Chapter 2
Bernie had never tiptoed back into her apartment, not in all the years that she had owned the place, but she did that morning after she locked up the bar.
She hoped that Clara had cried herself to sleep, and that the story of whatever had brought her to Ratliff City could be put off until the next morning.
Like always, she had had enough talking by closing time and wanted to take a shower and crawl into bed.
She was on her on the way to her own bedroom when she heard a dog bark.
She peeked out the kitchen window and saw Clara sitting in one of the two lawn chairs.
The Chihuahua was in her lap, and the bottle of whiskey she had taken from the bar lay empty on the ground.
Bernie poured herself a sweet tea, added ice, and carried it outside.
She had hoped to get a good night’s sleep before she had to hear Clara’s sad story—or, worse yet, deal with the fallout when the phone calls started coming from her estranged sister, Vernie Sue, and Clara’s mama, Marsha.
Evidently, the stars were not aligned in her favor that night.
She sat down in the second chair. “I figured you would be asleep.”
Clara handed Pepper to Bernie. “He seems friendly, but I don’t like dogs.
” She slurred her words. “I’m a cap…I mean, cat…
person. C.A.T.” She spelled the word out slowly.
“I can’t sleep, Aunt Bernie. I’m looking thirty in the eye in the fall, and my life is in shambles.
I have no job or even a place to sleep. Everything I own is in the back of a car that made it from Fritch to here on nothing more than fumes and a couple of earnest prayers that, according to Mama, God don’t even hear from the likes of me. ”
“Your mama and grandmother don’t know what God hears or don’t hear,” Bernie fumed.
“I should be on my way up a ladder to success, and here I am…drunk, homeless, and trying to make sense out of why my family…” She used the back of her hand to wipe her wet cheeks.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Bernie scolded.
“When life gives you lemons, you add a touch of maple syrup or honey, and Jack Daniel’s or Jim Beam, and make a whiskey sour.
You don’t whine about how bad you’ve had it.
You pull up your big-girl panties and show everyone that you are strong enough to take on anything that gets thrown at you.
Tomorrow you are going to have one hellacious hangover,” Bernie scolded.
“But it’s a case of choices and consequences.
You drank too much, and now you have to pay the price. ”
“Story of my life.” Clara hiccupped. “According to Mama and Grandma, I make bad choices, and they’re right. But they say they have to pay the consequences because I embarrass them.”
“Been there. Done that.” Bernie chuckled. “That’s their choice. They could learn to love both of us unconditionally and tell their friends to go to hell, but since they don’t, then embarrassment is their consequence to pay.”
“I am very drunk,” Clara said. “I was going to ask you if I could work for you, but that good-looking guy beat me to the punch.”
Bernie patted her arm. “If you are going to stick around southern Oklahoma, you will work, starting tomorrow morning. And you are drunk. For tonight, you have a bed and tomorrow, when you are sober, we’ll talk about the rest. So, go to bed and sleep off your feel-sorry-for-me attitude.”
“You sound like Mama and Grandma, only without all the rules.” She raised her voice a couple of octaves to perfectly mimic Vernie Sue’s high-pitched tone.
“‘If you don’t change your life, we won’t even come visit you in the box or makeshift tent where you live in a nasty back alley or under a bridge.
God has already turned his back on you for your poor decisions, so don’t expect us to take you in with open arms if you don’t agree to change and get right with the Lord.
’” Clara buried her head in her hands and began to sob again.
“It was their way or the highway. I chose the latter, and here I am in bed with the devil, according to them.”
Bernie had seen her fair share of drunks through the years.
Mean ones that she had to grab by the ear and toss out the door.
Happy ones that she took their keys from and made sure they had a ride home.
She would take either of those two over a melancholy one.
Next time Clara was throwing a bawling fit in the bar, Bernie was definitely not giving her a half-full bottle of whiskey.
“I can leave in the morning and take my feel-sorry-for-me attitude with me,” Clara declared and stumbled back inside.
“I wouldn’t be so lucky,” Bernie told Pepper.
“I guess it’s just me and you, and I’m tired, so let’s go to bed.
I’ll get you a collar and leash ordered tomorrow, but for now, I’m going to trust you not to get out on the road when I let you out the back door to go potty.
If you mess on my floors, I will feed you to the hungry coyotes that come around. ”
Pepper whined, flopped down on her lap, and covered his eyes with his paws.
“I’m glad you understand,” Bernie said as she carried him into the house, forgetting all about her unopened bottle of tea sitting on the ground beside her chair.
She peeled off her work clothes, shoved them into a hamper, and headed to the shower.
But she couldn’t even get that done in peace and quiet that evening.
When she went into the bathroom, she found Clara was sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around the toilet, giving back all the whiskey she had drunk that evening.
Bernie sat down beside her and held her long red hair back.
Years ago, Bernie’s hair had been the same color, but now it took a regular visit to the beauty shop and a bottle of light-red copper hair dye.
“I’m sorry.” Clara gagged again. “I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bernie said. “My sister and your mama would probably be in your shape if they even ate a bite of my butter rum cake.”
“Don’t mention food of any kind.” Clara moaned and stood up. “I think it’s all out of my system. Is my room the one with the pink bedspread?”
“Yep, it is,” Bernie answered. “Mine is the one that looks like it came right out of a bordello.”
“I like yours better than mine.” Clara staggered out of the bathroom and headed across the hall.
Bernie watched her hold on to the walls until she reached the room where she would sleep that night.
“No wonder Vernie Sue and Marsha are fearful of you not being right with the Lord,” she fussed as she turned on the water and adjusted the temperature.
Then she shed her clothing and stepped over the edge of the tub to take a shower.
When she finally got to bed, the ceiling became a movie screen to replay the events of the night. She had figured the Universe would send her a sign when it was time to sell the bar. Now that she had more than one, she wasn’t so sure she was ready to step back and retire.
You are seventy years old, the voice in her head said.
You should have sold this place twenty years ago.
I’ve sent you three good solid signs. There’s a young, sexy guy who wants to buy your place.
You know that he comes from good people.
Hoot and Darlene Murphey are the salt of the earth.
Then there’s the death of the goldfish and a new dog to tell you that it’s time to put this place in the hands of someone else before you drop dead like that silly goldfish.
And a niece who needs a job, so you can make it part of the contract to keep her around to work when you sell the place. What more do you want?
It seemed as if she had just gotten to sleep when Pepper yipped right at her ear. She awoke to find him standing on his hind legs and pawing at the bed with his front paws.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He barked again and ran out of the room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen.
He growled several times before she reached the door.
She cracked it a few inches, sent up a few swear words when the bright sunlight hit her eyes, and even more when she looked at the clock and realized she had only been sleeping four hours.
Pepper was a blur when he ran over to her full bottle of tea, hiked his leg on it, and then kicked at the dirt and dried leaves with his back legs.
“That might look like a miniature fire hydrant to you, but from now on, you better get your sorry little self on out into the woods and pick out a tree to take a leak on,” Bernie growled.
She couldn’t remember the last time she was awake so early, and according to the heat flowing in from outside, the day was going to be another scorching one. “Damn dog,” she muttered. “What was Hershal thinking? I don’t like to be up at this time of morning.”
The dog started back toward the porch, but then he saw a squirrel and took off into the wooded area after it.
“You are on your own, Pepper. I’m going back to sleep,” she said and turned around to see Clara standing so close that it startled her.
“Holy hell, girl!” Bernie gasped.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, but do you have some aspirin? My head is splitting,” Clara moaned.
“You need my hangover cure,” Bernie said. “Sit down at the table and I’ll fix it for you.”
She peeled a banana and handed it to Clara. “Eat this first.”
“I can’t,” Clara said. “I’m gagging just looking at it.”
“Yes, you can, and yes, you will,” Bernie said in a no-nonsense tone while she rustled around in the cabinet for an individual container of applesauce. “Then you will eat this, and after that a piece of toast with two aspirin and a cup of coffee.”
“Why not just coffee?” Clara shaded her eyes against the sliver of light bouncing off the sugar bowl in the middle of the table and hitting her in the face.
“Because I said so,” Bernie snapped.