I smiled through my tears at Gram referring to my father as ‘that boy.’ He frustrated both of us sometimes, it was true, but I knew that he acted out of love for me, and as Gram said, in reaction to my mother’s abandonment of us all.
“What will he do if I move out, Gram? Am I wrong for wanting my own life? I don’t mean to hurt him. But I don’t want to stay here forever, either.”
She patted my arm. “Honey, at some point, we all have to stand on our own two feet and make our own decisions. Your daddy’ll be mad and sad when you move out, but he’ll get over it. Nothing’s going to change the fact that you’re his baby girl. He loves you. And so do I.”
I turned and hugged her, careful to keep my wet hands from touching her back. “Thanks, Gram. I appreciate it.”
“Any time, sweet girl. Just remember your old Gram wouldn’t mind seeing some great-grands before she shuffles off to the big vegetable garden in the sky. So don’t let your father scare you into a becoming an old maid. Got it?”
I laughed. “Message received.”
“HEY, IS THIS PLACE open or what?”
The door banged open, and I straightened from where I’d been bending over behind the bar, checking the connection for the ice machine. Sam Reynolds grinned at me as he walked over, taking off his hat and running his hand over his short hair.
“Not open for reprobate farm boys who can’t hold their whiskey.” I held out a hand as I winked.
“You must be thinking of my brother-in-law. I can drink Flynn under the table any day.” He shook my hand and paused as though considering. “Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure Ali can out-drink him, too. Have you ever seen my sister shoot whiskey?”
I nodded. “It’s a scary thing. I don’t mess with that one.” I leaned against the oak bar. “So what’s shaking, Sam, my man?”
He sat down on a stool across from me. “Not much. Just happened to be coming home from town, and I thought I’d get a beer. You know, give you some business so this joint doesn’t go under.”
I unhooked a mug from the rack. “Thanks. It’s just fellows like you keeping us afloat. Well, you and the hordes of women who come here to dance and drink just about every night. We had to turn people away this weekend. Hit capacity at nine o’clock.”
Sam whistled under his breath. “That’s great. You’ve got to be proud.”
“I am.” I propped one foot on the brass floor rail and leaned back again. “We’re opening for lunch starting next month. Different crowd, different vibe, but I’m hoping it’ll work.” I stuck my hands in my front pockets and cocked my head at my friend. “So what’re you really doing here? Why aren’t you rushing home to that gorgeous woman of yours?”
He sighed. “Okay, you got me. Meghan’s down in Florida this week. She wanted to get some wedding planning stuff done before school starts, plus you know her brother and sister-in-law just had a baby girl. I think she wanted to get her hands on that kid as much as she wanted to pick out her wedding gown.”
“And you didn’t go with?” I raised one eyebrow. Meghan and Sam were pretty much inseparable and had been for the last year. I’d had a front row seat to their developing love story; in fact, I liked to tease Sam that I’d seen his fiancée first, since she’d come into my bar with her best friend that night before the two of them broke down on the dark country road where Sam’d found them. He always retorted that it wasn’t who saw her first that counted; it was who claimed her, and I couldn’t argue with that one.
“Not this trip. Bad time of year, with the harvest and getting everything in, and then Ali and Flynn are gearing up to move up to New York, too. I just couldn’t make it happen.”
“Sorry. But you’re welcome to hang out here as long as you want.”
“Thanks. I don’t mind being alone. It’s just the house is so damn quiet anyway since Ali and Bridget moved out. With Meghan away, I kind of wander around.” He shook his head. “I’m pathetic, man.”
Envy shot through me, a sensation so painful I almost bent over. “Nah. You’re just ... aware of what you’ve got. That’s good. Too many people don’t appreciate it until it’s too late.”
Sam held my gaze, his brown eyes steady. “I’m sorry, Mason. I didn’t think ... it’s got to be tough on you all the time.”
I shrugged. “It’s been almost three years. And I’m luckier than some. I’ve got Piper. If I hadn’t had her when ... after the accident ... I don’t know. I might’ve done something crazy.” I reached down into the small fridge under the bar and pulled out a bottle of my favorite craft beer. Using the opener built in beneath the lip of the wood, I popped the top and took a long swig. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m happy for you and Meghan. And for Flynn and Ali, too. Speaking of which ...” I forced a grin. “When do they take off for the Big Apple?”
“Ten days. They’re living in a short-term rental in town right now. But they’re going to build a house out on our land to live in during the months of the year they’re in Georgia. Broke ground on it last week.”
“That’s got to make you happy, knowing they’ll be back. You’re not really losing your sister and your niece.”
Sam smiled. “Not really. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not looking forward to them leaving, even just until spring. But I know it’s the right thing for them. For all of them.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve depended on Ali for too long. It’s going to be tough, getting used to handling the farm and the stand on my own.”
“I thought I heard you’d hired someone to take over the stand for her.” I didn’t miss much news from Burton, seeing that most everyone who sat at my bar was more than willing to talk.
“We brought on someone to help at the stand, yeah. Actually, we hired her to do PR for us, and then when Ali and Flynn decided they’d spend part of the year in New York and part of it down here, we asked Rilla if she might want to work at the stand, too. So far, she’s been great.”
“PR, huh? You guys hitting the big time?”
Sam laughed. “Honest to God, I never thought we’d advertise anywhere except on those old road signs, but Rilla made a good case. Plus, she’s just starting out in this business, and she’s working cheap in return for us spreading the word if we’re happy.”
“And are you?” I took another pull of my beer.
“Yeah, absolutely. I thought most of it was stupid, but I have to admit, she’s brought in some customers we wouldn’t have had otherwise. She’s got good ideas, along with plain old common sense.” Sam narrowed his eyes as he looked at me across the bar. “You should talk to her. See what she could do for you.”
I shook my head. “Didn’t you hear what I said before? Capacity. We don’t need any more advertising.”
Sam finished his beer and pushed the mug away. “What about your new lunch idea? Rilla could promote that for you. Spread the word. Maybe even pull in some tourist traffic. You’re far enough out on the highway that you might be able to catch some of the folks leaving Savannah.”
“Could, I guess. I figured mostly word of mouth would bring in traffic. It’s not like I’m banking on the extra income to stay open. Just trying to pad the kid’s college fund, you know.” I winked, and Sam laughed.
“Right, I get that. Still, it couldn’t hurt. I bet you’d at least make back in extra sales whatever you paid Rilla, which wouldn’t be much.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Just what are you up to, dude? Why’re you pushing this so hard?”
Sam blew out a long breath and sat back in the stool. “Okay, I promised Ali and Meghan that I’d talk up Rilla’s business. I guess the girls are afraid she won’t make it work, not without some help, anyway. And they like her.”
“Why wouldn’t she be okay without help, if she’s as good as you say?”
“She’s shy. Quiet. Smart, for sure, but until she gets to know you, she doesn’t talk much. Remember Emmett Grant, lives off highway 72? Big farm? She’s his daughter.”
I frowned. “I don’t remember him bei
ng married or having a family. Wasn’t he part of the Guild?” My dad had been on the town’s unofficial council for as long as I could remember, right up until the heart attack that ended his life. Those men met about once a month to discuss issues in Burton and what they could do to help make the town run better and prosper.
“He was. And he was married, too, I guess, a long while back. She ran off, though.”
“I don’t remember any Grants in school with us.” Sam and I’d been in high school together, though it felt like a lifetime ago now.
“Rilla’s younger. About Meghan’s age, I guess. And she didn’t go to the high school, she was homeschooled.”
“Huh.” I finished my beer and chucked the bottle into our recycling bin. “But she’s good at this advertising stuff, you say? Did she go to college for it?”
“Went to school on-line and got her degree.” Sam turned his empty mug in a circle on the oak bar. “She doesn’t talk to me too much, except for farm stand stuff. She’s polite and respectful and calls me ‘Mr. Reynolds’ even though I keep telling her I’m Sam. But I guess the girls have gotten her to open up some, and she told them that she wants to move out of her dad’s house. So she’s working real hard to make that happen.”
I leaned back again. “Are we talking just a girl wanting to spread her wings, or bad shit going down? Or don’t you know?”
“Nah, I think it’s just ... over-protective father. Her grandmother helped raise her, too. And she’s active in that community church off route 23. I get the sense she’s feeling a little stifled. Meghan says once she relaxes and opens up, she’s funny and really, really smart. I trust my girl’s word. And like I said, Rilla’s done good work for us.”
I nodded. “You got a card or something? A number where I can set up to meet with her?”
Sam reached into his back pocket and dug out a small white rectangle. “Just so happens I do.” He slapped it on the bar. “But don’t let on you’re doing this as a favor to me. You know how women are. I don’t want her to get her back up and quit on me.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed. “And don’t go getting any ideas about hiring her to work here. You know, in the bar. She can do your PR, but we’ve got dibs on her at the stand.”
I snorted. “A homeschooled church kid with an overbearing daddy? Yeah, I don’t see her being a good candidate for waiting tables or manning the bar here. I don’t think you have to worry, bro.”
Sam cocked his head. “Stranger things, buddy. I didn’t think the party-girl art student who came to stay with us was the right one for me.” He spread his hands, his smile growing huge. “But look at me now.”
“Whoa there, buddy. Just whoa. I meant it when I said this chick wouldn’t be a good fit for my bar. But if you’re talking about something more personal than that, I can tell you for damn sure I’m not interested. I don’t have time for my life now. Hell if I can fit in a serious woman. Girl like that, she’s gonna be serious trouble for sure.”
Sam’s eyes met mine, and his were filled with compassion. “Things getting rough, Mason?”
I blew out a sigh and reached for another beer, second-guessed it and grabbed a shot glass instead. “Nothing I can’t handle.” I tipped the Jack and filled the shot to the brim, set the bottle down and tossed back the liquor. “Doctors say Mom’s got a good chance, but there’s all this shit that has to happen first. She gets chemo, then her counts drop and she needs a transfusion, then that makes her sick ...” I shook my head. “It’s fucked-up, man. God, I know I sound selfish as hell, but I moved back here so my mother could help me raise my daughter. When the doctor told us my mom had leukemia, you know, it’s crazy, but I wanted to laugh. Like, for real? First my wife, then my mother?” I rubbed my face.
“Sorry. Most of the time I’m okay. I just roll. But I didn’t sleep very well last night.” The memory of Lu’s words whispered in my ear made me flinch, and I hoped Sam didn’t notice.
If he did, he didn’t say anything. Instead, in true Sam fashion, he only nodded, though the expression in his eyes spoke volumes. It wasn’t pity, which I couldn’t stand, or even sympathy, which I still kind of hated. It was understanding and compassion, making me remember that Sam and Ali had lost both of their parents in a horrific car accident when the two kids were only eighteen and fourteen respectively. Sam had been forced into adulthood and responsibility way too young. Of all the people I knew here in Burton, this guy understood what I was going through. Or at least he came closer than anyone else.
“I can’t change any of that, dude. It sucks.” He messed with the napkin under his empty mug. “Hope you know if you need anything, anything at all, I’m around.” He glanced up at me, trepidation written all over his face. “I don’t love babysitting, but I helped raise Bridget, so I can even do that, if you didn’t have anyone else.”
I laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Message received, Sam. You’re on my last-resort list when I need someone to watch Piper. No worries right now. The woman I hired to help Mom and keep her eye on the rug rat was a good call.”
“Awesome.” Sam didn’t try to hide the relief. “But if you need someone to vent or talk or whatever, you know, I’m surrounded by women. I’ve got that sensitive sympathetic shit down.”
I laughed. “Duly noted. How about when I need someone to get stupid wasted with, so I can forget all the crap?”
“Hey, I’m down for that, too. Though Ali might be a better choice. Like I said, my sister’s scary good at holding her alcohol. But if she’s not around, I’m willing to take one for the greater good.” He frowned and rose up a little to reach into his back pocket again, this time pulling out his phone and glancing at the screen. The smile that spread over his lips had me feeling jealous all over again.
“Message from your woman?” I grabbed a rag and wiped at the condensation on the bar, just to have something to do with my hands.
“Yeah, she’s just checking in.” The smirk on his face told me Meghan was doing more than that, but I let it go. No way I needed any more information.
“Well, like I said, if you want to hang while she’s gone, come in any time and I’ll keep you set up.” I pointed to his empty glass. “Sure you don’t want another? For the road?”
“Nah, man, I’m good.” He stood up and flipped open his wallet, digging for cash, but I waved him off.
“This one’s on me, bro. Sympathy beer.”
Sam raised one eyebrow. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t, but I did. Get on out of here. Go home to that empty house and call your girl. Have phone sex and don’t tell me about it.”
“Thanks, man. Hang in there, you hear? And don’t forget to call Rilla.” He pointed to the card that still lay between us.
I palmed it and stuck in my pocket. “Got it. See you around, Sam.”
“Later, dude.” Sam put his hat back on and stalked out of the bar. I noticed a few women’s eyes linger on him, and I shook my head, grinning. Those chicks didn’t have a shot in hell with Sam Reynolds. That guy was captured, hog-tied and strung-up for good by the red-headed art teacher who’d stormed into his life last year.
My smile faded as a thought darted into my mind.
I’d give anything to be strung-up like him still. Anything to go home and be greeted by my wife ... to have her be pissed that I’d worked too late again ... anything to call her up just to say, “Hey, baby. Whatcha doin’?”
“Hey, Mason, I need three Michelob drafts, a house red and a Bacardi and Coke.” Darcy, our head waitress, slid her tray onto the bar and looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You okay, Mase?”
“Sure.” I forced a smile and turned to the taps behind me. “Coming right up.”
“YOU AWAKE THERE, YOUNG lady?”
I startled and glanced sideways at Gram. “Yeah, I’m awake.” I kept my voice low as Pastor Shand droned on. “Just ... absorbed.”
“Uh huh.” Gram wasn’t fooled. She cast her eyes to the front of the church, where my father sat w
ith three other men behind the pulpit. The elders of the church had begun this practice a few years ago, ostensibly to reinforce the idea that they stood behind the pastor’s preaching—literally—but I had a hunch it was more likely a better way to keep an eye on the whole congregation during the sermon. It was annoying to me that I couldn’t so much as fidget in my chair without hearing something about it later on.
“Sometimes this man just gets too fond of hearing his own voice.” Gram’s tone was dry, and her lips barely moved. “He made his point ten minutes ago. Roast beef’s going to be burned today, for sure.”
I bit the inside of my lip to keep from giggling. Years and years ago, before I was born, Gram was a young farm wife when a visiting preacher came to town. His sermon was record-breaking long, and my grandmother was in the habit of putting on the midday meal before her family went to church. That morning, she’d done up a succulent roast beef, apparently my grandfather’s favorite. But thanks to the hour-long message, by the time they got home, the roast was burned to a crisp, overdone to the point of being inedible. Ever since, any time we had a long-winded speaker, we all said he burned the roast beef.
“You’re going to get us in trouble.” I kept my eyes on the pastor and murmured the words. “But is he ever going to finish? My stomach’s growling.”
“Let us pray.” Pastor Shand finally said the words I’d been waiting to hear. I bowed my head and let out a long sigh. Next to me, I could feel Gram shaking with laughter.
The prayer went on for a few moments, and when he said, “Amen,” there was a discernible rustle within the congregation as everyone began gathering their purses, sweaters and bags. The sermon was always at the end of the service, and today especially, the whole church was restless. One of the elders, Mr. Gavin, stood up to pronounce the final blessing and benediction, and then old Mrs. Roon began to pound out notes on the piano in the back.
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