Chapter 8
The dive bar Binx guides me to is a “lakeside destination,” as advertised on the grungy billboard we pass on the way out of town, but it’s not in the same class as the bars and restaurants by the marina. It’s on the depressed side of the lake, the one once populated by a large trailer park that was, sadly, washed away in the floods a while back.
I’m sure the Turn Back It’s a Trap! bar and lounge was damaged, too, but the dive bar rose from the dead, like a creepy, clapboard zombie with two, flickering red windows for eyes.
In the glow of the headlights, I see peeling yellow paint on the walls and a spray-painted anarchy symbol near an official sign that reads, “No Firearms, Knives, or Weapons of Any Kind.”
“Wow, this is…” I trail off with a little gulp as I shut down the car.
“Creepy as fuck,” Binx supplies gleefully. “But don’t worry. It’s not scary inside. It’s actually swanky, in a faded, mid-century kind of way. The clientele is cool, too, mostly old folks from outer bumfuck getting wasted and teenagers scoring cheap beer at a place that doesn’t card. Bettie, the owner and bartender, is a doll. She tells the best stories and always cheers me up.”
I finish strapping Freya into her harness and cradle her in my arms, still not completely convinced. “And you’re sure they won’t mind me bringing her in?”
“Not at all, Bettie loves animals,” Binx says, swinging out of the passenger’s side.
Covering Freya’s ears, I add in a softer voice, “And if there are dogs in there, their owners won’t let them attack my emotional support weasel and rip her beautiful little body to shreds?”
Binx glances back at me with a bemused grin. “Um, no. Of course not. But you know she’s a ferret, right? Not a weasel?”
I laugh—nervously—as I shut the car door. “Yeah. It’s a joke. Mel started it. A nod to me preferring an actual weasel to the weaselly men around here.”
“Aw, got it,” Binx says, leading the way toward the entrance. “And I get it. I mean, I’m glad Mel found a great guy, but it’s not so easy for the rest of us. Half the men around here are douchebags and the other half…I’m related to.” She shoots me a narrow glance over her shoulder as she reaches for the door. “I can’t date McGuires, but you can. Have you ever thought about my cousin Maynard? Yes, he has a god-awful name, but he’s a great guy. Super cool, fun, loves going out on his boat in the summer… And his kids are almost grown, so you wouldn’t have to worry about stepmom drama.”
I shrug, playing it cool, like I didn’t spend most of the past eighteen months fantasizing about her brother pulling my hair while he took me from behind. “I’m on a break from dating right now, but thanks.”
“Girl, I hear that.” She swings the door wide, calling out as she steps inside, “Sometimes a girls’ night is all you need. Isn’t that right, Bettie?”
I peek past her, still cradling Freya close as I catch my first glimpse of an old copper bar with a scarred wooden top and the most adorable blue-haired woman behind it. Truly, she’s a tiny angel in a fuzzy pink sweater, with turquoise cat-eye glasses and curly turquoise hair to match.
“Binx!” Bettie’s eyes widen behind her thick lenses as she smiles. “Baby bird, get in here. We’ve missed you. What the heck have you been up to?”
My jaw drops as the door closes behind us and the dimly lit bar comes fully into view. Binx is right, it’s adorable. From the wood-paneled walls covered in vintage photographs to the doily-covered couches in one corner to the mismatched mid-century tables and chair sets—each topped with a glittering animal figurine and more doilies—it’s like your cool grandma threw a party and invited all her friends.
And though I see a cat climbing structure against one wall and several water bowls by the door, there don’t appear to be any other animals in the house tonight, aside from an ancient hound dog asleep by a rocking chair in one corner. But he’s wearing a leash that’s looped around the wrist of his equally sleepy owner, making me feel safe enough to follow Binx down to the empty end of the bar.
“Yeah, Baldy, we missed you,” a giant man in a gray flannel says as we pass his stool, offering Binx a fist to bump. “I haven’t had a decent dart game in ages. People around here can’t see straight, let alone shoot straight.”
“I heard that.” Another man, as narrow as Flannel Guy is wide, pipes up from his place a few stools closer to the door. “And I’ll remember it next time you beg me to play, asshole.”
“Now, now, watch your language,” Bettie says, still beaming as she leans over the bar to pull Binx in for a big hug. “Oh, sugar, it’s so good to see you.” She draws back, running a fond hand over Binx’s spiky hair, a shine in her eyes. “You’re just our miracle worker, that’s it. No other word for it.”
Red spots rise on Binx’s cheeks as she pulls back with a wave of her hand. “Don’t start, Bettie. It wasn’t a big deal. I’m just glad Sprout got the help she needs. That’s all the matters.”
Bettie’s focus shifts my way. “I bet she didn’t tell you, did she? That she pretty much single-handedly raised the money for my grandbaby’s surgery? Sprout got her implants last month and heard music for the first time right here in the bar.” She motions toward the jukebox. “We put on Blue Moon and she danced and danced. The awe on her face…” Bettie presses a hand to her chest, clearly working through a wave of emotion. “Well, that’s something I’ll never forget, that’s for sure. One of the best moments of my life.” Pulling herself together, she claps her ringed hands. “So, what’ll you have? Drinks for you and your friend are on me.” Glancing back to me, she extends her tiny fingers. “I’m Bettie by the way, darlin. We haven’t been properly introduced.”
“Tessa,” I say, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard about your place. It’s the cutest.”
Bettie beams. “Thank you so much. We’re not the fanciest place in town, but when you’re here, you’re family.” She leans down, grinning at Freya. “And so are your critters. What’s this lovely lady’s name?”
“That’s Freya,” Binx cuts in, “and I’m paying for drinks, Bettie. I told you, you don’t owe me anything. I don’t want things to be weird.”
“Things aren’t weird,” Bettie says, cooing as Freya rubs against her scratching fingers. “Now, sit your bootie down and accept your free drink without being a pain in my backside.”
“Yeah,” Flannel Guy says. “And I’m buying your second round.” He tips his beer my way as he explains, “Sprout’s my niece. Sweetest kid in the world.”
Binx grumbles but settles into a stool at the back of the bar, not far from the cat climbing structure. I’m debating whether or not it’s safe for Freya to explore the environment with her leash on when Bettie appears with two waters and whispers, “Go ahead and let her off the lead. It’s only Old Blue in here tonight and he doesn’t have the energy to chase after anything anymore.”
“Thanks,” I say, unclipping the leash from Freya’s harness and freeing my eagerly squirming girl to play. “She loves exploring things like this,” I add, laughing as she slithers into a tiny hole at the bottom only to poke her nose out a hole near the top a second later.
“Well, of course,” Bettie says. “Who wouldn’t? I’m coming back as a pet in my next life. No doubt about that. So, what can I get ya?”
“I’ll have a Doris Day,” Binx says, before turning to me. “It’s champagne, pomegranate juice, winter citrus spray, mint, and some kind of orange liqueur Bettie keeps hidden under the bar. So fresh and fabulous.”
I hum in anticipation. “That sounds amazing. I’ll have one, too.”
“Coming right up.” Bettie sets a 3D card menu with a martini glass popping out in the middle of it between us on the bar. “But be sure to check out the rest of the drinks, too. We have a lot of fun stuff this spring.”
“She rotates the menu seasonally,” Binx explains as Bettie fetches her cocktail shaker. “But the drinks are always named after famous people from the 1950s. It’s pretty cute.”
“This whole place is cute,” I say, smiling as I spot a row of felt jackalope heads mounted about the liquor display. “Definitely a case of the insides not matching the outsides.”
Binx winks. “That’s part of the magic. Only the bold make it through the front door. And keeping things quiet keeps the cops away. Bettie would lose her license if they realized how often she sells to minors. But she thinks if you’re old enough to vote and die for your country in a war, you ought to be able to order a beer. Can’t say I disagree.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Makes sense.” Shifting on my stool, I check in on Freya, who’s still darting in and out of the cat structure, before asking in a softer voice, “So, what’s the story, woman? What did you do here?”
She shrugs uncomfortably. “Nothing much, really. I helped spread the word about the fundraiser for Sprout’s cochlear implant surgery and agreed to shave my head if we raised a certain amount in ten days. The guys at my gym thought it would be hilarious to see me bald and…the rest is history.”
Connecting the dots, I ask, “And you didn’t tell your mother this, because…”
She bristles, her shoulders hunching closer to her ears. “I shouldn’t have to. If I want to shave my head, for any reason, that should be okay. I’m still the same person, you know? And it’s my body.” She takes a drink of her water before setting it down a little too hard on the bar. “And she wouldn’t have cared if any of my brothers did it. It’s pure sexism, it’s ridiculous, and I’m sick of it.”
I nod. “Valid.” I lean in, nudging her shoulder gently with mine. “But I’m sorry. It sucks to be punished for doing a good deed.”
“I’m not being punished,” she says, brightening as Bettie sets our drinks in front of us. “I’m the luckiest girl in Bad Dog. Damn, Bettie, these smell even better than usual.”
“Thank you.” Bettie pats her hand. “And watch your mouth. You know my rules. No salty language in my bar, only salty martini rims.”
Binx salutes her as she reaches for her drink. “Yes, ma’am. Bettie was in the army, and still has a little drill sergeant in her.”
My brows lift as I glance back at the tiny woman. She can’t be more than five feet tall and a hundred pounds, if that.
Bettie grins at my reaction. “I was a little taller when I was young, but you’re not wrong. The men all laughed at me, until they came into my clinic needing a bullet wound treated, and I was the only one in the med tent who didn’t get squeamish. I was one of the first nurses to serve overseas.”
“Wow.” I blink. “Thank you for your service.”
“And thank you for yours,” Bettie says with a wink. “I was at the business leader lunch you catered last fall. You do good work. The roasted duck had such a nice flavor, and the cheese puffs were the best I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you,” I say, flattered. “That’s my recipe. I do most of the bread and baked goods.”
“Tessa’s a culinary goddess,” Binx says, patting my back. “My sister has no idea how she’ll keep going if she quits to open her own restaurant.”
Bettie’s eyes widen. “Is that something you’re thinking about?”
I wave a hand. “Nah, not really. I mean, yeah, I dream about it sometimes, but I’m sure the reality would be way too exhausting. Running your own business is no joke.”
Bettie nods. “No, it’s not. But neither is letting your dreams slip away because something seems scary. We weren’t put here to stick to what comes easy, Tessa. We were put here to do the things that scare us. That’s the whole point.”
“Speaking of things that scare me,” Binx mutters, turning from the door and blocking her face with her drink. “Don’t look now, but Psycho Twin just walked in.”
I look up, gulping as I see Darcy, Wesley’s ex swinging through the door.
“What’s up, bitches?” she shouts, kicking the door closed behind her with one black boot. “Miss me?”
Scratch that, not Darcy. This is Daria, her twin sister, the scary one.
There are some vague murmurs from the two men at the bar, but nothing compared to the warm welcome Binx received when she arrived. But Daria doesn’t seem to notice.
She wraps her arms around Flannel Guy, hugging him until his cheeks flush pink. “Oh, I know, me too,” she says. “I’ve missed you at Riff’s on Sundays. What the fuck is wrong with this town? How can you ban someone from a bar for life for one fight? It’s crazy.”
“You’re going to get banned here if you don’t watch your mouth,” Bettie says as she crosses to that side of the bar. “You know the rules, Daria. Now, what can I get you, honey?”
“Give me a Jack Kerouac martini with extra…” She trails off, her brown eyes narrowing as her gaze lands on Binx.
I feel Binx tense beside me, but there’s no time to ask about her history with Daria before the woman herself is stomping across the bar.
“You,” Daria says, her jaw clenching. “You have some fucking balls. Showing your face on my side of town after what your brother did to my sister.”
Binx lifts her hands into the air. “I’m not a part of that, Daria. You stay over there, and I’ll stay over here, and we can both have a nice night.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Daria snaps, ignoring Bettie’s suggestion that she let it go. “I don’t have nice nights anymore, not since your piece of shit brother broke my sister’s heart. Darcy still cries herself to sleep almost every night, over a year later. Did you know that?”
I press a hand to my cramped stomach, guilt making my insides squirm.
“It was just a breakup, Daria. They happen all the time,” Binx says. “And I know Wesley was nice about it. Wes is always nice. It’s like…his thing.”
Daria snorts. “You don’t know jack shit about your brother, do you?”
“Language,” Bettie says, but Daria ignores her.
She leans in, stretching across my lap to get closer to Binx as she seethes, “Your brother is a sick fuck, Beatrice McGuire. He’s a pervert who scared the shit out of my sister, then broke up with her when she wouldn’t get nasty with him in bed.”
My throat tightens until I’m pretty sure I’m going to choke on my tongue. Yes, Wes is bossy in bed, but he isn’t a pervert. At least not in my experience.
“My name is Binx,” Binx murmurs, her voice cool enough to chill a martini glass. “And I’m not going to talk about this with you, Daria. I told you that the last time you tried to start something. Now, leave us alone.”
Daria cuts a sharp glance my way, her face far too close for comfort. My chin slides into my neck as I lean back on my stool, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Who’s this? Your lesbian lover? You like ‘em old, don’t you, gaywad?”
“That’s enough,” Bettie says, as Binx shouts, “Shut up, Daria. Jesus. You’re thirty-four, for fuck’s sake. Tessa’s only a few years older.”
Before I can recover from the shock of being call “old” right to my face, Daria shoots back with an ugly smile, “A few years, my ass, Beatrice.” To me, she adds, “You should bail while you can, Wrinkles. Fucking a McGuire’s a good way to catch the clap.”
“I’d like some space, please,” I say, a faint tremble in my voice.
But Daria only leans closer. “Or what? You’re going to sit on me with that wide ass of yours?”
Binx comes off her stool beside me. “Seriously, Daria, I’m going to—”
“You’re going to what?” She sneers the words straight into my face, not sparing Binx a second glance. “Going to beat me up for talking trash to your fat old girlfriend?”
“I may be fat and old,” I hear myself saying, the words ripped from some previously untapped rage-center in my core. “But Wesley didn’t seem to mind. And I thought he was great in bed. Not sure what your sister was complaining about.”
Daria’s jaw drops, her shock sending a zing of satisfaction through me, followed closely by a fresh wave of fear as she hisses, “You fucking bitch. I’m going to end you.”
Binx sucks in a breath and Daria pulls back a fist, but before any blows can land, Freya comes sailing over my shoulder. One moment, she’s a streak of gray and white in my peripheral vision, the next, she’s hanging from Daria’s arm, thrashing and wriggling, throwing my bully off-balance.
“Car. Now!” Binx shouts, grabbing Freya’s leash from the bar and pressing it into my hands. “Go!”
“Come on, Freya,” I call out as I hurry past Daria. “Come on, girl!” I whistle and my fierce defender comes running, bounding across the floor like a dragon kite in the wind before jumping into my arms.
I’m almost to the exit, with Binx hot on my heels, when the first glass smashes against the wall. Squealing and ducking the flying shards, I wrench the door open and spill out into the dark.
Thanking the universe for my piece of shit Jetta’s broken locks, I tumble into the car, tossing Freya into the back and jamming the key into the ignition. By the time Binx jumps in beside me, the engine is already humming. All I have to do is jam the car into reverse and floor it, peeling out seconds before Daria leaps on the hood.
“Drive, drive, drive!” Binx shouts when I hesitate, afraid Daria might try to throw herself in front of the car again.
I put the pedal to the metal again, launching us onto the road with a spray of gravel.
We drive in silence, nothing but the sound of our swiftly indrawn breath until Binx finally says, “Well, well, Miss T. What other secrets are you hiding in that big, beautiful hair of yours?”
I cut a guilty glance her way. “Um, none? Sorry. It just came out.”
Binx exhales a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy seeing Daria’s head spin in a circle, but the fallout is going to be nuclear.”
I gulp. “She’s going to kill me?”
“Possibly,” Binx says, making the churning in my gut even worse. “But there’s a way to smooth things over. Though I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it. I assume things didn’t end well with you and Wes?”
I shake my head. “Um, no.”
She sighs. “Yeah, if things were copacetic, I figured I would have heard about it. But he’s our only shot at getting through to Darcy, who’s our only shot at getting through to Daria.” She pulls out her cell. “I’ll tell him to meet us at his place in twenty minutes. This isn’t something we should leave until tomorrow.”
“Really?” I ask, pretty sure I’m going to throw up my one sip of my Doris Day.
“Really.” Binx taps at her phone, shooting off message after message. “Daria doesn’t sober up and calm down. She sobers up and has more energy to bring her evil schemes to fruition. If we don’t nip this in the bud, your yard could be on fire by morning. Or your car. Or your car and your yard and your face.” Her phone dings and she lets out a relieved breath. “Okay great, Wes is already home. He says he’ll have hot tea waiting for us.”
“Oh,” I squeak out, regretting every choice I’ve made tonight. “Okay.”
“Better than okay. It’s great.” Binx tucks her phone back into her purse before shifting to face me. “But before we drink tea, I need you to spill some, woman. What happened with my brother and why aren’t you two living happily ever after? As far as I can tell, you two would be perfect together.”
And because I’m an honest woman, who got herself into this mess with her own big mouth, I’m forced to tell Binx the truth. Most of it, anyway. I leave out the part about our mad night of tent passion overlapping with his relationship with Darcy by a full eight weeks.
As guilty as I feel about that, it doesn’t feel like my secret to tell.
But by the time we get to Wesley’s, where the man himself is waiting for us in the driveway in his tux with the shirt open at the top, she has almost all the dirt.
She shakes her head sadly at her brother as she passes him by, muttering, “Let’s go clean up your mess, bro. Seriously, man, couldn’t you have dated someone without a dangerously unhinged relative?”
Wes’s gaze darts my way, his eyes wide.
I don’t know what to say, so, I say nothing. I just cuddle Freya close and follow Binx into Wes’s extremely tidy home, pretty sure this is turning into one of the worst nights of my life.