Chapter 2
Claire
I fight the urge to give in to Nora as she just stares at me. She won”t ask many questions, but she will give opinions for days even when no one asks for them.
Had I known what I was getting myself into when I showed up here over three years ago with nothing but a swollen belly and a marriage license, I might”ve stayed away. I hate that this woman has the power to make me wish I never stepped foot in Lindell because the rest of the town is sort of awesome in an outdated kind of way.
”I think it”s best if you spend your evenings with her,” Nora repeats after I just blink at her the first time she says it.
I swear the woman must think I”m either hard of hearing or slow on the uptake most days because I”m constantly fighting the urge to tell her off.
That”s just one more thing that has changed about me since Larkin was born. Although my claws don”t have any trouble coming out where she”s concerned, my voice, the one that was always so quick to speak up for myself, has taken a backseat.
Larkin loves her grandparents, and there are more days than not that I have to remind myself that punishing them by keeping her away would also be punishing my daughter, and that just can”t happen. The child is already being raised by a single mother who struggles most days. I wouldn”t want to take people who genuinely care for her away, no matter how nosy and opinionated they might be.
”I do spend my evenings with her,” I remind Nora while pointing to my watch. ”Her bedtime is at seven thirty and it”s currently seven fifteen.”
”Doesn”t really give us much time to visit,” she says, that same air of judgment in her tone that has been present since the first day I showed up on her front stoop.
I”m not surprised Hux didn”t tell his parents that he got married, so failing to mention that I was also pregnant shouldn”t have come as a shock either. Hux didn”t exactly get along with his parents. He didn”t talk about them often, but he mentioned more than once that they were the reason he had joined the Army. I think it was more of a case of the Kennedys having spoiled him until he grew up into a selfish man before telling him to grow up and cutting him loose. I know it”s a decision they”ve regretted every day since they got the call that he died in a training accident while in El Paso completing his AIT.
The Kennedys didn”t have much care for me when I arrived in Lindell. In fact, they didn”t even let me come in the house, much less offer to let their pregnant daughter-in-law stay with them until the paternity test proved that Larkin was biologically their granddaughter after she was born. I”ve always held a grudge against them for that, and I don”t see it vanishing anytime soon. Even now, I”m standing on the porch while Larkin is inside playing with the overabundance of toys they”ve purchased for her.
”I”m going to be late,” I tell her as I once again try to hand her the strap to Larkin”s bag.
”I don”t know that working at that bar is what”s best for Larkin,” Nora continues, still not taking the damn strap.
I place the bag at her feet. I could waste every hour of my life standing here listening to what Nora Kennedy thinks about my life choices, but that wouldn”t pay my bills.
”I don”t imagine I”ll have to stick around for cleanup on my first night, so I”ll pick her up about two-ish.”
”In the morning?” Nora asks, as if I”ve just told her she would have to be presentable and ready to go live on television. ”I think it might be best if you came and got her in the morning.”
I think it might be best...
If I had a damn dime for every time those six words have left her mouth, I wouldn”t have to work a second damned job to pay off the debt that her son left me in when he died.
”She could get sick being outside so late,” she says, as if science and the presence of germs and viruses play no part in illness.
Instead of arguing, which if I go by what Hux told me about his parents could mean that they”ll pull out of Larkin”s life, I do what I always do and give in.
”I”ll be by at seven,” I tell her.
”That”s only five hours of sleep,” she says. ”That”s not enough time for yourself. Plus, you”ll just have her right back here at eight-thirty before you go to work with Dr. McBride. Might as well just leave her here.”
I clamp my lips together before asking her if keeping me completely away from my daughter is her goal, but I”m going to be late. Considering Walker hasn”t even officially hired me, I know there”s no sense in wasting time arguing a point that might be moot in an hour anyway.
”Tomorrow is Sunday, and the vet”s office isn”t open,” I remind her. ”I”ll be here no later than nine.Have a good night.”
Like the Southern woman that she is, she stands on her front porch and watches me leave. Almost everyone around here does the same as if it”s disrespectful in some way to get back to their lives before the person they were chatting with disappears down the road.
Although I don”t see Walker when I step inside the bar, his truck is outside, so I know he”s lurking around here somewhere. Instead of finding him just for him to tell me to leave, I walk behind the bar like I”ve worked here for years and grab an apron.
I smile at Maggie as she looks over her shoulder while helping a customer and wait for her to finish up.
”Do you want to be behind the bar or on the floor?” she asks once she”s done.
”Either or is fine with me,” I tell her, knowing there”s money to be made in either place.
“I’ll just stay back here then,” she says, indicating behind the bar.
”How are they numbered?” I ask, pointing to the tables.
”One over there in the corner by the door and zigzagging until you get to twenty-one,” she says.
”Perfect,” I tell her, fully understanding her explanation.
”Hey,” she says before I can step away. ”Do you need a pen and pad for orders?”
I shake my head no, and I see the sense of relief flash in her eyes as I step away. I have no doubt she has spent many hours training people who either haven”t worked out or have never caught on to how a place like this operates. It”s not a difficult job, but it”s also not for everyone.
Although I haven”t stepped foot in a bar other than trying to get a job in this one since I left El Paso over three years ago, it”s like riding a bike. I smile and chat as I take and deliver orders. I chuckle like I”m supposed to rather than telling the college guys at table ten that they”ve got literally no chance of getting me back to their dorm rooms. The goal is to be available but not obtainable if my intention is to get tips. Also, I know I can”t be too flirty either. I don”t want this generation of entitled men getting upset because they think I promised something I haven”t.
”I think those jeans would look better on my bedroom floor,” one guy tells me as if this pickup line has worked for him in the past.
”Are you saying they look bad on me?” I ask with a pout, feeling like I stepped over a line. I guess that”s the difference between working a room as a single woman and working a room as a mother. This guy, although legal to drink and only a handful of years younger than me, is someone”s son. It gives me a certain level of ick.
The guy, already a few too many beers deep, gets confused with my question as if it was trigonometry homework, and I use the time to escape.
I key in several table orders for Maggie to fill behind the bar before pressing my back to the wood and looking around the room. I didn’t stick around long enough on Thursday evening to find out why the bar would’ve been so crowded, but most places have a ladies’ night on Thursdays, with their drinks a little more affordable for women. It draws the guys in, thinking they have a better shot at taking someone home.
It”s seriously cringeworthy, but who am I to tell anyone how to run their business?
Tonight isn”t as crazy as the other night felt, but there”s definitely enough business that another waitress or two could easily find enough work to keep busy. It may keep me running all night, but I”m not going to argue about having an abundance of possible tippers.
”Here”s five and twelve,” Maggie says, sliding a tray full of drinks across the counter and pulling my attention back to work.
I lift the heavy tray and carry it across the room as if muscle memory drives me in that direction.
I drop off drinks and pick up empties before heading back to the bar.
I nearly stumble over an imaginary line on the floor when I see Walker scowling in my direction.I manage to hold my head a little higher as I walk in his direction. When I get close enough to see his dark eyes, I divert my gaze, carrying the tray of empty glasses to the kitchen. I fill the automatic wash tray, knowing he”s standing behind me and waiting for me to explain myself.
”You don”t work here,” he says the second I turn back around.
The ire in his voice makes me jolt. Even Nora Kennedy, who I know wishes I didn”t exist, doesn”t even speak to me in that tone. There isn”t an ounce of subtlety, and although it”s not completely unfamiliar, I can”t recall a single moment in the last three years that someone has spoken to me that way.
I point to the apron tied around my waist as if it explains everything.
”It sort of looks like I do.”
The man keeps his eyes locked on mine, as if looking down where I”m pointing would be a complete waste of time.
I”ve only closed out two tables tonight, and although I”m grateful for the eleven dollars I”ve made, I was counting on a lot more before he kicked me out of here. I still have multiple tables open, including the college boys who I know will tip well if I keep playing their game until they decide it”s time to head back to campus.
Going home right now, after it”s already too late to go pick Larkin up, would mean I”ve done nothing this evening but waste my time.
I hate the burn of tears behind my eyes. I hate that when I get angry that”s how my body chooses to enter a fight.