by S. Cook
Cheryl came out from the back, interrupting my thoughts. I was grateful to her. Not only for helping out, but for being here to keep me calm.
“What is with you and that tall drink of water in the kitchen?” she asked.
“What the hell are you talking about? He's just here to get over some guilt he has about Terry's death.”
Cheryl shook her head.
“No. I saw how you looked at him. There's something else there.”
“Oh, you mean all the hot sex we had the other night? That could be it.”
“Oooh... little Ms. Lynette has to deal with a morning after,” Cheryl said with a laugh. “The queen of avoiding relationships has a suitor.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Hardly. And I'm pretty sure that finding out the guy from the night before is your dead brother's best friend isn't exactly a normal morning after issue. He's just feeling guilty. That’s all. He'll be gone tomorrow.”
Cheryl screwed up her face.
“Tomorrow? I don’t think so. Not with the way he looks at you.”
“You're crazy. C’mon, just help me with the bar please. Go take the chairs off tables. Do something besides grilling me about Gabriel.”
“Speaking of the bar. How are things with the bank?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know yet what I’m going to do. I haven't really had much of a chance to think about things in the two days that this whole thing has been going on. I'll deal with the bank on Monday.”
Cheryl nodded and started taking chairs off the tables.
The night would start soon enough.
***
Thankfully the evening was slow especially since Tanya called in too, claiming that her kids were sick. I wondered if all my employees were off somewhere together, having fun, while I was stuck in the purgatory of my own life.
It wasn't too bad though.
Cheryl waited on the tables, cracking jokes and keeping things lighthearted. Gabriel turned out to be not half-bad as a fry cook. Even with his bad leg, he was still faster than Bill.
At the end of the night, Cheryl swept and mopped the floor and turned the chairs over onto the tables before she left.
“Thanks, Cheryl,” I said with a yawn. “I owe you a big one for coming in tonight to help me out.”
“You're welcome, hon. I would say anytime but, no.” She gave me a hug and bounced to the door. “And Lynette, you might want to stop being so nasty and give Gabriel a chance. He's not such a bad cook, and he seems like a genuine, nice guy. They’re pretty rare these days, I’ve heard.”
“Excuse me?” I couldn't believe my ears. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you actually going soft?”
“No way. We talked in the kitchen and he seems nice enough and cheap. You can probably pay him in pussy if you’re trying to save on cash.”
Cheryl's laughter at her own joke trailed behind her as she left the bar.
“What's so funny?” Gabriel asked, coming out from the kitchen with a plate piled high with food in one hand.
“Nothing,” I said a little too quickly and turned towards him. “What's up with that?”
He put the plate down on the bar counter and pulled up a chair for me.
“Food for you. I thought after nine hours of standing on your feet you might be hungry.”
I wasn't until he mentioned it. It was as if he suddenly reminded me that I needed to take time to eat, to live like a normal person. I sat at the bar and started picking at the fries. They were good and way better than Bill’s. Before I knew it, I was stuffing my face. He smiled and slid onto a bar stool with a loud grunt.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. I've just been on my leg all day. I'd like to lie down and not get up again for about twelve hours,” he replied.
“Well remember, you volunteered.” I snapped, then remembered Cheryl’s advice. “Do you need ice, or something? An aspirin?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Nah. I'll be fine.”
I studied him for a while and finally said, “You look better with a little hair.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hair,” I said, pointing at the picture of him with my brother and their unit on the counter. “You didn't have any there, but you look better with it.”
He rubbed his head.
“I figured being a man in uniform would make up for how hideous my nearly bald head made me look. I’m still having a hard time getting used to hair being up there.”
I laughed.
“Are you still mad?” he asked. “And wishing I would just go away and leave you alone.”
I swallowed a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, but you won't. What I don’t understand is why.”
He shrugged.
“Because everyone else does.”
“You don’t know me well enough to say something like that.”
“You’re right. I don't really know much about you,” he said and plucked a fry off the plate. “Maybe nobody really knows you.”
“Especially you.”
“Right again. I've been carrying your picture around for three years. Yet I don't know who you are. Not really.”
He smiled at me, his eyes sparkling.
I settled into my chair and looked down at the food to keep from meeting his eyes. I didn’t have the energy to lie and even if I did, it wouldn’t have mattered. Swallowing my food, I said, “Yeah, well I can’t say I’m a whole lot of fun to be around these days.”
“You’re too hard on yourself. Let me be the judge of that.”
“There’s not much to know. I’m just Lynette. I run this shithole of a bar. That’s about it.”
“You are far more than just this bar.”
The words rolled off his tongue into the still air of the bar. I felt my heart beat hard in my chest, a blush rising to my cheeks.
I closed my eyes and shook the feeling off.
“No, I’m not. It’s all I’ve ever known.”
He touched my bare knee and fire flooded me as the memory of his touch filled my mind. His eyes locked on mine.
“Don’t say that. Tell me more about you.”
I shivered and pushed his hand away.
“Why? What does it matter? You’ll be gone soon anyway.”
“If that’s true, then what would it hurt to tell me?”
“My brother probably told you everything there was to know about me anyway.”
“I’m sure he left out some parts,” he said, grabbing another fry from the plate.
I slap his hand.
“Stop it! You made these for me and now you're eating them.”
I playfully plucked the fry out of his fingers and stuffed it into my own mouth. He smiled and reached for another one. I shook my head and moved the plate just out of his reach.
“Make your own, Army boy, these are mine.”
He made a mock hurt face.
“Come on, share. I cleaned the kitchen, don't make me drop another batch in the fryer. Then I’ll have to clean again.”
“You cleaned the kitchen?” I asked in disbelief.
“What do you think took me so long back there?”
“You are a liar and liars do not get fries!”
“What did I lie about? And I’m the one who made those fries! The least you can do is share.”
I slid off the stool.
“I'm going to go check and call you out for the bald-faced liar you are. You did not clean the kitchen. Nobody would do that voluntarily.”
I walked around Gabriel and into the back with him following closely behind me. The scent of cleaning products hit my nose before I turned on the light. When I did, the light flickered on the shiny surfaces of appliances. Everything was sparkling clean.
“Holy shit!” I gasped. “You cleaned the kitchen.”
“I told you.”
“Bill never cleans the kitchen and he shuts down the same time you did! How did you do this?”
“Good old elbow grease. I'm military. We get really good at cleaning things.”
“Clearly,” I said, still looking around the clean kitchen. “This is amazing.”
“Thank you,” he said with a grin, but then his expression grew serious. “I think you need better employees, or at least ones that are more trustworthy.”
“Unfortunately, employees like that are expensive, and I can’t afford it right now.”
I sighed as we walked back to the bar.
“The bar seemed busy enough tonight. Business was good.”
“Sure, it looks that way, but after paying for everything and everyone plus taking care of my dad, there's nothing left.”
Gabriel touched my hand softly.
“Terry told me that your father had some problems.”
“Problems,” I muttered and shook my head. “Terry was always so diplomatic when it came to sensitive subjects.”
He looked at me, silently urging me to carry on talking, so I did.
“My dad’s a fucking drunk. He hasn't been sober since my mom died ten years ago.”
“You were sixteen when she died,” he said softly.
I nodded at the memory.
“How did you know?”
Gabriel rubbed his chin.
“Terry told me. He said that you were sixteen when your mother passed away and that he was eighteen. He told me he left to try to help out with finances and ended up joining the Army.”
“Terry didn’t leave to help. He ran away.”
He laughed, a short sound in his throat.
“Joining the Army and being sent into a war zone isn't exactly running away.”
“It is, if you volunteer,” I answered bitterly. “Terry didn't want to be stuck with all this. The bar, Dad, me. None of it. He found a way out, but someone had to be responsible.”
All the good humor of the evening melted away. Gabriel's face turned into a mask of confusion. I felt the old anger rising in me.
“What? Let me guess. He told you he was playing the big hero? Probably sending money back every month and writing me letters? Things like that?”
“I saw him,” he replied.
“Saw him what?”
“Send you money. I dropped off a few letters at the post for him.”
“No way.”
“I saw him do it, I swear.”
There was a conviction in his voice, in his eyes. He reached out, putting his fingertips on my bare arm.
“Your brother loved you.”
“Bullshit! My brother didn't send me anything. Ever.”
I was vaguely aware that my voice was loud and raised. I didn't really care. I’d been hurt all those years ago. Talking about this with Gabriel was opening up old wounds that never had the time to heal properly, or at all.
“He got out of this mess as soon as he could and never looked back.”
“Lynette.”
“He fed you a line of shit that he was a fucking angel. I have my whole entire life as proof that he wasn't.” I pointed a finger at him. “Don't you think that you can come in here and clean up a kitchen and make up for that.”
Gabriel face clouded over, and he slid off the chair. He stood, clearly in pain. I wanted to tell him to sit back down or go home, but I was too angry to do anything. It didn't matter, he would go home soon enough, and I would never see him again.
I waited for him to say something or do something.
His hand stayed steady, fingertips pressed against me, and then it tightened around my arm. I opened my mouth to protest, but then he pulled me towards him.
The shock of his body against me silenced any words that would have come out of my mouth. His arms wrapped around me, one cradling the back of my head, just below the tight ponytail of my hair. My tense body relaxed in his embrace, my heart beating quickly.
“I'm sorry, Lynette,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I'm sorry that you've been so alone. I'm sorry that you never knew your brother and that's my fault. It was my mistake and I will have to live with that forever, but you don't.” He lifted my face to look at him. “Your brother loved you.”
“I know. I just don't know why he left in the first place.”
I could feel the tears brimming behind my lids. I turned and tried to push away from Gabriel. He held me tight.
Then the flood of tears came. Hot and salty, they poured down my face. Tears that I’d been holding back for months, for years, since long before Terry died. I hated that I was crying, that I was weak and exposed.
I couldn’t help it.
The burn of his touch, his eyes, were too much and all my defenses came tumbling down. I leaned into his embrace and was vaguely aware that he was lowering me to the floor as he spoke to me in a low whisper.
His fingertips wiped the tears as they fell. He refused to let go of me and I found myself clinging to him as my body shuddered in deep sobs. His back was against the bar and I sat sideways, my legs and knees drawn up over his outstretched ones. He pulled the ponytail out and stroked my hair, kissing the top of my head, all the while whispering gently to me.
His hands stroked my back through the thin t-shirt, his thumb running down my spine. His fingers worked the tight knots of tension until I relaxed in his arms. Curled against him, my sobbing slowed and finally stopped.
We sat in silence, his fingers running hot trails down my bare arm, his chin resting on the top of my head. I stayed in the crook of his neck, exhausted from the flood of emotion. I moved my hand to rest against his chest. He took it, brought it up to his face and kissed the back of my fingers. His hand let go of mine and he tilted my chin up, revealing my splotchy, tear-stained face.
“I look terrible.”
My voice was a broken squeak, my throat raw from crying for the first time in a long while.
Gabriel pulled my hand away. He cradled my face in his palm forcing me to look at him. I sniffled, and he smiled.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands, hating for him to see me like this. He stopped me with his lips. The kiss was unexpected, as gentle as his hands had been on my arm. I let my hand settle back on his chest as he parted my lips with his own, his hands stroking my cheek, wiping away the remainder of the wet trails left by my tears.
My fingers gripped his shirt, needing to hold on to something. His mouth was hot against mine as he ended the kiss.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't.”
His voice was still the same soft whisper.
I felt him pulling away from me. My fingers tightened on his shirt.
“Don't go,” I whispered, hating the sound of my voice.
With my free hand, I found his face and pulled it back to me. He came willingly, capturing my lips, his hand pushing up my shirt to run against my skin.
I moved my hand to his belt buckle, working the leather strap loose.
He groaned against my mouth and then pulled me back.
“No. Stop. I can't.”
I stared back at him in a daze.
“Why?”
He looked at me for a moment, his eyes searching for something. “Because I don't want this to be just, this,” he said, motioning his hand between the space between us.
“I don't understand,” I said, moving back away from him. “What else could this be? You're going back to wherever you came from. You should already be gone.”
“But I'm not. I'm still here because I can't leave,” he said, his eyes intense.
I pushed out of his embrace completely embarrassed, rejected. I shook my head.
“You don't have to stay. You don't have to do anything else. You helped me tonight with things. There, it's settled. You’re free to go with a clear conscience.”
I moved to escape his grasp, to stand. He reached for me, awkwardly, catching my arms. I realized his leg must be in pain, taking in his position still on the floor. I tensed up and he released me.
“No, that's not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
I h
eard the hard edge coming back into my voice, giving me strength.
He leaned against the bar closing his eyes. The light picked up the stubble on his chin and cheeks as he thought.
“Don't you feel this?” he finally asked. “What’s going on between us?”
I started to ask him what, but then stopped myself. I knew exactly what he felt. Or at least what I hoped he felt. He picked up my hand and placed it over his heart. The steady beat of it vibrated through me.
I wanted that. His steady beat, calming me, keeping me sane.
He reached for my face. Pulling me so close that our noses touched, he laid a gentle chaste kiss on my mouth.
“This,” he said simply. “Don't you feel this?”
I felt it, not just his heartbeat but the heaviness in the air, the electric shock of his touch. The fact that I had done everything in the past two days that I could think of not to think of him.
“But you're going -”
“Home in two days,” he finished.
The shock of his words ripped through me. I moved to pull away from him again.
“Why would you say those things if you know you’re leaving. Isn't that a bit unfair?”
He nodded and pulled me tighter, covering my mouth with his palm.
“I have to go home. I have business to take care of, but I'll come back at the end of the week.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I promise.”
I leaned into his body, letting his heat sink to my core. Finding the perfect fit for my body against his.
“You promised my brother that you would make sure I was alright and it took you three years to do that.”
“Now who’s being unfair?” he said, a wounded tone in his voice. “I would have come sooner, but I couldn't.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you why,” he said.
“Why not now?”
“It’s too hard.”
“I know that feeling.”
We sat in silence, comfortable in the sound of each other’s breathing.
How would it have been different if he had been here back then?
It had been a mess after Terry's funeral. My father’s drinking became much worse and I was suddenly in charge of everything. What would it have been like if he had been there to hold me, to let me cry?