Page 19 of Dreaming of Dawson

What I don’t understand is why Peony wouldn’t talk to me. Or why she still won’t.

It wasn’t my fault our respective partners preferred each other’s company, any more than it was hers, but from the day they left, she hasn’t set foot in the bar, and hasn’t spoken a word to me.

I don’t even know if she blames me… because I don’t understand her silence. And, yes, I know I could ask her about it. But it’s been so long I don’t know what I’d say to her.

Sorry… probably. Sorry for being such a grouch. But I need to say that to just about everyone I meet, because I spendmy entire life with a frown on my face, to the extent that it’s becoming as permanent as Macy’s smile.

I clear away the cups, pondering over Macy’s story. I got the feeling there was more to it than she was telling. Not that it’s any of my business why she pitched up at her aunt’s place… or why she’s been here since November, and I’ve never noticed her before. I’m not a noticing kind of guy these days. I’m barely a focusing kind of guy most of the time. Even so, no-one else has mentioned her either. Although I doubt I’d remember if they had. And I guess the fact that Bernie’s place is a little way out of town makes it easier to understand Macy’s anonymity. The center of town is the hub of all the gossip. So much so, I sometimes I think it’s a miracle I’ve kept my secret for as long as I have.

Speaking of secrets, I need to make the most of having this place to myself. Maggie and Vanessa came in a while ago, before Macy arrived, but they’re in the kitchen… hiding from me, probably. Tanner’s words filter through my brain, and I wonder if my employees rely on each other for moral support, like he said… and whether they avoid spending time with me, unless they absolutely have to.

It wouldn’t surprise me.

Even I don’t enjoy my company these days.

Still, there’s not much I can do about that… except…

I grab a highball, adding a few ice cubes, and fill it with vodka. So what if it’s only just gone noon? I’m used to drinking all day long now, and I can take it. I can hide it, too. That’s why I mostly drink vodka. There’s no lingering smell, and it looks like water. No-one knows how much I drink on a daily basis… not even Tanner. Or me, for that matter. I generally lose count somewhere during the evening. Especially as, when I’m not drinking vodka by the glass, I’m also slipping bourbon into my coffee, just like I did this morning when I was talking to Macy.I’ve always taken my coffee strong and black, and no-one has mentioned being able to smell the alcohol… yet.

And it’s been a while…

It started not long after Stevie left. I can’t put my finger on exactly when, but I guess it didn’t help that I was surrounded by alcohol… and the temptation was just too great.

It still is. But I’ll admit that, when I’ve closed up the bar and I’m lying alone in bed, trying to focus on the ceiling, even I know I’ve let it get out of control. The thing is, it’s the only way I can get to sleep at night. It’s the only way I can stop thinking about Stevie. Not because I miss her. I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, Peony’s ex is welcome to her. No, I drink because it helps me to forget my inadequacies. It helps me forget I wasn’t enough… and how lonely I am.

In the cold light of every new morning, while I’m standing in the shower, bracing myself against the wall, trying to think straight while my head is spinning and my stomach is churning, I resolve to ignore my dry mouth and the longing to quench my thirst. I tell myself that today will be different. I won’t drink… or at least I’ll drink less.

The problem is, by the time I’m dressed, I can’t think of a single reason to stay sober.

Not one.

I take a sip of vodka, getting that customary buzz, and a memory flits through my head. It’s not an ancient one. It’s nothing to do with Stevie, or anything she did. This is more recent… much more recent. It’s something I’m supposed to have done.

What is it?

I take another sip, topping up the glass again, hoping my mind will clear…

It’s something to do with Tanner.

He was here last night. I have a vague memory of him sitting at the bar, the two of us discussing my staffing problems, my ex, his ex, and his wedding…

That’s it.

His wedding.

Or more precisely, his wedding night.

I remember he told me he and Zara were planning to spend it at home with Sylvia and Nash, and even Zara’s aunt, and how awful I thought that sounded. I thought there must be something I could do about it. The problem is, what… and how? And staying sober long enough to organize anything. There’s still time, though. I’ll look into it tonight. Or maybe tomorrow.

He’s my oldest friend, so I can’t let him down…

It’s been a quiet day. Not that I’m complaining. Quiet is fairly normal for this time of year.

Maggie and Vanessa left just before three, once the lunchtime service was finished, just like they usually do, and it was impossible not to see the relief on Maggie’s face when I told her she didn’t need to come back this evening.

“I’ve got someone coming in for a try-out.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up, and I’ll admit I felt slightly offended, although I couldn’t blame her. I know I haven’t been easy to work with for quite some time.

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