Haven

by J D Worth

  “It’s a rite of passage ’round here.” Mace holds up his mason jar. Cal lifts his up, and I follow. “Swallow quickly.”

  I know all of this is ridiculous, but part of me craves the adventure. Following Mace’s advice, I tip my head back, minimizing the taste. The first swig burns an intense path down my esophagus. Tears surface as my brows furrow deep. I take the other two swigs in quick succession. The scorching of my throat is insane, and the taste is similar to what I’d imagine drinking rubbing alcohol or kerosene would be like. I clench my eyes shut, withholding the tears as the fiery sensations dissipate. Mace and Cal both slam down their mason jars long before I open my eyes. I still have to keep the tears at bay while not coughing too much after the liquor strains my throat.

  Cal gives me a wide smile. “Yeah?” he asks.

  “Wow, that’s strong!” I share, trying not to let my own grimace overtake my expression. With a gleeful chuckle, Sonny claps his large hand on my shoulder. I’d be on the floor from the sheer force if Cal didn’t have his arm around my shoulders.

  The patrons around us erupt with cheers. Cal picks me up in a big bear hug. Sonny goes to pour more moonshine. I plow my palm forward to stop him. He grins and pushes the bottle of Jack towards me with a Coke can. Mace and Cal take another swig with Sonny. I know I’ll never drink moonshine again.

  Mace pops the can open, handing the soda to me. “I see getting the two of you drunk together may not be the keenest of ideas. Sure as shit, Princess has Southern blood in her. She might drink me under,” he teases as we join our friends.

  Mace settles on a bar stool and puts the bottle of Jack and shot glasses on the pub table. Cal rejoins us with beers for Payton and himself.

  Jax has the game ready to play and shouts out, “Cutthroat?” He receives several nods, so he goes ahead and breaks. He calls out low balls after sinking a mid and a high numbered ball. He shoots again but misses.

  Jax points in my direction. “Darlin’, you know how to play?”

  “Jax, I usually play this game in ball gowns.” A large smile spreads across my lips. “The object is to knock the other player’s balls out before all of yours are. This is a usually a three-person game with each player calling a set of five balls designated low, middle or high. The last one standing with a ball on the table wins.”

  His eyes shine as he smiles back. “All right, but we play this as a drinking game. We’ll switch off with our partners. Every ball you sink means that team’s gotta drink.” He nods to Mace pouring out the drinks. Jax grins as he throws back a shot. He pats Mace on the shoulder as they converse.

  I walk around the table to find my best setup. Mace tips his head, lighting up a smoke and watches me in amusement. I take out a low ball, calling the high numbers for our team. I knock out a middle ball and miss my third shot.

  The slight haze of cigarette smoke provides an aura around Mace. I watch with fascination how comfortable he is in his own skin. Meanwhile, I’m unable to shake the never-ending tension just below my surface. Even at a Southern dive bar, the unrelenting pressure from the broker world still seeps into my existence.

  Cal shouts out, spreading his arms wide. “You’re leaving me with only three balls?”

  “Look at it this way, Cal, now you have an extra ball to play with.” My response is cheeky, so I add a teasing grin. Violet snorts while Jax and Payton smirk at me. Mace’s low rumble of a laugh spouts across from us. When our eyes meet, his smolder green.

  “Goof!” Cal nods to Payton, and she nudges for him to go instead. He knocks one of ours in, follows with a low ball, and misses the third shot.

  Violet misses and downs her shot with one quick flick of the wrist. Mace takes out two of the middle balls and a low one before passing on to Payton. She’s able to take out a low one but misses her next shot. Jax goes for the last middle one and scratches. I sink the ball he missed and eye him while wiping out one of his. Jax shakes his head at me, knocking back his penalty drink. The last one is the kill shot. I sink it, leaving only our three balls on the table.

  Our one game is the most fun I’ve had playing billiards, and my new friends are the sole reason. Cal laughs, and the girls cheer me on. Jax shakes his head, grinning at me while he sets up the table again. I beam, almost bursting with joy.

  Mace pulls me between his legs, wrapping his arm around me. He parks his amused smile by my ear and asks, “Princess, you a pool shark now?”

  “Doing what I have to do to survive.” I try to pantomime shooting the pool cue, but find my equilibrium off. “Whoa,” I say, swaying.

  “Moonshine’s kickin’ in.” Mace’s eyes glimmer. “It doesn’t take much to get completely tanked.”

  “No kidding.” I notice my words are starting to slur. The warmth in my belly begins to seep into my extremities, the haze in the bar thickens, and a contented smile takes up permanent residence on my lips.

  “You like Sonny?” Mace asks.

  “He’s the best.” I’m eager to share. “He toasted my relatives in front of the whole bar. The Wakefield family means much more down here than back in the city. I’m part of something special here that I’ll never have back there.”

  “I wanna hear you describe the city in one word.”

  “Can you describe Haven in one?”

  “Home.” Mace stands when a man in a flour-covered apron delivers several baskets of fried food to the table. I sway in my spot as if the floor shuffles beneath me. “Have a seat. Take this round off and play bartender.”

  I agree by rooting myself on the stool. I contemplate his simple answer: Haven is home. I don’t know what New York is. “What am I sampling?” I say, tapping the basket. “This one must be shrimp, but what are the others?”

  “Fried specialties of the South,” Mace declares, smiling. “Fried foods are another first, right?”

  “Right.” I offer an awkward grimace. “Which I know is preposterous. Fried foods seem to be a guilty pleasure.”

  Smiling, Mace says, “Try ‘staple’ of the Southern diet. We fry everything, including Twinkies.” He picks up a small fried ball. “These little fried delights are what you call hush puppies, and they go great with shrimp.” He pops the ball into his mouth and holds up a round, crinkled disk. “These are fried pickles, and Cal got you something sweet with the cheesecake bites here.”

  I hold up a stick with fried meat. “What about this?”

  “Try it. You’ll like it.” Mace encourages by grabbing a stick for himself. I break off a small greasy piece and pop the white meat into my mouth.

  Cal comes up beside me and snatches one of the meat sticks for himself. “Mmm, Sonny got himself some gator again.” I blink several times, waiting for Cal to correct himself. Instead, they await my response. I force the meaty morsel down my throat.

  “No, that can’t be right. This is fried chicken, correct?” I survey the juicy meat on my stick. “Please tell me I ate fried chicken!”

  “Nope. This is gator all right,” Cal replies and takes a huge bite out of his meat stick. “Goof, hand that stick over if you’re not gonna finish. It’s been a long time since Sonny had gator. He’s only willing to share ’cause you’re here.”

  I grimace. “You both know I wouldn’t know what fried chicken tastes like. Or fried gator, for that matter.” I tilt my head at them and they laugh. “Where’s a cupcake when you need one?”

  “If you like, then eat up,” Mace reasons. “Your body’s not used to fried foods, and your stomach may get upset with moonshine already on it. Just take it easy.”

  “I can’t tolerate eating alligator now that I know what I’m eating.” I pass my meat stick to Cal who is happy to demolish the treat. “Where did the alligator come from?”

  Mace replies, “They’re protected in North Carolina, but not in all the Southern states. Sonny has a good friend who hunts gators for a living. The nuisance ones that roam too close to residential areas gotta be put down. His friend sends the extra meat
up. Sonny lived in Louisiana for a while and likes all the deep Southern-style fried food. Gators are considered good eatin’ down there.”

  “There are alligators around here? Is this another thing I should be concerned about with the marshy area beyond my property?” My weary eyes switch between them as they snicker at me. “I thought alligators only lived in Louisiana and Florida. I had no idea they lived this far north.” I’m sure they can hear the note of horror in my voice.

  “You got a machete, so you’re all set,” Cal jokes. I glare at him. “Ah, she’s got that rantin’ and ravin’ mad kitten look.” Cal grins, gazing at me.

  I straighten my back. Words come tumbling out of my mouth without any forethought. “How am I supposed to keep track of all the deadly animals that live around here? Everything I know pertaining to North Carolina centers around the huge financial sector in Charlotte. The numerous banking headquarters and resources rank second only to those in New York. Duke thrives on this financial distinction with endowments poured into their institution, ranking the college number seven on the best list. The trickle-down effect works when big money is involved.”

  Cal smirks. “Yup, I don’t understand a thing you’re saying. But you’re cute as hell when you get all huffy.”

  “Warren Aster was one of the reasons banking institutions settled here over forty years ago. However, Jonathan first fostered and encouraged those giants to relocate down here. When Jonathan retired, Warren followed through by pushing the limits of how many powerful institutions he could get to create a major hub of the South. Infusing the untapped money back to Wall Street. This would also be the reason Warren turned his oceanfront estate into a golf resort. The move allowed him to woo his potential investment clients, but on his terms and his property. His efforts worked, considering how financially thriving Charlotte is now. Lilith’s support of my father marrying Georgina was a follow-up on Warren’s plan.” Heat rushes through me. I’m not quite sure why I’m getting fired up about the Asters when all I wanted was to leave that business behind me for a short while.

  “You done?” Mace asks, laying down a thick grin.

  My mind swims in the buoyant wonders of moonshine as I poke my face. “Am I still smiling? I can’t feel my cheeks anymore.”

  Cal snorts beside me, holding up a mason jar with more moonshine, smiling ear-to-ear. “The number one truth of the South is that moonshine always makes it better. Every bad clichéd country song banks on this simple truth. Your truck runs like shit. Your roof leaks a small river every time it pours. Your wife might’ve left you again, and your dog might’ve died. But moonshine makes you forget your worries and plants a big ass grin on your face.”

  I glance around the rundown bar. The shack is full of gleeful, yet tired-looking folks with threadbare clothing, who’ll stumble out to the vehicles of questionable road-worthiness in the parking lot.

  “Now you’ve experienced moonshine.” Mace scratches the scruff on his chin and laughs. “And you don’t need to worry ’bout gators. All along the coast, the South used to be much marshier and poorer before the gradual tourism buildup in the beachy areas. There used to be many more gators ’round. There’s an alligator reserve ’bout an hour and a half northeast. I’m sure one passes by every so often here. Other than that, you gotta hit the big marsh lands, or go further south to see ’em.”

  “I know you’re not familiar with New York City, but the area used to be marshy. That was two or three hundred years ago, so you Southern states still have time to catch up with us Yankees. Gramercy Park was all marshlands, and Times Square was wetlands where two rivers met. Now we’re a concrete jungle, so New Yorkers get a kick out of that,” I tease as Mace cracks a smile.

  Thinking about how soon I have to head back, a frown threatens the corners of my mouth. Mace draws his finger to the edge of my lip. “What’s this for?”

  I breathe out a sigh. “You wanted one word for New York: suffocating.”

  His lips land on mine. The bar and everything else disappears from my mind as I concentrate on how his lips feel. The cowbell rings loud. Cal shoves Mace on the shoulder, breaking our kiss.

  Cal says, “You’re in for it now, Doc.” Sonny has his finger aimed at Mace, wearing an exasperated look upon his reddening face.

  Mace says to me, “You’re not suffocating anymore. We got untouched blue skies for miles. An incredible ocean view and sandy beaches. Wild horses run free. Our sunrises and sunsets look like paintings. At night, there’s countless stars you can actually see. Tell me what you want, Princess, and it’s yours…”

  “Is that so?” I challenge him with a grin. He’s looking down the road, beyond my short stay here. I stare in wonder as his eyes keep flicking to my lips. He nods, heading towards the bar. Cal chuckles behind him. Sonny lays his hand on the back of Mace’s neck, pulling him towards the bar. “What’s that about?”

  “Sonny’s up for kickin’ ass tonight. Seems he’s got a beef with Mace,” Cal says.

  “You drop your ‘g’ when you drink,” I say, sizing him up.

  “You spout analytical business facts when you drink.” We laugh. Mace returns to his barstool, wearing a smirk. Cal whips his head back to the bar. Sonny’s bartending while grinning like a fool. Cal flashes Mace a look that I can’t read but Mace can. An unspoken truth passes between them. “Mace?”

  “I told him I’m all in.” Mace reaches over to the fried baskets of food and offers me a cheesecake square. Without thinking, I take a bite while he’s still holding onto to it. He groans when his fingers brush along my lip, popping the rest of the dessert in my mouth. “Cal, you may have your own … promises to keep, but I got mine too,” Mace reaffirms, nestling back between my legs and wrapping my arms across his hard stomach. I place my chin on his shoulder and glance at Cal. These two friends seem at odds more often than not.

  Cal swallows as he looks between us. He finishes off his moonshine, gazes over at Sonny, and shakes his head slowly. “Whatcha doin’, Mace?”

  “We both know it’s gonna happen sooner or later. Sonny agrees with me. He’s not ’bout to make the same mistakes as before. We’re vested now. Deep too. How could any of us let go?”

  Cal’s eyes cut to Mace. He drops his voice low, replying, “Not like this, Doc. There are always repercussions. You can’t fix everything.”

  “And we deal with ’em. We got people too. Are you gonna stop this from happening?” Mace challenges.

  Scraping his thumbnail over the raised lettering on his mason jar, Cal focuses his attention on his hands.

  “Cal, after all the shit that went down, you know it’s the right thing to do. Deep down, you want this to happen.”

  “Yeah, you know I do, but now is not the time to act.” He downs the last bit of his moonshine and slams the jar on the table. His eyes turn to slits.

  “I’m not backing off from this.”

  “We’ll see ’bout that.” Cal slaps his shoulder hard and nods to the pool table. “Mace, you’re up.” Squaring off, Mace grips Cal’s shoulder in return.

  I speak up. “Sonny doesn’t look too happy with either of you, and I don’t want him to kick us out.” Smiling, I pat my chest. “Remember, Harvard bound here.” They glance at the bar. Sonny isn’t paying any attention to us. I grin when Mace muffles a laugh and drops his firm hold on Cal’s shoulder. I refill the shot glasses. Once Mace parks behind the pool table, I ask Cal, “You guys okay?” The same waiter as before refreshes Cal with more moonshine.

  “Family history bullshit. Everyone on Bell Peninsula thinks they get a say.” Cal swats his hand towards the bar, taking a sip of his drink. He points to me. “You’re good though, using Sonny as a distraction.” A smile spreads across his face, sharing, “When we were in high school and Sonny would end our night early—”

  “You mean kick you out?”

  “Something like that.” Cal grins. “Not wanting the fun to end, we’d go gator-sighting. We’d shoot the shit while traversing
meandering rivers, hoping to find gators.”

  “Why did you go at night?” Grinning, I park my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my palm, eager to hear more.

  Cal frowns at me and takes a long draw from his jar. His glassy eyes daze over my shoulder towards Sonny. I turn my neck and see Sonny eagerly nodding at Cal. “Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Audrey, listen to me.”

  “What—”

  “Just listen, okay.” He leans in close. “Some shit may go down. Shit you’re not used to seeing. You may hear things that make no sense. Remember that I got your back. I’ll always have your back no matter what happens.” He slings backward, propping himself up against the wall, and tilts his jar up. Having the sudden urge to sober up, I creep back on my stool and slam down my Coke. Caffeine infuses in my boozy bloodstream, only counteracting the drowsiness that accompanies alcohol. I shake my head, and Cal chuckles. “Audrey, are you really enjoying yourself here in the thick heat at a boondocks bar in bumshit nowhere Hicksville, North Carolina?”