“Hello.” But that’s all I say, for now. Soon, we’re pedaling toward home.
I turn my head toward Roy, the wind tossing my hair into my face. “Hazel tried to stir things up with me today.”
“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, it was kind of pathetic how she implied things happened between you two.”
His feet stop, and he coasts forward on his bike. “You know Hazel likes to talk.”
I do. I also know his reaction and his response don’t quite add up, and I narrow my eyes. “Like I said, pathetic.”
“Well,” Roy says, pedaling again. “You won’t have to worry ’bout her for long. Decided today that I’m going to drop out of school.”
I twist my handlebars toward Roy, my bike swerving. “You what?” I don’t like his flippant expression. “But it’s the first day.”
“Yep. Which means no more school paper, which means”—he flicks a finger at me as if he’s ’bout to make some monumental point—“no more Hazel.”
Dust kicks up ’round me as I plant my feet on the ground, nearly throwing myself over my bike. Roy stops soon after, adjusting on his seat to see why I’ve stopped.
“Okay, let’s forget ’bout Hazel a second here.” This is bigger than Hazel. “You’re quitting school, the newspaper?”
“I do believe that’s what I just said, Bonn.” He smiles sweetly.
But no, that smile won’t work on me this time. This ain’t how things were supposed to go. “You said we’d finish school, Roy.”
“Listen, Bonn—”
“You promised me you’d get a good-paying job as a reporter.” My knuckles turn white on my handlebars. “And that I’d become a teacher.” That’s how things are supposed to be. “That’s how things are supposed to go,” I repeat out loud, needing for him to hear it.
“Things change, Bonn.”
“Things change?” My voice raises another octave. “That’s your response?”
“You’ve got that look in your eyes like you’re ’bout to have a nervous breakdown. But this is a good thing.” He holds up his hand to quiet me. “The stock market is on the up, no longer a rich man’s game. And we’re going to ride it right to the top, easy money. We don’t need me to be a reporter. Hell, if you wanted to quit school, you could. No need for you to waste your time.”
“No … What … It’s not … I don’t want to drop out of school.” I want the original plan. I want what I thought was our plan.
Roy shrugs. “Then don’t. But I’ve supported you and the way you prance ’round on that stage. Least you can do is support me in this.”
With that, he continues pedaling toward home.
*
Blanche twists her lips. “I don’t know what to say, Bonn. Roy is horrible?”
I press my palms into my eyes, groan, flop my hands onto the bar top at Doc’s. “He’s messing everything up.”
“Maybe he’ll change his mind?”
“Doubtful. Roy’s got a thick skull. Says he even wants to take out a loan so we’ve got more to play with.” I shake my head. “And you know what makes it worse? He tried to act like dropping out of school was a good thing ’cause he wouldn’t see Hazel anymore.”
Blanche stops mixing a drink. “He brought up Hazel?”
“Yes.” I twist my lips. “Sort of. I did first. But then,” I add quickly, “he used her to make me feel better ’bout his decision. I don’t like that.”
“So what are you sayin’, Bonn? You think Hazel gave him a helping hand in more ways than one?”
“God, Blanche. Can you be any more cavalier ’bout it?”
She slides Mr. Champagne Cocktail a drink, then looks at me. “Shoot, you really do.”
I bite my lip, finally saying, “I don’t know. My brain has been ticking through things. Remember at Buck’s place, when I mentioned Hazel, Roy skirted ’round it with that bumbling apology? And Hazel spouting her mouth off doesn’t mean much, ’cause, I mean, she spouts off ’bout everything. But then”—I shake my head—“Roy responded poorly when I brought her up today. And using her as an excuse … To me, that screams guilt.”
She clucks. “Maybe.”
“So I ain’t being paranoid for no reason?” I slide a beer to a customer who walks up, knowing it’s what he wants before he has to ask.
“I don’t know, Bonn. You got your hand caught in the cookie jar, right?”
I cock my head at her.
“Your kiss with Henry.”
I rub my eyes again. “I try not to think ’bout that. And we weren’t married then.”
“Try as you may, but you did. And cookie stealers are more likely to think that someone is trying to steal their cookies right back, ’cause they know how it’s done.” Blanche runs a hand down my arm. “A light touch here, a sexy glance there. ‘Oh, your lip is bloody? Let me help you with that. Silly me, I’m too far away. Here, let me move closer. Wow, I never noticed the specks of brown in your—’”
Mr. Champagne Cocktail bursts into laugher, the sound covering how I holler Blanche’s name.
“Blanche, sweetheart,” he says, “you sure know how to string some words together.”
“Seriously,” I say, under my breath.
She waves her hand. “Nah. Bonn’s the one good with words. I just know ’bout cheating, prior to Buck.”
Mr. Champagne Cocktail snaps his fingers as if his luck has run out. “In that case, I’m going to stop wasting my time at the bar.” He slides off his seat, and Blanche blows him a kiss.
“So now I’m legitimately worried,” I say to her. “And depressed. What a combination.”
“Where is Roy tonight? At the plant?”
“No, but he said he was going to stay away from the tables.”
“Oh good. So he’s at home reading a book?”
“You’re lousy at this. You know Roy can’t make it two pages before he drifts off. He said he wanted to talk to Buster more ’bout stocks. I’m sure he’ll be dipping into our account again.” I shake my head. “Money I work so hard for. But, as Roy says, I can stop working after he strikes it big. Not that I want to. Moron.”
“Boy had a taste of luck and now he wants to slurp down the whole bowl. Little does he know, that’ll just lead to a bellyache.”
I stare at my best friend. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
She slings her arm ’round my shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t know. My mouth just opens and gibberish comes pouring out. But I do reckon you’re being paranoid ’bout Hazel.”
I scrunch my face, unconvinced. “I think you’re tryin’ to make me feel better.”
“How ’bout this? It’s a fact that Hazel will do whatever she can to get under your skin. Implying she got cozy with your husband is child’s play to her.”
I nod, exhale. “You’re right. Okay, I’m focusing on that. I’m letting it drop.”
I need to let it drop.
“Please don’t break anything else,” Mary jokes, but her concentration is on someone out on the floor. “Have you two seen that man before?”
“Who?” Blanche says.
Mary nods her head toward the tables. “There, at the table with Raymond. Raymond let him in, then asked Buck to switch with him at the door.”
“Why?” Blanche says. I stare at the red-haired man. He does look vaguely familiar.
“Raymond wants to keep an eye on him. He’s been in once or twice, asking lots of questions ’bout the place.”