“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.