“So, what are you still doing here?” Effie asks, watching me clean with a distasteful purse of her lips. The older woman has probably never touched a rag in her life.
“I work here,” I answer, not looking at her as I place the money in the register and start stacking glasses.
“I know that,” Effie snaps. “But what about your new bartender? Wasn’t he meant to be starting tonight?”
I freeze, raising my eyes slowly to look at Effie. “How do you know about that?” I ask in a low voice.
“Oh, please,” Effie scoffs, waving her hand carelessly. “Everyone knows about the hot soldier who tore this place up last night. You know, you really should consider my offer. You don’t need this stress in your life, why not sell now and live comfortably? I know a man, I’ll call him, and—”
“Th-they do?” I squeak, glancing around the bar, pointedly ignoring her statement about selling Saddles. We’ve had that conversation before. I’m not selling. Apart from a few broken chairs and tables, you’d never know the place had been a war zone just this morning. As for the hot soldier, I couldn’t even begin to think about that right now.
Effie nods smugly. “So, where is he?”
“He’s not here,” I say, moving away to serve another customer. “I suggest you find a table and wait for him.”
“No, I don’t believe I’ll stay,” Effie huffs, climbing off the bar stool, her ass bumping into another customer as she moves past. The young woman shares a secret smile with me as Effie leaves the bar. “Is she always that terrible?” she asks with a grin.
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “She’s usually much worse.”
The young blonde smiles as she places a small purse on the counter and extracts a five-dollar bill. “I’d like a lemon, lime, and bitters, please.”
“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” I ask as I pour the drink and place it in front of the woman. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall meeting her.
She nods as she takes a mouthful of her drink and sets it back on the bar. “I’m not here for too long,” she admits with a sad smile. “More just passing through.”
I know from my time in the bar that although many people want to share their story, others prefer to stay under the radar. I sense this is one of those times. “Well, my name’s Shannon Harper,” I state with a smile, sticking my hand out expectantly. The other woman seems to hesitate briefly before stretching out her own hand. “Grace,” she says simply, offering no last name.
“It’s great to meet you, Grace,” I say, shaking her hand. “We’re a small town, but I think you’ll like it here. Everyone looks out for each other, so you’ll be happy, for however long you plan to stay.”
Grace smiles tightly but doesn’t say a word.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask. “We’re a little packed tonight as you can see, so I’ll need to move along. We’re meant to have a new bartender starting tonight, but I can’t imagine where he is.”
“What a way to make an impression.” Grace chuckles lightly, and the tension seems to dissipate for the moment.
“Right?” I laugh as I pour another drink and place it beside Grace’s glass. “On the house,” I say. “To welcome you to our town.”
“Thank you so much.” Grace smiles. “But I really should get back to my son. He’ll be waiting for his dinner.”
“How old is your son?” I ask, thinking surely she wouldn’t leave a small child alone and hungry.
“Fourteen,” Grace answers. “He found some kids to play with at the motel, and their parents offered to watch them at the pool while I came out to get food.”
“That was nice of them,” I say, relief flooding through me. “But if you must go, I insist that you bring your son back here one day for lunch. I’m sure he’d love to meet Stone and Keets.”
“Stone?” Grace repeats, sitting up a little straighter.
“Do you know him?” I ask. Grace’s face is ashen, as though she’s seen a ghost.
“I . . . no,” she stammers, grabbing her purse from the counter and hopping off the bar stool. “I-I’m sorry, I really do have to go.”
“Grace, wait,” I call out, but the woman hurries out without a backwards glance.
What the hell was that about? I’d seen Stone at the bar a few times over the past few months, but never with anyone besides Keets. Hell, I didn’t even realize who he was until this morning. I just assumed he was a lonely drunk. Giving a small shrug, I turn my attention back to the bar and the people waiting to be served. The place is now filled to capacity. The local country band is playing up on the stage, and people are dancing on the floor as I busy myself with serving drinks. By 10 p.m., I’m exhausted. I keep glancing toward the door, waiting for the new worker to arrive.
Where the hell is Stone?
They’re going to break the door down.
It takes a moment of drunk cowering in the corner to realize it’s not the Taliban trying to break into our camp, but someone banging on my front door. I stumble through the messy living area with my half-empty bottle of beer, flinging open the front door to see Keets standing there, looking mighty angry. “Keets,” I slur, staggering against the door. I’m trying to act cocky and self-assured, ignoring the fact that a moment ago I was shaking like a leaf. “What’s up, man?”
He snarls and draws back his fist, sending me flying onto my ass, spilling my beer. Fresh pain explodes in my cheek and for a second, I’m dazed.
“What the fuck?” I sputter, touching my jaw.
“Don’t start,” Keets snaps, stepping over me and walking through to the bathroom. I unsteadily lurch to my feet and follow Keets into the bathroom, leaning against the door frame as I watch him turn on the shower. “Hey, wait,” I say, reaching for the beer Keets snatches out of my hand. “What are you doin’?”
“You know, sometimes you can be a real asshole,” Keets sneers, sounding disgusted as he pushes me under the cold water, clothes and all, ignoring my protests as he stands at the door. The water is like ice, and it sends a shock through me. I’m instantly half-sober. And fucking angry. “What the hell, Keets?” I roar, wiping the water from my eyes.
“You royally fucked up,” Keets says, not moving from his position. “You were meant to be at the bar four hours ago.”
What fucking bar? Saddles, right. The bar. Shit.
Realization dawns on me, and my head drops toward my chest as I groan. “I fucked up,” I admit dully.
“Royally,” Keets reminds me. What a great friend he is. “What the hell were you thinking? I put in a good word for you.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize, raking a hand over my head. I’m surprised at how sorry I actually am. “Can I get out of the shower now?”
Keets studies my face for a minute then reluctantly steps aside and hands me a towel. “I’ll wait for you out there,” he tells me, indicating toward the door with his head. “Five minutes.” He leaves without looking back.
I turn the water off and step out of the shower. My clothes are soaked through, so I quickly step out of them and drop them into the washing machine on the far side of the bathroom, turning it on. A part of me can’t believe Keets shoved me into a cold shower, fully clothed… the other part applauds him. I dry myself and wrap the towel loosely around my waist before leaning my hands against the sink and staring at my reflection. I know I’ve screwed things up, but it’s too late to change now. I’m not the same, naive boy I once was. War turned me into a hard, cold man. I no longer believe the stories of love conquering all, or that the world is full of good, generous people. All I see is a cold, dark, desolate wasteland. Filled with hate, violence and disease from which there is no escape.
“Hurry up, Stone,” Keets’ voice sounds from the living room. “Don’t make me come back in there.”