Chapter 8 Ilsa
Ilsa
With my plum briefcase in hand—a gift from Mom when I graduated college—I slung my purse over a shoulder and tucked an empty Ball jar into the crook of my arm. Then I flipped off the lights to my classroom and started down the hallway for the exit doors.
This was arguably the longest Monday of my life, except it wasn’t a Monday, it was a Thursday. Thank God there was only one more day of school this week.
The students had been distracted and irritable all week. After their unexpected break thanks to last week’s snowstorm, it had been almost impossible to rein in their focus. Four days in a row of grumpy kids meant I was grouchy too.
Though if I was being honest with myself, my mood had been garbage since last Wednesday.
Cosi hadn’t told me straight out that I was losing my damn mind. But what if I was losing my damn mind?
From the outside looking in, I could see why he’d be skeptical. Two calls to the sheriff’s office with zero evidence found to suggest a person was creeping around my house. I’d be skeptical too.
But this wasn’t my eyes playing a trick on my mind. There was someone spying on me or the house or both. And whoever it was had enough knowledge about the property to not get caught.
The entire incident had put me so on edge that I’d hung up quilts and blankets over every window that wasn’t blocked by snowdrifts.
By the time I’d emerged on Monday morning to clean off Dad’s Ford Ranger and drive to town for school—the keys had been in the visor—my mood was as gloomy as the skies.
What I needed was a change of scenery. Something different to break up the monotonous routine of driving back and forth between Cotters Lake to this school. I needed a date, even if that date was with myself.
So tonight, I was going to brave the local bar.
I was nearly to the exit when the double doors to the gym burst open and Spencer Raynes blew into the hall.
He pulled up short before bumping into me.
“Hi, Spencer,” I said, giving him a smile.
The kid only glowered.
That was a look I hadn’t seen on his father, but without question, I knew where Spencer had picked it up.
He stormed past me, turning down the hallway that would take him to the freshman lockers.
“Great talking to you too.” I heaved a sigh and walked outside. “Have a nice night.”
Spencer was long gone.
Cosi had been right about his son. Spencer was smart, but that kid didn’t give two shits about school and it showed. His work was sloppy and rushed, the handwriting mostly illegible. I had yet to get a worksheet from him that wasn’t crumpled or folded.
It was so frustrating to see a kid squander his intelligence.
Every time I called on him in class, he never missed an answer.
Not once. Earlier today, I’d asked a question about linear equations, and when no one had volunteered to come to the chalkboard and write out the answer, I’d called on Spencer.
He’d scratched it out without any trouble, then gone back to his desk to glower. If he gave his homework an extra ten percent of effort, he’d have a solid A.
The parking lot was mostly empty as I walked to Dad’s truck. Nearly everyone had gone home for the day. The overhead lights flickered on as I unlocked the Ranger, the sky dark even though it was just past five.
I’d stayed a little longer after school to grade papers and finalize lesson plans for tomorrow. When I made it back to the cabin, I had other reading to do. Dad’s journal was in my briefcase, and it was time for me to make it past the first entry.
He’d written a letter to Donnie on that initial page. A letter he’d penned after her death. A letter that had ripped out my heart. Tonight, no matter how much it hurt, I was forcing myself to read the next page.
After that date.
Trick and Sully’s was the one and only bar in Dalton. It was located at the far end of Main Street, set off the highway about fifty feet, with a glowing red neon sign that read Bar mounted to the roof.
There were only a few trucks outside, each caked with dirt and snow. A filthy yellow dog with a clipped ear was inside one pickup. The moment I climbed out of Dad’s truck, he started barking through the window.
I stripped off my coat, tossing it on the bench seat to cover my briefcase. Then I smoothed down the front of my favorite green and ecru fair isle sweater and snagged my purse from beneath the black skirt I’d worn to work.
After my last class, I’d gone into the bathroom and changed into jeans in the hopes that I’d blend in at the bar.
“Here goes.” I steeled my spine and walked to the door.
I’d never been on a date by myself. Strange how nervous I was to eat alone, something I did every single day.
The dog was still barking as the door swung closed behind me.
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. Cigarette smoke singed my nose, and I frowned. It wasn’t as thick as it was in the teachers’ lounge, but it was close.
The jukebox was playing “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash. Two men were shooting pool at the table in the corner, and the clank of cues to balls clashed with the music.
Three other men sat at the bar, each with a smoking cigarette between their fingers. One used his free hand to hold a cheeseburger.
Beneath the smoke, it smelled of grease and beer and liquor.
I weaved past tall tables and red-vinyl-covered stools, making my way to the bar at the back of the room.
The bartender, a guy in his late twenties or early thirties, set down the glass he’d been washing and walked over, greeting me with a charming, crooked smile. “Howdy. What can I get you?”
“Vodka collins.”
He winked. “Be right back.”
The three men seated at the bar leaned forward to stare.
They each had deep wrinkles set around their eyes and bushy beards in various shades of gray.
One was wearing a black cowboy hat. Another had his pearl-snapped shirt unbuttoned low enough to display a patch of fuzzy chest hair.
And the third chomped on a bite of burger so slowly it reminded me of a cow chewing its cud.
Had I just wandered into Dalton’s old man’s club? Because I’d never been more aware of being the only female in a room before this moment.
So much for blending in with my jeans.
“Here you go.” The bartender set down a square napkin, then my drink. Beside it, he left a plastic cup of maraschino cherries. “You looked like you could use a few extra cherries.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a small smile. The cherries were my favorite.
“Want to settle up or start a tab?” he asked.
“I’ll start a tab, please. I might try a burger.”
He grinned. “They’re my specialty.”
His flannel shirt was rolled up at his forearms. A white towel was draped over his shoulder. His dirty-blond hair was longer, the ends brushing his collar, and his eyes were a rich brown.
His coloring reminded me a bit of Troy. Though Troy would never have gone out in public with scruff on his jaw and definitely not let his hair grow long enough to touch his ears.
“Patrick Dougan.” He extended his hand across the bar. “Everyone calls me Trick.”
“As in Trick and Sully’s?”
“Sully is my partner.” He nodded. “Though he’s in California at the moment, doing whatever it is Sully does in the winters. He hates the snow.”
“After last week, I can understand why,” I said, taking his hand. “Ilsa Poe.”
“Nice to meet you.”
As I returned his shake, it occurred to me I hadn’t touched another person in a while.
I’d hugged Mom before I’d left Phoenix. And then . . . nothing. Was that right? Had I really not had physical contact with another person since I’d left Arizona?
No wonder I was lonely.
My students seemed to give me a wide berth. Principal Harlan hadn’t shaken my hand when he’d offered me the temporary teaching job. Neither had Deputy Larry when he’d come out to the house the first time I’d called the sheriff’s office. And neither had Cosi Raynes.
Why did that last one bother me the most? Did Cosi not want to shake my hand?
I brushed it off and took a sip of my drink. It was the perfect blend of sour and sweet.
“So you must be Ike’s daughter.” Trick leaned an elbow on the bar, giving me a devilish smile.
It was cute. He was cute.
“Yes, I am.”
“Truth be told, I knew who you were when you walked through the door. I, uh . . . heard something about a math test that riled up some parents.”
I rolled my eyes. “It was a practice test. Sheesh.”
Trick chuckled. “Well, things have been fairly boring around these parts. People need something to bitch about.”
“And that something is me. Awesome,” I deadpanned.
“Don’t let it get you down. Gossip around here is as ever-changing as the weather. Just gotta wait until someone else fucks up. Then they’ll forget all about your practice test.”
“And how long does it usually take before someone else fucks up?”
“It’s only Thursday. Give it to Sunday. Last week was an anomaly with everything closed. I’m sure someone will come in here and get rowdy over the weekend.”
“So you’re saying I should be praying for a bar fight?”
Trick’s grin widened. “Considering I own the bar, I’d rather you pray for something a bit less destructive. Maybe Dean Johnson’s wife finally realizing he’s been cheating on her for months.”
I gasped. “No.” Paul’s father was a cheat? Was that the reason Paul was so angry? Now I felt bad for the kid. Sort of.
“It’s not a secret.” Trick shrugged. “Part of me wonders if Melody already knows but doesn’t want to deal with it, so she turns a blind eye.”
“Wow.” I took another drink. “Paul is my student. For his sake, I’m going to pray for that bar fight. Sorry.”
Trick threw his head back and laughed, and the sound eased something in my chest. I hadn’t laughed with anyone in Dalton either. It felt good to share a smile.
Or maybe that was the vodka.
The only liquor at Dad’s was a bottle of Wild Turkey, and I’d never liked cheap bourbon. Or any bourbon.
“Paul is a fuckhead,” Trick said. “You might be the only person in Dalton praying for that kid besides his mother.”