2. Aiden
The Cove Bar and Grill smells like hot sauce and beer and is as loud as a Friday night in August, even though the season’s barely getting started. A country song blares from the speakers, drowning out the sound of the ballgame on the big screen where the Sunrays are up 0-1 in the bottom of the sixth. I shake off the rain droplets from my rush through the parking lot and run a hand through my hair. With the storm on the way, it’s a good thing the series is away. No doubt, any home game would have been rained out.
My younger brother, Jesse, who’s the birthday boy tonight, and a handful of our friends are impossible to miss guzzling beer and shooting darts in the corner where they’ve cobbled together a few tall tables.
I’m glad to see my older brother, Blake, amongst the revelers. He gets out less than I do these days, thanks to his single dad status, but it’s a special occasion, and when he spots me and raises a glass, heads swivel in my direction.
A chorus of cheers and slow claps celebrate my arrival, but rather than head their way, I stop by the bar. Donna, with the same observant gray eyes she’s had since the day my dad moved us boys to Love Beach when I was sixteen, glances up from pulling a draft. A warm smile spreads across her face.
“Well, well, well, look who the storm blew in.”
I rub the back of my neck, deserving every ounce of the hard time she wants to serve my way. I should stop by more often to check on her, but every time I do, the memories that surface keep me planted in the cab of my pickup.
“I was wondering if you’d be making your annual appearance,” she adds, nodding toward the corner.
“I’m just stopping by for Jesse. Then I’ll be on my way. I need a good night’s sleep tonight, if I can get one.”
She releases the tap. “It’s good to see you, Aiden. Really good.”
“You, too,” I reply, meaning the words with every bone in my body.
“All alone?” She peers past me, though she knows the answer. It’s been the same one every year for eight years now.
“Yup.”
She nods and presses her lips together then tips her head toward the throng making more noise than any other table. “They’ve been here at least an hour, if not more, waiting for you.”
“I was checking over the equipment and raising the double reds up the flagpole for the morning.”
Her eyes skip to the wall of windows where the rain is running in rivulets down the glass. Then her gaze trails back to me. “Think it’ll be that bad?”
I heave a sigh. “Hard to say, but the warning’s been upgraded to a Tropical Storm, and Love Beach is the projected landfall, so somebody somewhere is reading the data and thinks we’re in for it.”
Donna delivers the pint down the bar to a local I acknowledge with a lift of my chin. Then she makes her way back toward me, with a look I know means trouble.
“Maybe, Kate is that somebody somewhere.”
Her tone is casual, but Kate’s aunt knows exactly what she’s doing, and I know why. But I don’t share the fact that the same thought crossed my mind hours ago when the weather alert buzzed my phone.
I glance off toward the windows, swallowing hard. “Maybe.”
“News reported the storm’s been named Aiden,” she adds, twisting the knife in my gut that’s already cut me wide open.
I can’t help but fall into her trap, but can’t help the way I clench the truck keys in my hand until their jagged impressions are etched into the flesh of my palm. “Even if Kate’s following the storm, she sure as hell didn’t name it.”
The gruff defense in my tone is a dead giveaway. A sign that Donna, who’s more like a mother than the woman who gave birth to me ever was, has gotten under my skin. But rather than gloat, the glimmer in her eyes fades, and she busies herself wiping the already sparkling polished-oak bar with a wet towel.
Silence falls, and I wish I could eat my words, but before I can, Donna stills and murmurs so quietly I almost don’t catch it. “You never know.”
My throat constricts, but following her train of thought isn’t useful. It’s been almost eight years since Kate left, and it’s well past time I let her go. If only, I could move on from the girl who captured my heart when she was seventeen and still, to this day, owns it.
“How about a round for the table?” I say instead, eyeing the near empty pitchers on the high tables.
“And a water for you?”
She knows me well.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Donna reaches for a pitcher and sets it under the tap. A smooth stream of golden beer with a thin layer of foam on top fills the worn plastic. I grab my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans, but she shakes her head. “This one’s on me.”
She cuts off my protest with an arch of her eyebrow. “I know it was you who fixed up that latch on my gate in January. And the one who had something to do with the flat tire on my car in the parking lot getting patched and filled last month.”
I lift a shoulder. I keep an eye on her. It’s the least I can do.
I’m sliding my wallet back into my pocket when the door swings open and a gusty breeze blows through. But the wind isn’t what sends a chill racing down my spine. It’s the wide-eyed look that fills Donna’s face. And the way her jaw drops as if she’s seen a ghost before she snaps it back into place and her eyes fly to mine.
She swallows and tries to pull herself together, but her voice is taut when she says, “How about a whiskey instead of that water?”