Elwell, who nursed his beer.
Fans whirled and wobbled above, causing the warm ocean breeze to mingle with the arctic air blasting from air conditioners in the back of the bar. The resulting mix made it quite pleasant in here. I added lemons, limes, or cherries to garnish the drinks, as instructed by Joaquín.
“Good work, by the way,” he said.
“I just stood out of your way and watched.” Being praised for adding fruit to drinks was demoralizing after finishing college, getting a master’s degree in library science, and working in the library full-time.
“I meant with Buford.” Joaquín pointed at the man who’d knocked over Vivi.
“Vivi didn’t seem to think so.”
Joaquín turned his beautiful eyes to me. “She doesn’t like to think she needs help. If she could run this place by herself, she would. But deep down, she’s grateful.”
“Yeah, deep, deep down.” But it must be why Boone wanted me to come here. When we were in college, where we’d met, he spent all his holidays and summers working here. He loved this beach and his grandmother. The beach I understood. Maybe his grandmother would grow on me. Or me on her.
Elwell cocked his head toward me. The armadillo shell didn’t move. “What’s keeping you here?”
I guess he’d overheard my conversation with Joaquín. “I’m waiting for a part for my car.” I shrugged. “Finding parts for a vintage car isn’t easy or cheap. And they take forever to arrive.” It was a big fat lie. The one I’d been telling over and over. It was what convinced Vivi to let me work here after Boone’s memorial service once I realized things weren’t going the way I’d planned.
I’d inherited my vintage Volkswagen Beetle from my grandmother. It was actually fine, but Vivi didn’t need to know that, or anyone else for that matter. “It’s limping along for now, but no way would it make it all the way back to Chicago.” I was almost starting to believe my cover story. I’d had to do something when I realized Vivi didn’t want me here and Boone did. Talk about a conundrum.
Elwell studied my face, which I knew would give away nothing—thanks, brothers. Their years of torment turned “show no pain” into my personal motto, and had enabled me to quickly end their one-sided tickle wars when I was a kid.
I served the drinks. My last stop was at Buford and his partner’s table. They were back to playing cards as if nothing had happened. I dropped off Buford’s beer. His shaggy-haired partner cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes at Buford.
Buford turned to me. “My apologies.” He shrugged. “I don’t normally let things get to me. No hard feelings?”
“I have two brothers. I learned long ago that hard feelings are a waste of time.”
Buford ducked his head. “Thanks.” Then he busied himself shuffling a deck of cards.
I bused the tables, taking dirty glasses back to the kitchen behind the bar. It was more of a kitchenette than an actual kitchen, with an industrial-strength dishwasher and a refrigerator/freezer combination. We didn’t serve food. We left that to the Briny Pirate, the restaurant next door, which delivered the food here. Wow, I was already thinking of this place in “we” terms. Well, that would be short-lived. Eventually, I’d click my heels and return home to Chicago, just as soon as I gave Vivi the help she didn’t want. As I returned to Joaquín’s side, a group of sunburned beachgoers came in. At least the Sea Glass was never dull.
* * *
At nine thirty I stood on the deck of the Sea Glass, holding a broom. The last customer had left reluctantly a few minutes before. Our hours, unlike most bars, were from eleven a.m. to nine p.m. No late-night, wild crowds, bands, or karaoke here. Joaquín had told me it cut down on the number of obnoxious drunks and fights. And when Vivi’s grandfather opened the bar it mostly served fisherman. They left by nine because they had to be up early. No one had ever bothered to try anything different. It was fine with me.
The Gulf stretched out before me, the half-moon played hide-and-seek with fast-moving clouds, the waves sucking, lapping, softly whooshing in and out. I was antsy. I’d landed here in July, the height of the summer tourist season, so I hadn’t been able to find a place to stay. At least no place I could afford for long, or that was close enough that my whole “car needs a part” story held up.
I’d spent one night in a high-end hotel, but my savings wouldn’t take very much of that. And I’d spent one night in a dive motel. My sanity wouldn’t take much of that. It had been like a scene out of a bad movie, only real—loud music, louder arguments, and what sounded like a drug deal going down right outside my door. Do I know how to live life to the fullest or what? Two nights I’d slept in my car in small increments in well-lit parking lots. Moving from one lot to another in a game of keep-away, trying to stay ahead of the security guards or deputies who might shoo me away or, even worse, arrest me for loitering. Vivi had taken pity on me and hired me, but I had no confidence she’d bail me out.
Okay, she probably would. But still, I had my pride. That’s why I wasn’t sleeping in the parking lot east of the Sea Glass. It would have been safer, but I didn’t want Vivi to find out about my accommodations problem, even knowing that whole pride goeth before a fall thing. I’d been searching for an apartment, but at this time of year, most were filled and rented on weekly rates well out of my price range.
Last night I was feeling a little desperate—more than desperate. So I’d snuck onto Boone’s boat, Fair Winds, parked in the marina behind the bar. It wasn’t a huge boat—a twenty-footer with a center console. It didn’t have a cabin, but did have cushioned benches, and at least last night I could stretch out. But it was hot under the tarp. I’d unhooked it just enough to squeeze through and left before dawn so no one would see me. I planned to sleep there again tonight.
Boone had loved that boat as much as anything. I’d seen many a picture of it. The motor was big enough to take the boat out on the Gulf when it was calm or to tool around Choctawhatchee Bay. Boone had wanted me to come with him to visit Vivi and the boat, but we’d never made it, and now, of course, we never would. Talk about wanting to kick myself. I knew better than to put things off. I hoped I didn’t have any more lessons on that topic from the universe in the future.
Loud, angry voices from the kitchen jarred me back to the present. I could tell one voice was Vivi’s. The other was male. Well, this was awkward. I clung to the broom, wondering if I should check on her or grab my purse, which was sitting on a nearby table, and make a run for it. I listened for a few minutes but couldn’t hear any actual words. A door slammed, and footsteps—Vivi’s—crossed the kitchen toward the bar. I started sweeping sand off the deck, listening to the whack of Vivi’s wedges slapping the floor, heading toward me. If footsteps could sound angry, these certainly did. They stopped right behind me.
“I didn’t realize you were still here,” Vivi said. She sounded short of breath.
I quit sweeping and turned to her. Perspiration shone on her brow and upper lip. She held her shoulders stiffly, but her chest rose up and down in quick, angry pants. Vivi had a bottle of bourbon in one hand, a rocks glass in the other. I’d never seen her take a drink of anything stronger than sparkling water. She set both on the nearest table.
“Just finishing up,” I said. Vivi’s shirt was askew, and I wondered what had happened back there, and with whom.
“You can go.”
“Okay,
