Chapter 1 #2
Once I’ve stuffed as much burger into my belly as I can—okay, maybe more than I should’ve—I gather my courage, stuffing it into every nook and cranny of my soul not filled with ground beef.
I lay a ten on the table for Olivia and put my phone in my pocket, wishing I could capture the look on Hank’s face when he sees me.
But I already know I’ll memorize it with my eyes. In that look, I’ll know if this is going to work. My heart races with hope that it will.
I walk up to the bar, between two stools, and wait for his eyes to drag away from the television. “What can I getcha?” he asks in the same run together, one-word way Olivia did. It’s something they both must do dozens of times every day.
I smile even though my lips are shaking and my knees are knocking. “Hi, Uncle Hank.” As I say it, the words sound foreign. I always called him ‘Unc’, but I’m not sure if he’d welcome that familiarity after all these years.
Those blue eyes narrow dangerously before they pop wide open and he grins. “Willow? Well, I’ll be damned!”
I return his smile, that hope blooming quickly and spreading warmth through my body.
“Get over here and give me a hug, girl.” The order is accompanied by a wave of his arm toward the opening in the bar. He comes around quicker than I would’ve thought he could, wrapping me up in a squeezing embrace that lifts me clean off the floor to spin me around.
Hell, he’s unexpectedly spry for an old guy.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, honey. What are you doing here?” He sets me down, petting my hair and scanning my face like he thinks it’s entirely possible that I’m a mirage.
“Needed a change, I guess you could say. And I thought of you . . . and Great Falls.”
That part’s not a lie, at least. I did think of him in a bent old photograph kind of way. The way you remember someone from years ago, when they seemed larger than life because you were just a kid.
Unc, because that’s who he is to me, chuckles, the sound rougher than sandpaper.
Smoke. I remember he used to smell like clove cigarettes that brought to mind the Christmas crafts with oranges we did at school as gifts for our mom.
I wonder if he still smokes now? I didn’t smell it on his hug, though.
“Well, I reckon Great Falls is a might bit different for a city girl. Have a seat and tell me everything.”
That sounds ominous to my ears. I swallow, knowing I can’t tell him everything, but I can tell him a lot.
And I want him to tell me things too, like his version of why I never saw him after I turned fourteen.
I’ve heard Mom’s version, and I heard Grandpa’s curse-laden one a time or two, but never Unc’s. Then again, does it even matter now?
He gestures to the end of the bar, following me over.
I sit, my legs dangling until I rest my feet on the crossbar.
Unc more perches than sits on his stool, but he bends a knee and places his boot on the crossbar too, taking pressure off his leg.
Oh, I remember that now. He always had a hip-rolling gait that made me think of a cowboy swagger, but Mom told me it was because he had an old injury that flared up sometimes.
I’d preferred my story to hers back then, and I want to believe it even now, though the signs of arthritis are in his bony hands too.
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and my reprieve is over. I’ve practiced this. I know what to say, so I launch into my prepared speech.
“It really is so good to see you, Unc.” I test out the affectionate nickname and he doesn’t so much as flinch.
“I don’t know how much you’ve kept up, but my mom and dad are good, driving each other crazy, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.
Oakley is as all right as a pain in the ass older brother can be.
He’s an accountant, got married last year, and probably has a five-year plan for home ownership, two-point-five babies, and a Labradoodle named Daisy. ”
I smile even as I’m smack talking my brother. He’s the sore thumb in our family, rebelling against Mom and Dad’s creative, hippie hearts and souls by going full suit and tie. He even carries a briefcase. Shudder.
“And what about you? Last time I saw you, you were in middle school, wearing paint splattered overalls with your head buried in a sketch book. You still drawing?” Unc seems genuinely interested, but the nostalgia of the image he paints isn’t the warm fuzzy of a happy memory.
Those were hard days where my awkwardness made me a weird outsider, Mom hadn’t understood why that was a bad thing, and I struggled to become ‘normal’, whatever that meant.
News flash, I failed on that mission spectacularly.
I shake my head. “No, not much anymore. I moved on to photography in high school for the yearbook and never looked back. It’s everything now.”
He asked for me to tell him everything, and photography is my most important truth. I can at least give him that.
“Whatcha take pictures of?” he asks.
Safe territory, thank goodness.
I pull out my phone and show him the picture I snapped of the burger I ate. He grabs my wrist, pushing the phone further away like he should be wearing glasses but refuses to on principle. When he focuses on the screen image, his mouth moves a little as he reads the caption.
“What’s tee-dee-eff? And the little pictures?”
I can’t help but grin. “It means ‘to die for’, because it was so good. The skull is shorthand for dead, the angel for heaven. Just saying it was really delicious, basically.”
He quirks a bushy white brow. “Then why not just put delicious? You kids are taking the nuances of the English language and turning it back into hieroglyphics for no good goddamn reason.”
I shrug, amused at the drawl of his accent. High-ROW-gli-fix. That second syllable lasted at least a full two seconds. “Just how we communicate to keep the old fogies from understanding,” I tease back.
“I’ll show you old fogie,” he scowls before winking, and it feels so easy and right, as if no time has passed. “So, what brings you to Great Falls?”
“Wanted something different than the city, I suppose.” Just keep repeating that as your mantra, Willow.
“City life not treating you kindly?” He sounds irked at the very idea.
“It was. I make money off my pictures, but like to stay busy. Just realized that I’ve never been more than an hour from home and thought this sounded like as good a place as anywhere.
At least I have family here.” His jaw tightens, and I rush to fill the moment with chatter before we get off on the wrong foot.
“I considered a beach in Mexico too, but you won out, so feel special,” I tell him with a smirk, hoping to ease those questions in his gaze.
“You picked this shithole over a beach? You are stupid, ain’t you?” There’s no heat in the insult, more that he’s laughing with me at the joke.
And it’s okay. We’re okay for the moment. Too bad it’s time to pick at the sloppy stitches of family that are barely holding us together.
“Stupid enough to pick up with no notice and drive across the state to a town I’ve never been to with only a few hundred bucks to my name and approximately no plan past this moment right here.
” I cringe. “Actually, I thought I’d see if you need any help around here.
” I look around the bar before focusing back on Unc. “I bartend in the city too.”
That bushy brow lifts incrementally and his arms cross over his chest, not believing a bit of my bullshit.
I roll my eyes and push at my bangs, which are stuck in the top of my glasses because this trip happened so quickly, I didn’t even get a haircut before setting out.
“I’m good, can keep up with a busy weekend night pulling beers, mixing drinks, and making sure people have a good time—but not too good of a time,” I assure him.
I’m not usually one for tooting my own horn, but I need to right now because this is the make-it or break-it moment.
I need Unc to say yes to me working in his bar.
It’s the pivot point to Mom’s whole plan.
One gnarled hand reaches up to stroke his chin as he thinks and my fate hangs in the beer and fried food-scented air between us. “Can ya waitress too? You a switch hitter?”
I blink, having zero plans to tell my old Uncle Hank that switch hitter does not mean someone who can waitress and bartend. “Yes sir, I can.” I’ve never waitressed a day in my life, but if that’s what it takes to get a foot in the door here, I’ll do it.
“You cook?”
“Uhm . . .” I can probably fake waitressing having worked in bars, and now I know what LTOP means, but actually cook the food? That’s not something you can fake.
Unc laughs. “Just pulling your leg, girl. Ilene won’t let a soul in her kitchen unless she’s training them herself. Not sure how she chooses ’em, but she’s definitely pickier than I am, luckily for you. When can you start?”
A relieved breath gushes out, along with all my excitement. “Really? Oh, that’s great! Thank you!” I grab around his shoulders for a hug, a habit that Mom instilled in Oakley and me from a young age.
Everyone needs hugs. Every day needs hugs.
Thankfully, he hugs me back, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a twinge of hurt over losing my grandfather.
He wasn’t an easy man to love, but I did, and he loved me back the only way he knew how.
But having Unc’s arms wrapped around me for this tiny space of time feels like family, even if all we share is a bloodline at this point since we barely know each other anymore.
I talk into his shoulder. “I can start right now.”
He leans back, humor dancing in his eyes. “At least take the day and get settled, though I wouldn’t say no to you hanging around and watching the comings and goings if you’d like a little education about what you’re getting into. Tonight’s two-dollar drafts, so it’ll be a busy one.”
As he says it, I can see a flash of weariness in the depths of his eyes, though he hides it quickly behind a blink. Even as he straightens his back, looking strong and formidable, I know what I saw. He’s tired after doing this on his own for so long. But I’m here to help now.
“I’m your girl.”