Hold On

“Wasn’t her whose mom was murdered in her own damned home when she was a kid,” I carried on. “Wasn’t her sister who was in that house and heard that shit go down. Wasn’t her who had to live with that, grief buried deep, none of that family havin’ the tools to sort out their heads. But it was her who had a man who lived that, and it was her who didn’t stand by that man. So, far’s I’m concerned, he’s good that he’s finally shot of her. Maybe next time, he’ll find a better one.”


And I hoped that to be true. It would kill, but I still hoped it would turn true. I’d be good with Merry happy. It would suck, but it’d still be good.

And anyway, that was life.

Or it was my life.

“You know, didn’t think of it that way, but you’re far from wrong,” Morrie told me.

“No shit?” I asked.

He started chuckling.

“We’ll share the load. I’ll give you two hundred and fifty,” I offered.

He shook his head as we heard the back door open, which meant Ruthie was strolling in.

“Glad you were there for him,” he said. “I shoulda been there for him. Colt, Mike, someone. But I ’spect, what you just said, it’s good it was you. Least I can do is cover the man’s whisky.”

It was cool of him to offer, and before this degenerated into a battle I couldn’t win (because Morrie offering meant Morrie doing it), I decided to give in.

Bonus to that coolness, I wasn’t out a wad of cash.

“Hey,” Ruthie called.

“Thanks,” I said to Morrie, then turned to Ruthie and called back, “Yo, bitch.”

She grinned, shaking her head, and went to the office.

Morrie headed to the front door to unlock it.

Two minutes later, we had our first customer.

*

It got busy early. Once church was done and after-church big breakfasts at Frank’s or big lunches at home were consumed, games were on and people hauled their asses out to commune with their fellow citizens and throw back some beers.

This was good for two reasons: more cash in my pocket, and being busy took my mind off the fact that at any second, Merry was going to walk in and deliver a blow he didn’t know he was delivering.

I didn’t get jumpy waiting for it. I knew better than that. I was resigned to the way of the world.

Jack came in, which meant me on the floor since he always worked back of the bar. I didn’t mind this. I had candy bars and Funyuns to work off my ass, and tips were just as steady at the tables.

I was delivering some drafts when he came in. I felt him like a sixth sense, and this wasn’t a new ability he’d instilled in me after fucking me. The minute I’d laid eyes on him and the months it’d taken me to get to know him and fall in love was when I’d gained that talent.

I looked his way, saw his eyes on me, face guarded, and I gave it to him right away. A big, cocky Cher smile.

He grinned, not quite hiding the relief, then looked to the bar, giving chin lifts to Morrie and Jack while heading around to the opposite end where all the cops hung out.

He did not take Colt’s stool, the last one around the far curve. If there wasn’t another choice, no one did. Colt’s stool was his should he decide to saunter in, Feb there or not. It was just the way it was.

But Merry did take the stool next to it, one down from the hinge of the bar.

I dropped the drafts, took an order at a table on the way back to the bar, and wedged into the space between Merry’s occupied stool and Colt’s unoccupied one.

I’d bucked myself up before arriving so I was all good when I got there.

“Hey,” I said to him.

“Hey,” he said to me, eyes moving over my face, eyes that flashed in my head as a memory, heated and hooded, right before he came.

Shit.

“You get a break soon?” he asked.

“We’re ordering in Shanghai Salon in a while,” I told him.

“Let me take you to Frank’s. I can call in our orders so they’ll have them ready and I can get you back to work on time,” he offered.

So he didn’t intend to deliver the blow with me at work.

That was Merry—meaning, that was nice.

“Hang tight,” I replied and looked to Jack heading my way. “Two Bud Lights and a Coors, bottle.”

“Got it,” Jack said, then looked to Merry. “Hey, son, you on?”

“Yeah, Jack. Can you shoot me a Coke?”

“Sure thing,” Jack replied.