front steps and headed toward the pickup. He jumped in the front seat and turned the ignition. The truck’s 5.4 liter engine roared to life as he reversed down the driveway and onto the street. Nick glanced at his watch and pressed harder on the accelerator. The tires chirped as he turned the corner onto 5th street and barreled toward the intersection at Main Street. He glanced from right to left at the stoplight. Seeing no cops or oncoming vehicles, he eased through the red light and continued on his route to the Slippery Beaver.
As he pulled into the brewery’s parking lot, he immediately recognized the Harley Davidson Road King with the sidecar parked by the front door. Nick’s heart skipped a beat as he walked through the lot and kept eyeballing the bike, hoping there were not two identical motorcycles in Pine Valley. He stood frozen by the front door and stared at the motorcycle, not sure if he was ready for the excitement of seeing Shauna or the disappointment of her not being there, or even worse, seeing Shauna with somebody else. The front door swung open and a buzzed patron barely missed running him over.
“Excuse me, sorry,” Nick said to the stumbling man who was most likely named Larry based off the name on the front of his uniform shirt. Nick grabbed the door and held it for a few more seconds as he soaked in the hope that Shauna was somewhere inside. He tried to swallow, but found his throat clamped shut. He forced out a weak cough and tried to regain his composure as he walked inside the Slippery Beaver.
He slowed his pace and squinted his eyes as he adjusted from the late afternoon sun to the dark, wooden ambience of the brewery. He stood by the hostess’s table and scanned the restaurant floor. The disappointing thought of Shauna here on a date made his stomach drop into his shoes as he pondered that potential reality. The Friday night crowd filled the majority of the dining room floor, and it took several minutes before Nick realized Shauna was not there. Feeling somewhat relieved, he turned his attention to the bar. He instantly recognized her long strawberry blonde hair flowing down her back as she twirled an orange over a tall beer glass, squeezing every last bit of citrus from it before letting it plop on top of the frothy head. And most importantly, she looked alone.
“You O.K., Nick?” the hostess asked.
“I think I have a crush on a biker,” Nick responded. The hostess crinkled her nose and drew her chin back and away from Nick.
“Dude, you are so fucking weird.”
Nick ignored the hostess and began walking toward the kitchen doors. He walked at a half pace, keeping his eyes on Shauna. She sipped her beer and perused a menu in her left hand. Neither people to her right nor left held menus, and they both sat with their backs to Shauna, engaged in separate conversations. Three quarters of the way to the swinging kitchen doors, Nick picked up his pace. He felt certain she was alone at his bar. Once inside the kitchen, he snatched his apron off the wall and hurriedly tied it around his waist. He started to walk into the bar before stopping himself and taking a quick personal inventory. A day’s worth of beard growth, last haircut 3 ½ weeks ago, jeans and a sexually suggestive polo shirt. Perfect, he thought. If she likes me like this, just wait until I clean up a little.
Nick walked out from the kitchen. He hoped he appeared more relaxed and reassured than he felt. Shauna, her nose still buried in the menu, did not notice him approaching.
“See something you like, or can I lend a hand?” Nick asked.
Shauna looked up from her menu almost ready to say something when she recognized Nick. Her eyes warmed to his presence, and she smiled a broad grin. Nick’s heart melted. She decided earlier on a one drink minimum, unless Nick convinced her otherwise. But up until this moment, Nick was a no-show. Shauna couldn’t have been happier to see him.
“I see a lot of things I like,” Shauna replied coyly. “But I suppose I’d be open to a little expert advice.” She laid down the menu, crossed her arms over the top of it, and leaned into the bar.
“Well, I’d say the Blue Moon with an orange is an excellent start. Are you looking for dinner or a few apps and beers?”
“Funny you should ask that particular question. I’m thinking of catching whatever home game you guys are going to put on the big screen, and then cheer for the other guys.”
Nick laughed and said, “Dangerous, but I like it. I’ll run interference for you.” Nick
picked up a dry bar towel and threw it over his right shoulder. “You know I have a special addition for your Blue Moon, if you’re interested.”
“I’m all ears.” Nick quickly scanned her upper body and made a mental observation that she was so much more than just ears.
“A shot of peach schnapps,” Nick said. “It may be the only truly good use of peach schnapps.”
“That sounds intriguing,” Shauna said. “But come on, the only good use? There’s got to be lots of other drinks with peach schnapps.”
“Sure, you bet,” Nick said. “Name one.”
Shauna’s eyes peered toward the ceiling as she tried to come up with one. “I’ve got it! A fuzzy navel.”
“O.K. great, but what are we, in high school? When was last time you had a fuzzy navel? Have you ever heard somebody order one in a bar? Have you ordered one in a bar?”
“Alright, alright. I see your point. And yes, it was good in high school, but I guess that was some time ago. So what’s the drink?”
Nick spun around and grabbed a bottle of peach schnapps.
“A shot in your Blue Moon with the orange you’ve already applied. Are you game?”
Shauna turned her head to the side and squinted at Nick. She then gave a reassuring smile and leaned back on her barstool.
“I’m game.”
Nick stepped forward and poured a shot into the sixteen ounce glass. He then gave Shauna another orange slice.
“An extra orange never hurts,” he instructed. “Besides, it gives you something to stir with.”
Shauna squeezed the orange slice into her beer and swirled the rind through the frothy beer head. She let it slip through her fingers and disappear into the bubbles. She raised the glass to her lips and took a tentative sip. Her eyebrows rose as the flavors melded together in her mouth.
“Oh my God, that’s fantastic,” she said. “That might be the best beer I’ve ever had. Who taught you that drink, or was it just plain old lucky mad exploration?”
For a brief second Nick drifted back in time and visualized Sandy pouring it into a Belgian ale on one of their pre-marital, summer European jaunts. Their bar had no citrus of any kind, and Sandy decided peach schnapps would make a practical fruit substitute. They drank this concoction that whole summer and shared the new found recipe with friends and family upon their return.
“Former, future wife,” he replied. Nick stood with his right hand clasped around the peach schnapps. Shauna noticed the wedding band on his right hand’s ring finger.
“Not to be nosy, but you brought it up. Future former wife?” Her heart raced in anticipation of his answer. She didn’t think it unusual for him not to have been married, but images of a messy divorce invaded her thoughts
“Sorry about that. Her name was Sandy, and we were dating when she made the drink up. We were married 10 years before she died of breast cancer.” Nick was still surprised how those words, even to this day, carried a sting. His eyes slightly welled, but he fought off the emotion long enough to see the same reaction in Shauna’s eyes.
“Oh, hey I didn’t mean to be a downer,” Nick said.
“No, you’re not. I think it’s really sweet you wear the wedding ring on your right hand. My dad did the same thing after my mom died of breast cancer.”
Her words froze Nick to the bar floor. It wasn’t a spouse, but she had lost someone very close and important to her, too. He felt a stronger connection to her with that last bit of personal information.
“Well, it seems like we’re both members of the same unlucky club,” Nick said.
“I’ll not drink to that. Let’s drink to their memories and all of the good times we shared with them.” Nick grabbed a bar glass and filled it with soda. They raised their glasses and clanked them together in a toast of solidarity.
“May that insidious disease never enter our lives again,” Nick said.
“Well said,” Shauna agreed. “That is something I will most definitely drink to.”
The Bernie Factor Page 17
