Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Thankfully, the Walleye Tavern isn’t as crowded on Tuesday night as it had been on Friday.
I could have eaten dinner with my family or called Becky.
Another possibility was eating alone in the cottage.
I have groceries. However, after two days at the hospital surrounded by family, as Julie came in and out of consciousness, sitting at the bar, drowning my erratic thoughts in whisky and cheeseburger grease holds the greatest appeal.
The customers, those still here after nine at night, are sprinkled throughout the restaurant, filling a few booths along the wall and sitting at a scattering of tables.
They’re preoccupied with their own lives, eating, drinking, and solving the world’s problems. For the moment, the pool tables are quiet, the balls no longer colliding and the green felt glowing under the colorful Tiffany-like lights.
The whisky I’ve already consumed continues to settle my nerves.
The alcohol allows my mind to wander as the lyrics of an old Reba McEntire song infiltrate the stuffy air.
Sipping my most recent refill, I let the words reverberate through my thoughts.
She was eighteen years old on the outskirts of New Orleans when her mother dressed her up and told her to be nice to the gentlemen and they’ll be nice to her—Fancy.
Turning my head, I peer around the bar.
This isn’t New Orleans, yet I wonder how much has changed over time.
I’m not insinuating that any Blue Gil mothers would dress their daughters up for prostitution, but after hearing Hank’s thoughts on Marty, maybe there’s a fundamental truth to the lyrics.
Everyone wants more, more than they have, more than they imagine.
Fancy, in the song, ends up living in a Georgia mansion and a New York penthouse.
The girls in Blue Gil, though not exclusively here, think they want more.
Sexism is alive and well. It was what Becky said.
As I sip more whisky, I wonder why people aren’t satisfied. Why would a young girl like Marty want another woman’s husband? Why would a married man like Craig make moves on an underage girl?
I look down into the nearly empty glass wondering who the victim is or if the assessment of right and wrong isn’t as simple as all of that.
I was young and believed I deserved the attention of a married man more than his wife. At the same time, he was older, if only a few years, and was in a position of power. Maybe it was all wrong and right doesn’t exist.
Looking back, that’s a hard concept to justify.
Unjustifiable.
“Another one?” Theo asks as he eyes my nearly empty glass.
“What’s it like to stay here?” I ask as I smear the salt around my plate, flattening the remains of a fat French fry. I look up and clarify. “Here, in Blue Gil.”
His blue eyes skirt around the bar before he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge, his tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. “It’s home. Sometimes when people leave and come back, they think they’re better than those of us who stayed.”
“Or maybe people who stay think they’re better for sticking it out?” I offer.
“Hmm.”
“Why would leaving make someone better than sticking it out?”
“Wouldn’t you be the one to answer that?” he asks.
“I don’t think that I’m better, but I can’t help how other people see me. I never could.” I finish the last drops of my whisky and hand the empty tumbler toward him. “I think I quit trying.”
It takes a few seconds, but finally Theo nods as he reaches for the glass. “Maybe that’s it.”
I look at him quizzically without replying.
“We all do it,” he says, “work to show that we matter. It’s a never-ending need to prove ourselves.” He picks up the bottle of Maker’s Mark and pours another double into my glass.
I tilt my head and force a grin. “What do you need to prove, Theodore Morton?”
“First, that I’m not my dad. Also, that I’m not the shy, skinny kid you remember from algebra, and lastly, that I can make this place a success.”
I can’t stop the smile that creeps across my face as I stare at the way his shirt stretches over his wide chest, or his bright blue eyes under a mop of wavy chestnut hair. Yes, sexism goes both ways. “It looks like you did it.”
“Why, because I work out?”
“Because if you were shy, you wouldn’t be doing what you do,” I say, “working here every night?”
“It’s not every night, but most. I do more than work here.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“The Walleye Tavern is mine,” he said.
“Wow.” My gaze moves from Theo to around the large room. “It’s yours? You own this place?” Theo is a year younger than me and he owns his own business.
He nods. “Yeah, I had my first job here in high school. I cleaned, threw away trash, and helped stock the back. Two years ago, Old Man Wilson learned he had cancer.”
I try to remember. “Didn’t he have family?”
“Wife and three kids. Wife died before he was diagnosed. Their kids are married with kids of their own and all live away. None of them were interested in this old place.” He shrugs. “I was. I made him an offer.”
“How does a town deputy feel about his son owning the only bar?”
Theo scoffs. “It’s not the only one. Sunshine Cafe serves beer and wine.”
“Oh, come on, it closes at eight.”
Theo laughs. “I’m not interested in the breakfast rush. We have a nice understanding.”
Dipping another French fry in salt and cheeseburger grease, I nod. “That’s the appeal of a small town. I don’t think different establishments negotiate hours of service in California.”
“Back to your question, I’m still proving to Blue Gil and beyond that I’m more than a deputy’s son.”
I plop the fry in my mouth. “It looks like you’re doing well. What is your sister up to?” She was a year older than me.
“She’s like you.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah, Syd went to college and never came back.”
“Where does she live?” I ask.
“Chicago. She works in some law firm.”
I flash Theo a smile. “Different strokes for different folks. You’re making this place work.”
“I started out trying to keep everything the same,” he says, “like if I did, people wouldn’t know it was under new management.
I’m slowly making some changes. Next week, I’m opening outdoor seating for the first time.
It will be seasonal, but I’m hoping there’s a market.
” He shrugs. “So far, no one has complained about the changes, and more importantly, they keep coming back.”
“Well, that’s a start.” I smile. “You’re good at talking to people, Theo. You probably know everyone’s life story.”
He leans forward with his elbows on the bar as the edge of a tattoo peeks out from under his sleeve. “What’s your life story, Jillian? Why did you quit caring what others think?”
Picking up my drink, I swirl the amber liquid. The memory I have been trying to suppress returns. My sister...my family.
The medications were dissipating from Julie’s system. After Michelle entered the room, a nurse came in and told us to watch for movement. Sure enough, in another hour, Julie began turning and fidgeting. Her hand would twitch, and her face moved from side to side.
Michelle was gone, and I informed the nurses. They assured me it was normal.
Just before Dr. Chaudhry arrived, my family joined me.
I’m not sure what the doctor injected into Julie’s IV, but within a few minutes, Julie’s movements increased.
Her eyes opened for a split second. It was as if she wasn’t seeing what was in front of her.
Her expression was a composite of emotions, as if she were seeing something we couldn’t.
There was both fear and shock as her focus was somewhere beyond the present. She offered gurgled sounds as her breathing came faster. She pulled at the tubes. It was like watching a frightened kitten, clawing and hissing, Julie went from slumber to a sheer state of panic.
Instead of enlisting our help or support, Dad sent us all out of the room, leaving only him, Mom, and Dr. Chaudhry at her side.
For a moment, my siblings and I lingered in the hallway outside her door, wondering what Julie was saying, what she remembered, and if they told her about Marty, how she reacted. Eventually the three of us made it to the waiting room, Ollie, Liv, and I.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, Dad came out to us.
He spoke to me first.
“Jillian, give your sister time. She doesn’t know you anymore, and your being here is upsetting her.”
“Me?”
“Dad,” Liv tries, “Jillian is trying to help.”
“We’ve done fine without her help for over six years.” He turns to me. “Go back to the lake. Your mom will call when we know more.”
I look at my other siblings, from Liv to Ollie, but before I can formulate a response, Dad motions for my siblings to follow him back to Julie’s room.
As I reach for my computer bag and purse, Ollie looks my way and then turns. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but I suppose it was something—anything.
Now, I’m here at the Walleye Tavern, discussing my life story with Theo Morton.
“Simple story, really,” I say, answering Theo. “Small town girl moves to the big city to...” I search for the right word.
“Find herself?” he offers in question.
“Is that what Sydney said?”
He shrugs. “Did you do it?”
Find myself?
“I guess that depends on who you ask.” I sprinkle more salt on the remaining fries. There is something about salt that goes well with liquor. It’s probably why many bars offer bowls of peanuts or the ones still in their shells. They make the floor slippery, but it’s fun to shuck them.
“How is your sister?” Theo asks, changing the subject.
“Better. She’s awake.”
His blue eyes open wider. “She wasn’t before?”
Shit.
“Were you at the sheriff’s talk this morning?” I ask.