"Ahem." June throws a warning look at Cade, then nods back at the kids in the sandbox. "Language."
"Did you know the brothers, when you were growing up here?" I ask.
June tosses Cade another one of those looks. “Cade,” she says. I’m not sure what the warning look is about, but there’s clearly some kind of past history that June has with the Saint family.
“Not really, aside from the dad being mean,” he says. “Didn’t think much of them, but Elias has grown on me. If Luke’s anything like his brother, he’s probably a decent enough guy. That father of theirs, though, was a real piece of work.”
"And no one said anything," June adds, shaking her head.
"West Bend is one of those places," Cade mutters. "Justice tends to get doled out outside of the regular channels. West Bend has always been old-school like that."
"Is that what happened to the dad?" I ask. "Justice got doled out?"
Cade shrugs. "I doubt it," he says. "I'm sure he fell down the mine shaft or something. But I'd imagine there were plenty of people who'd like to see him dead."
"Well, Autumn has the hots for Luke," June jumps in, "and I was trying to convince her that she should go for it."
"June!" I protest. Except I know what she's saying is true. The fact is, ever since I laid eyes on him, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. The trouble is, I can't act on it. Acting on it would be a total and complete disaster.
9
Luke
"I figured you'd be running headlong out of town by now." Killian doesn't move his head, just faces forward, his gaze seemingly directed toward the wall opposite us in Bud's Bar, a wall that's covered in twenty years’ worth of dirt and grime. He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eyes, or maybe I just imagine that he's looking for a reaction from me.
And I'm not going to give him one. My brother Killian has always had an uncanny ability to read me like an open book, and the last thing I want to do is talk to him about Autumn. Shit, I don't even want to think about Autumn. Thinking about that girl is giving me the biggest case of blue balls known to man.
"Well, I'm still here," I answer, my tone short. The words leave my mouth sounding defensive.
"Uh-huh," grunts Killian, still looking ahead. He takes a long pull on the glass bottle, a local craft brew that's way too hipster for my roughneck brother to be drinking, but Killian has never been one to care much about trends or social convention. "That's why you're taking a job out at the Mayburn place."
"Another?" The owner, Bud himself, saves me from having to scramble for a reasonable justification for Killian about why the hell I'm sticking around here in town. Why the hell am I sticking around in West Bend, anyway? I tell myself that I'm here to find out what's going on with my mother's suicide, but that's not nearly all there is to it.
Not now, anyway. Not since I started working at the Mayburn place.
I nod, and Bud pops the top on a bottle and sets it in front of me at the bar. "You boys sticking 'round here a while more?"
The question catches me off-guard and I look at the old man blankly. He shuffles down to the other side of the bar, a wet towel in hand, wiping the edge of the bar top halfheartedly as if it's going to do any good when it comes to this decrepit place.
The weathered sign that hangs outside Bud's Bar proclaims it "West Bend's oldest drinking establishment". That may or may not be true, but it certainly has earned its reputation as the most disreputable establishment.
This bar used to be one of our asshole father's old haunts, and there were too many times that Bud had to send for Killian and I to pour our drunk father into the bed of the old pickup and drive him home before either of us were legally allowed to drive.
The fact that Killian and I are back here in this place with all of its shitty memories is some kind of fucked up, I think. At least Bud isn't trying to reminisce, make small talk about the past and rose-colored memories or some bullshit. He's happy just leaving us alone.
"I don't know," I say, glancing at Killian. "Got a job up at the Mayburn orchard."
"In the bar, I mean," Bud says, giving me an odd look. "I'm heading into the back office for a bit, got some paperwork to do. If you need a refill, you know where the beer is. You boys yell if anyone else comes in."
"Sure, Bud," Killian says with a laugh that sounds more like a cough. The bar is empty except for the two of us and a regular slumped down in the dimly lit back corner, his feet propped up on another chair and his cowboy hat pulled halfway down over his forehead, shielding his eyes. I'm not sure if he's passed out or asleep or if he's a permanent fixture of the bar. He could very well be dead.