I shook my head, having no idea what he was talking about.
He smiled distantly. “Yeah, you were probably too young to remember it. Anyway, that little girl had her hands over her ears, like she was trying to block out their shouting.
“Seeing her, the uncanny resemblance to you…it broke me. I couldn’t just walk away. I gave the wallet to the little girl and left Florida just a few minutes ahead of the cops. I hitched my way around the gulf, trying to outrun the memories somehow. I finally ended up in Galveston. I stayed there for a long time, doing a little temp work. Same day cash, no questions, no paper trail. I was determined I was done taking things that didn’t belong to me. I wanted to get by on hard work, but I still found myself taking leftovers off of people’s abandoned trays at restaurants just to keep myself fed.
“That was until the hurricane came through. I fled north along with all the other refugees, managed to grab a ride with a church bus. It was on that bus that I met Father Yancy. He was an old salt like me and recognized me for the lost soul that I was.
“He asked me to come with him to the shelter they were destined for. He was the reason that I tried, this last time, to get clean. His interest in me restored some sliver of my faith in humanity. I stayed in the shelter, attended the meetings and sobered up. But the shelters here were crowded before the exodus from the hurricane. After all of the refuges, people were packed in like sardines. I moved to an abandoned hotel nearby, to clear at least one bed for a woman or child. The hotel was something…like a window to an older, more elegant era. I had the place to myself for a long time. Most of the homeless believed it was haunted. No one had the heart or the urgency to tear the place down. So I stayed. I kept going to meetings and hanging around the shelter, and Austin became my new home.
“After a few years of living in the old hotel, a construction crew turned up. Someone had purchased the place with the idea of restoring it. That’s where I met Joe, who was working construction with Mason and Mac. Later, Molly rolled up in her new food truck and parked it out front. She and I hit it off, and she decided to see to it that I got something to eat every day. Because of my friendship with her, I got Joe’s attention. With his help, I went from being a broken man who was just barely clinging to sobriety, to a new man who could hold his head up. For the first time since I left home, I could think about more than where my next meal was coming from because those two took an interest in me.
When I got a phone, I called Aunt Susan and I think the only reason she took my call was that I didn’t call her collect. I told her my story, and she challenged me on every last thing that I said. She kept me on the phone for hours, grilling me, waiting for me to screw up. In the end, she looked up Good Wood on the internet and called the store.
Joe talked to her for quite a while, then she asked to speak to me again. In the end, she realized how serious I was about getting my life back together. She never would have given me your number if she didn’t believe that I was turning things around.”
He went silent, and watched me expectantly. I fidgeted, unable to process even a fraction of what I’d just heard.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I managed. I realized I was clinging to a throw pillow as if it were some sort of shield against his tale, and I tossed it aside,
He stood, and sighed deeply, and I figured he must have felt fifty pounds lighter, because his story had me feeling that much heavier.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe I should have stayed dead. That might have been the kindest thing I could have done. But I love you, darlin’. I never stopped. Not a sober day passed that I didn’t think of you. I know I’ve hurt you, and I may never be welcome in your life. But I’m truly sorry that I wasn’t there for you. You don’t know how much I wish I could change it all.”
When Mac showed up, I was waiting for him on the couch. Though my make-up was on point and not a hair was out of place, inside I was a hot mess. I’d tried to push all of Dad’s junk aside, not wanting it to color our long overdue first date. Even so, moments of it kept oozing out into the forefront of my mind.
Mac looked amazing in his casual jeans and a fitted gray t-shirt. One look at him and I knew I’d overdressed. I had opted to go with the skirt and the heels, injured toe or not. I figured at the time it would be worth the pain to see the look on Mac’s chiseled face.
“Damn, you’re beautiful.” He leaned on the doorframe, and spent a full minute taking me in as if I were a sunset or a painting in a museum.
I liked it. A lot. I really did. A couple of hours before, I would have loved it. I probably would have reveled in it. When I didn’t, I should have called the date off because my response was a flashing hazard sign that I wasn’t in the right state of mind. But I was desperate to feel good, so I ignored those early warnings. As far as I was concerned, Mac equaled good, and I deserved some good. So I dismissed my mood as unimportant. Ancient history was just that, and it was not going to put a damper on my evening.
“As much as I hate to say this, you’d better change out of that skirt.” He told me, his eyes meandering from my ankles up to the place that the hem hit my thigh. I blinked at him in disbelief and he frowned regretfully.
“I brought my bike.”
Within minutes, I’d changed into plan B, and we headed down the stairs. I bit back a snarky comment as I stuffed my hard earned good hair day into his helmet, and once again I found my cheek pressed to his back as we whipped through the streets of Austin. It occurred to me only after we were zipping through traffic that I should have suggested we take my car. My mind reeled with my father’s tales and the way they measured up with the version of reality I knew from my mother. The stories didn’t exactly jive, but oddly, Francis’s had the ring of truth. It didn’t absolve him of his sins, or make him less of a fuck up, but it sure didn’t paint mom in the role of the victim that she was so fond of.
All those times she screamed at me in the car, telling me things I didn’t want to hear about him. When I came home smelling like schnapps, her thundering at me that I’d be just like him if I wasn’t careful. How she made me retake the SAT, because I hadn’t worked hard enough, just like him. How it was “just like a Palmer” for me to cut myself so much slack and lose sight of the prize.
Mac came to a stop, and I felt the impact of his kickstand. I loosened my grip on him and sat up. We were parked alongside of a tiny white building that looked like a Vegas wedding chapel. I looked around at the seedy area and cocked an eyebrow as I removed his helmet. I wondered just how badly it had destroyed my hairdo, and tried not to fret about it.
“I hope you like hot dogs.” Mac said, and the statement was so jarring after where my mind had been that I assumed it was some euphemism for a particular part of his anatomy. The remark wasn’t up to his usual standards of wit, and I made no comment in response.
“What is this place?” I narrowed my eyes at the rundown little building. I could hear the familiar sound of a steel guitar, but the building didn’t seem big enough for line dancing.
“You’ll see,” he smirked, offering me his hand. We rounded the building, and I read the lettering over the front door. A homemade sign with a large long horn symbol spanned the middle of the chapel-esque facade. It read “LITTLE LONGHORN SALOON.” Off to the left, in tiny black letters, someone had added “Welcome to Ginny’s.”
My eyes slid sideways to Mac, who looked incredibly pleased with himself as he pulled me inside, out of the sunlight.
“Hey there, handsome!” the woman seated just inside the door greeted Mac with a giant smile.
“Mary.” Mac nodded, his deep voice muffled slightly by the bluesy music reverberating off the walls. “How’s Sissy today?”
“She’s rowdy and ready to put on a show.” She giggled, as if there were some inside joke between them. “Y’all want tickets?”
“Sure do.” He replied, his deep voice sounding a bit like Sam Elliot in Tombstone. I loved listening to him talk and was already w
ishing we’d gone somewhere quieter so we could have some real conversation. I wanted so badly to tell him about my dad’s visit, to use him as a sounding board for the questions it raised. Upon further reflection, I’d probably used up all of his patience Friday night, and he’d most likely decided to bring me someplace loud so he didn’t have to listen to any more of my sob stories.
Mac pulled out his wallet, and Mary seemed to notice me out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head in my direction, and she got the strangest expression on her face as she looked me over. I suddenly felt incredibly insecure. I wasn’t sure what about my appearance caused the middle aged woman to react so strongly, but I smiled awkwardly in hopes I’d win her over. She smiled back pleasantly enough.
“You’d better get back out there and grab some dogs. The first bunch are coming off the grill now.” Tucking his money away she handed him a few sheets of paper. Mac folded them and tucked them into his back pocket then pulled me back outside.
“Why did she look at me like that?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I never bring anyone when I come to Ginny’s.”
As he pulled me to the other side of the parking lot, I wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or embarrassed.
“Where are we g—” I started to ask, but as we walked around to the left side of the building, I saw an oversized grill and several casually dressed people milling around.
“Hey, Mac!” the man operating the grill called out, smiling widely. It seemed everyone in Austin was familiar with my date.
‘Hey!” Mac waved, slipping an arm around me. The man gestured to a tray of franks. “We’ve got all the fixings. Help yourself.”
“How do you take yours?” Mac asked, and I realized he’d literally been referring to these when he mentioned hot dogs.
I had asked him to surprise me.
Apparently he’s an overachiever.
I realized he was still waiting for a response. Speechless, I glanced at the spread of condiments laid out. I hadn’t eaten a hot dog since I was a kid, and honestly I’d never been a fan. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I improvised.
“Anything but onions.” I blurted. As far downhill as this day had gone, I was still holding out hope for kissing later and didn’t want it ruined by nasty breath.
“No onions!” The man behind the grill cried, as if I’d just proclaimed the world was flat or that the moon landing was all filmed on a sound stage in Hollywood.
“Onions make everything better.” Mac agreed, slathering his first dog with a large pile of them. I tried not to cringe, and I quickly busied myself pouring a little ketchup on the bun on my plate.
Once we were back inside, Mac led me to a small table near the far end of bar. The interior of the place was a far cry nicer than I expected, and though it was smaller than the place we’d been in when he was line dancing with the blonde, it was a huge step up from it.
“Is this alright?” he asked. “Or do you want to move closer to the dance floor?”
“This is fine,” I replied, forcing a smile. I wanted to be able to hear him, and dancing was the last thing I wanted to think about today. I frowned when I realized that Francis’s stories had left a fresh bruise on every memory of my parents, making me question if anything I remembered had a shred of truth to it.
Mac’s smile faltered, and I felt bad. I wasn’t being good company. I needed to think of something worth talking about and fast. “How’s your son doing? Did you have a good visit?”
His frown deepened, and discomfort appeared on his handsome face. We’d never talked about Mac Junior, other than when Mac had confirmed his existence.
“It was fine.” His tone was unusually curt, and it effectively closed the conversation.
Well, I guess that subject is off limits. Now what?
He reached for his hotdog, and I snatched my phone off of the table.
“Oh, I need to get a shot of this.” I smirked, trying to liven up the mood. Mac grinned suddenly, and then fixed a mock serious expression on his face as he posed with the overdressed dog. I quickly tagged him as I posted it to Facebook, captioning the post “Onion Dogs and First Dates. #nokissingforyou”
The waitress brought our beers and Mac brought up the topic of Molly and Joe’s house hunt. He explained that Molly was freaking out that she’d have to try to manage two babies in a second story apartment. He had concerns that they’d hurry into a house they weren’t happy with just because she was panicking. He went on to say that Joe was burning himself out working constantly in the shop. They’d finally hired a new guy, Nick, and Mac thought he was a mistake too.
“The kid’s got more piercings than the villain from Hellraiser,” he said.
“Who?”
“Hellraiser? Pinhead? Oh…you’re probably too young to remember that movie.” He rolled his eyes, and I realized that I was officially the bimbo who didn’t get her date’s reference. Before I could dwell on the remark, he continued. “And he hit on Molly at his interview. Molly, who already looks like she’s about to drop a baby any moment now. And Joe hired him anyway! I’m starting to wonder if his mind has finally snapped.” He sipped from his mug of beer. He had foam all over his mustache, and I bit back a smile.
“What?”
I reached out and dabbed at him with a napkin. His eyes darkened, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I don’t know what it was about a man’s neck, but I’ve always found it incredibly sexy.
He started to speak, but the music stopped and the man behind the microphone announced they were bringing out Sissy, and that we should all give her a round of applause.
“That’s us.” Mac perked up. “Come on. Bring your beer.”
He pulled the papers he had tucked into his pocket out and picked up his mug, scooting out of the booth. I grabbed my mug and followed suit. Our hotdogs were gone, so we didn’t have anything else to carry. My phone chimed, and I saw that Annette, Molly, Robin, Jerry, and some girl from high school had all liked my picture of Mac.
We wandered toward a large table I’d been too self-absorbed to notice when we’d first come in. A woman was stuffing a live chicken into a wire cage atop the table, and people were gathering around with sheets of paper that I realized were some sort of bingo cards.
“What is all this?” I called to Mac over the ambient noise.
“Chicken Shit Bingo,” he replied.
I laughed nervously, assuming he was kidding. Then the man with the mic confirmed it. “Gather round, y’all! Wherever Sissy does her business is the winning square!”
Mac started to explain the origin of the game, and I flushed. A looming feeling of humiliation overtook me. I hadn’t given him a very good impression if this was where he’d decided to bring me. He seemed completely relaxed, and it dawned on me that he didn’t care if he impressed me. Considering all the time I’d put into getting presentable for him, it was pretty clear we were on way different wavelengths. I could feel my heart hammering, and I kicked myself for misreading the situation so badly.
My phone chimed again, and as I put it on silent, I noticed my mother had commented on my Facebook post. I tapped the alert to see she’d said. “My, what a handsome fella! Make sure to run an extra mile if he’s treating you to one of those!”
My blood boiled, and I was sure my hotdog was about to come back up all over Sissy and her fabulous bingo board. Mom always loved to rub my former fat kid in my face. She had a knack for turning harmless fun into a stomach full of boiling acid. As I stood awkwardly between other excited patrons, I reexamined my date through the ‘Kelly’ filter, and I realized I’d made a huge mistake. I quickly deleted the post from Facebook, deciding I’d rather forget the entire experience and didn’t need anyone else knowing about it.
The fact that he actually thought that this place would be somewhere to take anyone on a date showed how very different we were. I stepped back from the cage.
“Excuse me, I need to use the ladies room.” I cut Mac off mid-story, a
nd the look of concern on his face made me feel even more nauseated. Blindly stumbling away toward the bathroom, I screeched when a large man stepped back from the bar and onto my injured toe. He tried to apologize, but tears sprung to my eyes; and I hobbled away and locked myself in the restroom. Now that I’d had a moment to think, I felt a little teary anyway, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. This thing with Mac was going nowhere fast, and I was unprepared for how much the reality of that disappointed me.
Sitting in the odorous bathroom stall of the little hokey tonk, I knew I should have stayed home. I kept thinking about my father and how I’d hurried him out the door to get ready for this sorry date. Once more, I tried to fight back the bile that was building in my gut. My priorities were totally fucked up. It took a minute for me to get myself together, then the real panic set in.
How am I going to get out of here? Think, Kelly! Think!
Pulling out my phone, my eyes settled on the Austin Cab application, and the weight fell from my shoulders. Jerry had insisted that I download it so I could catch a ride whenever we went out drinking. Opening up the app, I selected the pickup option. I saw there was a cab nearby. Once the app showed me that my fare was accepted and the cab was pulling up outside, I went back out into the bar.
I dropped some money on the table for the beers and went to find Mac. A cougar in tights jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt had his attention, and that typical panty- dropping grin was on his face. I approached just in time to hear him say “Nah, we’re just friends.”
I was livid. To think I’d spent one second concerned with this man’s opinion filled me with blinding rage. Mac wasn’t serious about us; that much was obvious, and based on the way he’d dismissed the girl at the line dancing bar, I’d joined his little black book of girls he could take or leave as the mood suited.
I had to go, to get as far away from this place as the cab driver would take me before I ended up on Cops or Maury Povich.
“Mac,” I called, and he jumped about a foot in the air when he realized I was standing right there watching him flirt with the next notch on his belt. “I’m not feeling well. I’m heading out.”
Wood U (Carved Hearts #4) Page 9