had to admit, it made for a nice change.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Snoozy won’t need me here, so I’d have to find another job.” Which would not be easy. She started to swipe her palms down the front of her shirt, remembered Allison’s sweater and swiped them on her hips instead. “I’d also forgotten how sticky I get by the end of the day.” She lifted first her left, then her right shoe, wincing at the sound her soles made as they separated from the tacky rubber mat. “Me and the floor.”
She wouldn’t miss much about bartending, that was for sure. So far she was managing, but ever since her arrest, she’d longed to do something that would allow her to spend more time in the sun.
Allison appeared beside Gil, waving Kerry off when she apologized for not making it back to their table. “Two margaritas and a Shirley Temple, please.” She poked Gil in the shoulder. “We’re over there talking about you. Still running that online forum?”
Gil hesitated, and Kerry could practically hear him turning red. He mumbled something about collaborative math projects, whatever those were.
Allison watched Kerry mixing drinks. “Parker says Nat’s having a hard time with algebra. Maybe you could give her a call, see about signing the kid up for some tutoring?”
“Sure,” Gil said.
Aha.
He was a nerd.
Albeit a hot one.
She followed Allison to her table to deliver the girls’ drinks and turned to find Gil had returned to his laptop. Ignoring a twinge of disappointment, she checked in with the pool table crowd and the couple too into each other to eat, then moved back behind the bar and got busy washing glasses. A hoot of masculine laughter sounded outside the door right before two men walked in. Kerry registered a cop’s uniform and dropped one of the hurricane glasses.
Glass shattered, and the bar went silent.
* * *
THE CHILLY NIGHT air plucked at Eugenia’s skin, raising gooseflesh. Still, her temper burned hotter than the habaneros in Snoozy’s chili, which she’d done her darnedest to warn Kerry away from. As she glared at Harris’s front door, shrouded in shadow, a butter-colored moon peered through gauzy strips of clouds, casting enough light to reveal the small potted tree to her left. The two leaves that elevated it from stick status were brown. A sudden sadness gathered in her throat, and it hurt to swallow.
This time when she pressed the doorbell she didn’t let go.
“I know you’re in there, old man,” she called. “You might as well open up because I’m not going away.”
The door swung wide. “Sure you will,” he said, his voice all gravel. “You did before.”
Eugenia put her hands behind her back and gripped her own wrist. Otherwise she might find herself trying to smack the stubborn right out of the man. He must have recognized her urge to do violence because he eased back a step. She took the opportunity to trespass.
“That thing is dying.” She jabbed a finger toward the sickly tree. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Talk about the pot callin’ the kettle black.” He hesitated, then closed the door, shutting them both inside. He heaved a gusty sigh and with a hand to her back, guided her away from the foyer and into the living room. “I know why you’re here.”
She pulled away and walked to the far end of the sofa, long faded from sitting beneath a front window with curtains Harris never bothered to draw.
“Do you,” she said.
“I do, and I’m too damned tired to deal with it. I appreciate the thought, but you best go on home now, Genie.”
Eugenia ignored the traitorous tingle at the nickname he hadn’t called her in forever and focused instead on his jackass-ery. “Don’t you shoo me away, old man. What on earth is going on in that thick, naked noodle of yours?”
“You were the one doin’ the shooin’.” He pounded his fist once on the back of his recliner, sending it rocking. “Damn it, I’m not an old man and I like my naked noodle.” His words lingered in the dusty plaid of his living room. When he realized what he’d said, he flushed.
“Happy to hear it,” she said. She’d grown rather fond of it herself, until the weight of Harris’s stubbornness had pressed his personality flat.
He grumbled under his breath. “You’re not here to tell me my daughter’s lookin’ to borrow money again?”
“She told you why she’s here.”
“She’s told me a lot of things over the years. I’ve learned to close one ear and stick my finger in the other. I know damned well she’s back for another handout.” He rubbed a palm over his head. “I, uh, apologize for callin’ you a traitor.”
She lifted her chin, and the stiff wool collar of her pea-green jacket scuffed the nape of her neck. Now she remembered why she rarely wore the thing. “Harris Briggs, you’re a jackass.”
He set his jaw. “That’s what you came to tell me?”
“It is.”
“I’m a jackass. ’Cause I’m smart enough not to let my ex-con daughter take advantage of me?”
“’Cause you’re dumb enough to let your only child believe you don’t love her anymore.”
“Well, that...that’s not true,” he blustered. He moved deeper into the living room and stared down at a half-empty bottle of beer on the coffee table. Which he’d protected with a ceramic coaster, she was gratified to see.
He gave a harrumph, and crossed his arms. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. You’ve showed her, over and over again.” She braced a hand on the back of the sofa. Damn the man for his ability to sap the starch right out of her knees.
“And she sent you to tell me this?” His breathing roughened. “So you are working against me.”
Slowly Eugenia pushed upright. Coming here had been a mistake. She was only making Harris more suspicious of his daughter.
“You know what?” Absently she twisted a button on her jacket. “I did it again. Inserted myself where I don’t belong. This is between you and Kerry. But think, Harris. Please think about the message you’re sending by refusing to see her.”
He snatched up his beer, took a swig and shook his head. “She’s here for another charitable contribution, not a reconciliation. I know my daughter, Genie.”
No, he didn’t. Not anymore. Now all Eugenia could do was keep her fingers crossed that he would give himself the chance to.
“All righty, then,” she said stiffly.
He tipped his bottle in silent invitation and she shook her head. She missed him, God help her. His strength, his solidity, even the stupid cinnamon smell of his chewing gum. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d find herself bawling into that horrible flannel
