12. August
12
AUGUST
Bernadette Prudence Hudson had never been a saint or a prude, and no one would ever mistake her for one. She looked more like an Amazon, with a tall, slender body forged by a lifetime of physical training. We were the same age, but Bernie looked ten years younger and was in much better shape. Her sun-kissed skin, attractively displayed in a halter top and a pair of frayed jean shorts, was still soft and healthy-looking. I needed her secret. And possibly more SPF 100.
She stood there with her hands on her hips, studying me with inscrutable eyes, and the way the muscles bunched in her shoulders, arms and thighs made me silently question all my sedentary life choices.
When we were kids, she’d gone to dance competitions and gymnastics meets year-round, while I’d spent my days with my head buried in a book and my hand in the nearest bag of chips. Now she looked like she could compete in an Iron Man competition, while I…looked like I could write a book with one hand buried in a bag of chips.
I wondered if they served chips here .
She was going to be a grandmother in less than two months. It was hard to wrap my head around.
“I heard about your roof,” she finally said, after winning the once-over stare-down. “You can grab a plate if you’re hungry.”
“I’m fine.” I hated that this felt so uncomfortable. “And thank you for taking Morgan’s dogs while my power was out, but I’m not here for… What is all this?”
I gestured to the crowd around us but kept my focus on her familiar face. Even wearing its current look of suspicion, it helped calm the anxiety I was feeling.
She reached up to push a thick strand of dark-brown hair out of her face and work it back into her braid. “The usual. Wade made Hudson’s an unofficial command center for county workers and local maintenance. I’m not sure who started the rumor we were having a party and the whole neighborhood was invited to bring food.” She glared at the crowd milling around outside. “But since my brother is buried in work across the street, I closed up my studio to juggle this circus.”
“That was nice of you.” If memory served, she actually could juggle. And rock climb. And skydive.
Bernadette was a one-woman life goal.
“It’s a pain in the ass, like the dogs—Ann took them back to the house by the way. But that’s what family is for. They show up for each other,” she added with a meaningful look. “Even when it’s hard.”
Ouch. I felt that. I needed to orient and get out of here. “I’m actually here to help out too. I’m supposed to?—”
An embarrassingly high-pitched squeal of surprise escaped me when she pounced, wrapping her fingers around my wrist. “Do not fuck with me, August.”
Were we fighting now? I wasn’t dressed for fighting. And why did everyone think I was fucking with them ?
“Tone it down, Wonder Woman,” I muttered as twenty heads turned to look at me. “I’m losing circulation in my fingers.”
“Sorry.” She loosened her grip, her expression tinged with desperation. “I heard you say you were here to help and got carried away.”
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” I told the people who were still staring at us, my face hot again. Then I looked at Bernie as I shook out my hand and flexed my fingers. “I had no idea yoga turned people into deadly weapons.”
“You’d be surprised.” She let out a loud breath. “Look, I know we’re not supposed to bother you with things like this, and if you’re having a bad day physically, I won’t push. But if I could borrow you for a couple of hours, I promise to give you free yoga lessons for a year.”
“Borrow me?” And what did she mean, she wasn’t supposed to bother me?
“Half the employees are stuck in one part of town or another until the water levels go down, and I am not patient enough to wait on all these people,” she continued rapidly. “A few friendly randos volunteered to grill and man the food tables, and I bribed two members of my band into waking up before the sun went down to run the bar and bus tables, but that’s it. There could be riots if I don’t have an extra pair of hands for an hour or four. If you can handle the till and pitch in with service, you can keep whatever tips you make. You’d really be helping me out.”
Bernie hadn’t asked me for much since Phoebe was born.
If anything, the last thirty years had been about the things we’d stopped asking each other for. She’d stopped asking if I was coming to visit. I’d stopped calling for a pep talk every time we moved to a new location. We’d stopped checking in with each other for updates. We’d stopped sending each other Christmas cards after getting busy and forgetting for a year or two.
It was normal for people to drift apart when they lived halfway across the country from each other, though not when your families were so intrinsically connected. It made me feel like the distance between us was something I’d done wrong instead of a natural side effect of living separate lives.
Maybe it was. Maybe I needed to try to do something about it for once instead of running like hell in the opposite direction.
“Sure,” I said, social anxiety be damned. “Where do you need me?”
Three hours later, I was actually having a pretty good time, if lamenting the decision to wear a skirt. (Hello thigh friction, my old friend).
No one could be more surprised than I was.
The last time I’d worked as a server, I’d been in my twenties and customers did not appreciate my tendency to trip over my own feet or forget which table had asked for what. Today, everyone was so relieved they’d survived a hurricane that they were surprisingly forgiving and kind when I gave them the wrong beer or cleared their table when they’d just gone back to the buffet for seconds. Some of them even saved me from myself—a woman wearing a camo cap caught a beer that was sliding off my tray like she was Neo from The Matrix .
Or maybe it’s always like this here. How would you know?
If you hid in your house skimming social media like I had, you could be forgiven for thinking the world was nothing but a trash fire. It was good to be reminded that genuinely decent people were still around, just waiting for their chance to help out. The kind of people who brought pies and casserole dishes by without fanfare, dropping them off on a buffet table for no other reason than that they cared about their community. The kind of people who, despite looking like they’d had a rougher week than mine, had slipped dollar bills into my apron and glared when I tried to demur.
When Bernie started singing with her guitar player in the corner and everyone joined in, I found myself humming along as I washed a few glasses in the bar sink. She had the kind of voice that could have sent her on tour and climbing the charts on a regular basis by now if she hadn’t decided to raise her daughter and start a business here instead.
I’d missed hearing it.
And it was nice to know that I could be out in the world again, slow moving though I was, and feel something besides sorry for myself.
“If you keep saying no to everything, you’ll miss…everything.”
Right again, Mom. As usual.
I was wiping down the bar top when Bernie appeared beside me with a sharp-eyed expression and two takeout bags.
“I didn’t break it,” I said instantly, holding up my hands as if I were under arrest.
She huffed out a laugh and set the bags down. “You’re fine and so far everybody likes you, which is more than I can say for their usual daytime bartender.”
“What’s wrong with the usual bartender?” I asked curiously. “I assume you’re not talking about your daughter, who is perfect in every way.”
“You think I don’t know that? Pheebs is the best manager-slash-server in three counties. Several of the regulars have been wondering out loud where she got it from, since it clearly didn’t come from me.” She blew that stubborn strand of hair out of her face for the fifth time by my count and leaned her elbow on the counter. “No, the girl I’m referring to is young and cute and can take an order, as long as you don’t mind that she’s on her phone while she’s doing it and you don’t expect pleasant conversation with your beer. ”
I bit my lip to hide my smirk. “Kids today with their loud music and multitasking.”
“None of those tasks are customer service, apparently. Or complete sentences. Why is everyone speaking in initials now? It takes the same amount of time and syllables as it would to just say the damn word.” She paused for a moment, as if realizing what she was saying. “Fuck, I sound old.”
“OMG, I wasn’t going to mention it.”
She hip-checked me, her expression warmer than I’d seen it in a while. “The person Phoebe hired to cover for her had a personal emergency and couldn’t take the job. That means Tuesday and Thursday nights are short a beer-tender, and Wade told me he’s already got you covering her time-sensitive bookkeeping chores. So, I’m asking myself, why not the shifts?”
“You think I should work her shifts?”
“Only those two, and only for a few weeks. You’re handling today, and it’s been more work than this place usually requires. Seriously, most of the time you’re behind the bar handing out beers. There’s even a stool to sit on.”
“Well, that’s?—”
“If you don’t,” she interrupted, “I’ll have to cover them, and she’ll lose most of her regulars because I will send them running home to their mommies if they act like spoiled children.”
I met her gaze with wide eyes. “I believe you.”
“I’m much better at bossing people around or rocking their worlds onstage than trying to be nice, you know that.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Also, The Wreckers play here on Thursdays, which means I’m busy, but you could make bank. My fans are few but great tippers. It would only be for a month, two at most. Until she’s had the baby and some time to recover.”
Another genuine request for help. Two months of two nights a week here? Could I do that?
She nudged me with her shoulder. “I know, I know. You might feel better, but you’re still a fancy writer, and slinging beer and snacks is beneath you.”
“I don’t think that at all.”
It was hard to tell if she believed me. “You could look at it as research, if you wanted. They get some characters in here. Just because I don’t have the patience for them doesn’t mean you won’t.”
A monthly rent check and two job offers. One with tips. Were the Hudsons singlehandedly trying to solve all the problems I hadn’t even told them about?
“Can I think about it and give you an answer before I leave today?”
Bernie nodded, her expression cautious but hopeful. “It would be nice to see you more often. I’ve missed having you around.”
“M-me too,” I stuttered in surprise, not only because it sounded like she meant it, but because I did too.
I barely knew the woman she’d become, but she was still a part of so many of my favorite memories. Late-night conversations over cookie dough and cable shows we weren’t supposed to be watching. Geeking out over books and boys. The homemade horror movie the Rettas and Hudsons made together one random Friday night, because we had a video camera and Wade’s friend Kingston was fascinated by my mother’s job. (Spoiler alert: I was the killer. I “murdered” everyone with a giant can of minestrone soup while singing the jingle from that old soup commercial, Mmm-mmm good. )
Who’d told her not to bother me?
She gifted me with a genuine smile, the one that always transformed her from striking to stunning. “While you consider your options, I made you a late lunch. Take an hour to get off your feet.”
My stomach growled at the thought of real food. I’d been living on canned ravioli and stale chips for days, and everything on the grill smelled amazing.
“Thanks.” I took the bags she handed me with a questioning look. “I don’t think I can eat all of this.”
“Dalton is here having a late lunch, but Wade’s still stuck in the garage because his other mechanics couldn’t make it in. I was hoping you’d cross the street and make sure he eats something too. Seeing as how he saved your life and all.” Her drawl was more pronounced as she teased me. “At least, from the way Lucy tells it.”
“It’s all true,” I told her, my stomach fluttering again. “I had no idea how heroic your brother could look in a headlamp.”
She laughed. “He does love his manly accessories.”
I grabbed a couple of root beers out of the cooler to go with lunch before heading for the garage across the street. A horn honked when I didn’t move quickly enough over the sweltering crosswalk, and I tried to pick up the pace, but my feet wanted to drag. I’d already slain one dragon today. Did I really have to face this one so soon?
You’ve wanted to talk to him for days. Don’t chicken out now.
It had taken years to perfect my ability to avoid things and people, and now I was trying to quit cold turkey? What would I even say? “Hey Wade, want to stop ignoring me and jump into a more comfortable bed together? Naked?”
Two of the overhead doors were open, so I bypassed the office entrance and went straight into the garage. Like the icehouse, it was equipped with strategically placed fans that made the air feel a good twenty degrees cooler, and I sighed in instant relief.
This place hadn’t changed much either. The original owner had framed in one end of the large steel building, adding a front desk/waiting area, an office and a restroom, plus the small apartment upstairs. When Wade bought the garage, he’d framed half the area above all four service bays to create storage for parts, tires, tools and equipment. The addition had been expensive but necessary if he wanted to keep up with and compete with the dealerships.
I looked around at the cars in various states of repair. An older sedan hovered above me on a lift, and a newer-looking SUV with its hood up was connected to some kind of diagnostic computer, but nobody was working on either of them.
I could imagine Wade in here, bent over to show off that fine ass as he diagnosed my car’s problem and offered me a special kind of payment plan.
Stop perving and give the man his food.
I crouched down to peer under the nearest car, looking for a pair of familiar size-thirteen boots. “Wade?”