She looks at me, then scans the cars parked in the street. And spots Dad’s. “How often is he here?” she asks, turning back to me.
I sigh. “A lot.” There’s no sense lying. Vicky, the owner, told me she’s friends with my aunt one night when I was here hauling Dad home. I’m surprised Vicky hasn’t called Becky already.
“I’m dying for a burger,” she says, then steps out of the car and closes the door.
So I guess that’s settled.
I follow her into the bar and Dad’s at his normal barstool. Vicky sees Aunt Becky and comes around the end of the bar.
“When did you get back to town?” she asks, pulling Becky into a hug.
“Just now.” Her eyes go to Dad. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really.” Vicky’s gaze flicks to me then back to Becky. “But I thought your niece might have given you the lowdown.”
Becky takes a deep breath, then squeezes Vicky’s arm. “I’ll talk to him.”
She moves to the bar and Vicky and I follow. Vicky finds her place behind the mahogany slab, and Becky slips onto the stool to Dad’s right.
“Hello, Bruce.”
Dad looks up at Becky, then his gaze flashes to me, over her shoulder, and narrows slightly. “Didn’t expect you home for another couple of weeks,” he says, turning back to the bar. His words are just a little loose, not all the way to slurring yet.
“You weren’t clear on what happened to Addie. I needed to check and see she was okay.”
“She’s fine,” he says, turning back to the bar.
“Come sit with us. We’re getting dinner,” she says, hooking a hand through his elbow and coaxing him from the stool.
Dad shakes her hand off. “I’m good here.”
“Bruce,” she says in warning. “Please.”
He swipes his drink off the bar and plants himself in a chair at a table near the door. “Satisfied?”
Becky looks at him for a long second, then sighs wearily.
“You need menus?” Vicky asks as Becky and I settle into seats at Dad’s table.
“You like burgers?” Becky asks me.
“Sure, I guess.”
“We’ll have three burgers with the works,” she tells Vicky.
Vicky disappears through the door to the kitchen at the back of the bar with our order.
“So…how’s school?” Becky asks me.
I shrug. “I was out for a few days, so I’ve got a lot to make up.”
“Your teachers are giving you some time, I hope?”
I nod. “I’ll get it done.”
“You’ve always been a good student,” she says, then glances at Dad, who’s nursing his drink. “Hasn’t she, Bruce?”
He looks over the top of his glass at me and nods.
“You should be proud she stays so focused,” Becky pushes.
“She’s a good student,” he repeats lowering his eyes to the table.
The waitress, who’s so pregnant she looks like she’s ready to pop, comes over to the table and takes Becky’s and my drink orders. Dad polishes off his drink, but she doesn’t offer to bring him a refill.
“Are you making any friends?” Becky asks me once she’s gone.
I shrug. “A few.” If you count coaches and librarians.
“Good,” she says. “I know it’s hard to relocate your senior year, but Oak Crest is a pretty hospitable place. I hope the kids your age are making you feel welcome.”
“They’re fine,” I say. In truth, I probably could have made friends by now if I were interested. Most of my classmates seem pretty laid back.
“Good,” she says, then turns to Dad. “So tell me about the job search, Bruce. Any new leads?”
The waitress comes back with our drinks, and Dad hands her his glass. “Scotch, neat,” he says, totally ignoring Becky.
And it occurs to me, other than when she surprised him at the bar, he hasn’t looked at her once. When Mom was alive and Becky would come visit, I always remember Dad and Becky getting along, talking and laughing, but since we moved here, it’s been as strained as a rubber band ready to snap. Maybe he has the same issue I do with Becky. She looks so much like Mom, sometimes it hurts to look at her.
The waitress nods and takes Dad’s glass back to the bar. And he watches her like a hawk until she brings it back to the table.
“Everything’s okay with the house?” she asks, and I know what she’s really asking is why all Dad’s free time is spent here at the bar instead of doing what he promised.
“Fine,” Dad says.
Becky watches him as he downs half his drink in one swallow and pity clouds her gaze as it slips to me. She leans her elbows on the table. “Bruce…” Her voice is barely audible over the music and chatter. “Have you looked at the information I left for you?”
“Haven’t gotten a chance,” he says, staring into the depths of his drink.
“There are meetings every Tuesday and Saturday at the hospital. I think you and Addie should go together.”