Chapter 8
Bernie’s ability to crook her forefinger around a lit cigar and hold a highball glass with a triple shot of Jameson in the same hand completely mesmerized Clara.
Her great-aunt could even sip the whiskey without setting her red hair on fire and take a drag from the cigar without spilling the liquor down into her bra.
She could make a mint if she went on the road with that trick and told bar stories starting with the night a man walked into the bar with a dead goldfish and a Chihuahua.
She wouldn’t even have to embellish or exaggerate all that much.
Clara pictured her tiny little aunt wearing her July Fourth getup on the stage in Las Vegas.
Or maybe teaching a class on using one hand to drink and smoke, and keep the other one free to wave around while she told stories about what had happened in the Chicken Coop.
She wouldn’t get in trouble or get sued for talking about the past. After all, what grown, self-respecting person would admit that they’d been drunk at a bar with such a strange name?
There wasn’t a policeman or a judge in the whole world who wouldn’t laugh that right out the court doors.
“Are y’all ever going to light your cigars?” Bernie asked.
“Of course,” Nash bit off the end of the cigar and lit it, took a puff, and blew the smoke out. “Tell me again why we are out here.”
Clara followed his lead and coughed when she tried to inhale the smoke from the first puff.
“Darlin’ girl, you don’t inhale.” Bernie chuckled.
“You just want the sweet taste in your mouth. It goes right well with whiskey, and when you are young, the kisses from a sexy man afterwards is downright intoxicating. And Nash, this is like a therapy session only you don’t have to write a check to pay for it when we are finished. ”
“Kind of like a group thing?” Clara asked.
“That’s right, and it don’t cost a dime,” Bernie agreed.
“The cigars were a gift from a friend who snuck them out of Cuba, and the whiskey is right off the top shelf from the bar, so sit back and relax with the finest therapy tools on the market. Your whiskey will be gone when we finish here, but you should save what’s left of your cigar for next time.
I do not believe in wasting anything, especially imported, illegal cigars.
I’ll go first this time, but next week, one of you will have to do it. ”
“Fair enough,” Nash said. “Please show us how it’s done. I’ve never been to a therapy session. How about you, Clara?”
“Nope, but my mother and grandmother wanted to send me away to a church rehab-type thing for someone to preach Aunt Bernie out of me,” she admitted. “Does almost being committed count?”
“Comes pretty close,” Bernie said and picked up Pepper.
“But here goes on my story. My name is Mary Bernadette Marsh. My twin sister is Vernie Sue. My folks thought it was cute to give us rhyming names. To say that we are as different as fire and ice would be a major understatement. I jumped from job to job until I was well into my twenties, and for the most part lived out of my ten-year-old car. I was sitting in a game of Texas Hold’em one night.
Right here in this very bar. I was down to my last twenty bucks, and the owner of this place hadn’t had much better luck all night.
He didn’t want to be put to shame by a sassy red-haired woman, so he bet his bar against me.
Told me that I was bluffing, and that he would take my crumpled-up twenty-dollar bill and buy himself a new fishing rod with it.
You could get a fairly decent one back in those days for that amount. ”
“Are you serious?” Nash asked.
“I am,” Bernie took a puff on the cigar and blew out smoke rings. “And soda fountain soft drinks were a dime, and an ice cream cone sold for the same.”
Clara’s smoke came out in a fog, not in perfect little circles.
“Evidently he lost, but what kind of hand did you have?” Nash asked.
“He had a straight flush and reached for my money, but I laid down a royal and took the Chicken Coop from him,” Bernie answered with a chuckle.
“That was lucky,” Nash said. “Have you played much since then?”
“Oh, yeah,” Bernie replied, “If I won, I banked the profit for a rainy day, and that amount has grown into a goodly sum. But I never, not once, put my bar up for collateral.”
Clara had been listening to the whole story, but she had also been staring up at millions of stars. Weird things were supposed to happen on the nights when a full moon was out, and it was big and beautiful that morning.
And they are happening in your life, the voice in her head whispered.
She tuned back into the conversation when Nash asked, “Is this what therapy is? Just telling our life story?”
“Nope,” Bernie replied. “Therapy is talking about whatever comes to a person’s mind.
As I think of selling the Chicken Coop, it brings back memories of what might have happened if I hadn’t drawn that hand.
I might have gone back home to Fritch, Texas, and fell into a rut—one that wouldn’t have brought me nearly as much happiness as this place has. ”
“Like marriage, kids, and grandkids?” Clara asked.
“Maybe, but the Universe smiled on me that evening, and like that old song says, ‘I did it my way.’ I don’t have a single regret about my life.”
“Not even that our family has been so ugly?” Clara asked.
Bernie took another puff and blew out more smoke rings that disintegrated as they floated up into the trees.
“Nope. Had they let me live my life my way and loved me unconditionally, I might have never ended up being as happy as I have been. I have a lot of wonderful memories. And now I’m going to move to Spanish Fort and make more.
Mary Jane and her girls need me,” she said.
To Clara’s way of thinking, the night really did get stranger with each passing moment.
She hadn’t expected to ever be Bernie’s favorite niece, but she needed her as much or more than anyone at the Paradise did.
She couldn’t tell her that she didn’t want her to leave Ratliff City—not when she seemed to be set on retiring.
Bernie had done so much for her that to beg her to stay would be beyond selfish.
Endora needs her worse than you do. Evidently the voice in her head had a different opinion. That cousin of yours needs some sass in her life to bring her out of the depression.
Nash took a sip of his whiskey. “This is a peaceful place back here, and I hope that sometime in the middle of August, I can call it home.”
“You’ve certainly proven yourself the past week,” Bernie said, “but you have to give me your word, both verbally and on paper, that if you ever sell the bar, I get first chance at buying it back. It’s an institution in these parts, and I don’t want it sold to someone who will tear it down and put in a gas station. ”
“You’ve got it, and I’ll sign the papers saying so,” Nash promised.
“Okay, then, that is taking a step forward. Next Saturday night you can have a turn, Clara, at telling us whatever is on your mind,” Bernie nodded toward her and stubbed out her cigar on the ground.
“Right now, I’m going to bed. You kids can stay up and visit until the cigars or the whiskey or both is gone, but don’t come crying to me if you have a hangover tomorrow morning, Clara.
” She set Pepper on the ground and stood up.
“You might want to keep that smoke going until you are ready to call it a night.”
“Why?” Clara asked.
Bernie tossed back the last of her drink and set the red plastic cup on the chair.
“The mosquitoes that cross the Red River from Texas are only slightly smaller than buzzards, and if they gang up on someone as small as you are, they could carry you away faster than an EF5 tornado. But they hate any kind of smoke, but especially that from cigars. Don’t forget that we are taking the trailer to Spanish Fort tomorrow, and we’re supposed to be there by noon.
See you Monday evening, Nash. Come on, Pepper, it’s way past our bedtime. ”
“I’ll be here at five o’clock,” he said. “Have a good time tomorrow and be safe.”
“I always have a good time at the Paradise, but I’ve never been accused of being safe.” Bernie chuckled and went inside the apartment.
Clara took one more puff of the cigar and stubbed it out on the ground.
“I’ll take my chances with the mosquitoes.
I know you were a lawyer, and that you got tired of long hours, but are you getting a dose of culture shock?
Moving from a city the size of Dallas to this place has to be quite an adjustment. ”
“In Dallas, I never had time to do anything other than sleep and go to the office,” Nash said. “Most of the time I even ate there. I used to wonder why I even paid rent on an apartment. There was a gym and a shower at the workplace, and I could have kept my clothing in a locker.”
“Even during the pandemic?” she asked.
“I used the apartment during the time I worked from home, but the hours didn’t slow down much if any. What about you? Is coming here a culture shock for you?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!” she said with a giggle. “And that’s a joke.
I left behind the small town of Fritch with a population of less than two thousand to come to a place that doesn’t even have a hundred people living in it.
The only thing here is cows and the Chicken Coop, from what I can see.
Fritch does have a couple of businesses and a few stop signs. ”
“That means we are working at the most prosperous establishment in the whole town of Ratliff City,” Nash told her.
She covered a yawn with the back of her hand.
Her mind said it was well past the time to get some sleep.
Her heart told her that she wanted to stay and talk to Nash for a while longer.
“Churches, bars, and post offices hardly ever go out of business. So, I don’t think that the bar will suffer when Aunt Bernie takes wings and flies across the Red River. ”