Page 75 of Kiss My Glass
“Or”—I’m full of bright ideas—“we could go beer tasting andthengo to a karaoke bar?”
“You want to get lit.” It’s not a question.
“Blazed,” I confirm. “Comprehensively shickered.”
“Cool,” says Frankie. “It’s a date.”
ChapterForty-One
FRANKIE
Danny leaves sometime after I fall asleep fully clothed on my bed. I wake early because I’m uncomfortable, skip the shower because I had two yesterday, put on a new set of clothes, pack a day bag, and creep downstairs. On the kitchen table, I leave a note for Shelby to let her know I’ll be out all day and most of the night, so she shouldn’t wait up. I add, “Don’t worry, I’m good”, which is not quite a lie. I’m certainly better than I was, but I’m not yet up to facing Mom and Cam, which is why I said yes to a date with Danny. Though it might seem rude for me not to be there to greet Mom, it’s Shelby who’s the main reason she’s come back. I know, I know – I’m making excuses, but last night was a lot, and I’ve always needed time to sit with my feelings and work through them. I’ve no doubt Cam will tell Mom everything that he told me on the ride back from the airport, so she should understand. And, honestly, it’s not my problem if she doesn’t. Sounds harsh, but I’ve got enough overheated emotions of my own to handle. I don’t need to deal with my mom’s, too.
It’s a beautiful morning, and though I’m eager to get going, I take a moment to put the top down in my car. Danny and I have agreed to meet at the go-kart track at eleven, then we’ll grab lunch at the craft beer place. There’s a karaoke bar in Martinburg, so dinner in town, then hit the bar. Somewhere along the line we’ll have to figure out what to do with our cars as neither of us can afford to get a DUI. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, I’m happily driving with the wind in my hair – well, my hair’s under a scarf, but you get the picture. My plan is to get breakfast at Iris’s Cracker Café in Verity, then cruise to the go-kart track to meet Danny, possibly via some more vintage clothing shops. My day bag has a selection of outfits that will take me from beer tasting to an evening’s bad drunken singing. But there’s always room for one more perfect vintage item.
Iris’s café opens early, and on a Saturday its clientele will change throughout the day. The morning crowd is made of Verity locals getting coffee and breakfast, plus the odd trucker who makes a special detour for Iris’s legendary baking. From eleven on, you’ll get the summer tourists and out-of-town visitors, who come to wander Verity’s quaint, old-fashioned main street. Now that e-bikes are plentiful, you’ll see gaggles of weekend-only cyclists wobbling along, on their way through to the wineries. Verity’s pizza and ice-cream parlor does great business during the summer, even though its pizza should be considered a national crime by Italian justice. I park outside the computer repair store, called, naturally, Byte Me, secure the convertible top and lock up. Verity’s quaintness has fooled many an unwary visitor into thinking it’s a crime-free paradise.
I’ve known Iris for fifteen years, from when she first set up the café. Dad, of course, charmed her from the start, and despite her reputation for gruffness, Iris has had a soft spot for all our family ever since. The Cracker Café is notorious for the stuffed alligator on the wall, which Iris may or may not have killed with her bare hands back in her Florida days. It probably sassed her or made some ridiculous demand when ordering food. With Iris’s menu, what you see is what you get, and if you don’t want it that way, you know where the door is. Occasionally, a Californian liberal will complain about the name of the café being racist. You’d think Iris would show them the door, too, but she never does. She sits them down, brings them coffee and a slice of pie, and tells them about the generations of her Florida forebears who herded cattle on horseback using only dogs and buckskin whips, hence the term “cracker”. None of your show-off fancy lassos. Her best story is when an entire herd was killed by a massive swarm of mosquitoes. The liberal Californians go away better informed and intent on buying the biggest bottle of mosquito repellent from the local pharmacy. A win-win for small business.
“Frankie, honey,” says Iris. “Take a seat and I’ll bring you your usual.”
No need to double check if I want it; I always do. I take a seat by the window, and in short order, Iris brings me out scrambled eggs, well done, on whole wheat with a side of bacon, orange juice (no stringy bits), and black coffee.
When I’m done, Iris comes to clear the table. “Now, how’s that sister of yours?” she says. “She doing okay?”
“Yup, she’s hanging in there.”
I silently hope that a whole crowd of customers will come in to distract her, but no dice.
“And I hear your mom is coming back today?”
Of course, she has.
“Mom wanted to be sure she was here for the birth,” I say. “Baby might come early.”
Iris is in her late sixties and looks like she’s spent every waking minute of her life outdoors. She’s lean and tanned, her face lined like a satellite map of a mountain range. Her iron-gray hair is tied up into a tight bun, and she has on her usual uniform of blue jeans and a cotton button-down shirt, both items so faded she might have been wearing them since her teens. I know Shelby was worried about Iris being on her feet all day at the crush, but I suspect that Iris will still be standing when the world has crumbled into dust.
“I’ll box up some key lime pie for you to take home,” she says. “It’s Shelby and your mom’s favorite.”
“Mine, too,” I want to say, but I bite my tongue. Iris isn’t to know that she touched on a tender subject. I also won’t mention that the pie will never make it home because no key lime filling survives hours in a hot car. Danny and I will have to do the right thing and eat it so it doesn’t go to waste.
Iris bustles off just as my phone rings. I expect it to be Danny, but it’s Nate. I reject the call and a minute later up pops a text.
Can you please call me ASAP?
No, damn it, I can’t! I know exactly why he wants to talk. Shelby’s been upset by my note, and normally, I wouldn’t want to upset her, not in her condition. But I also refuse to be emotionally blackmailed into being at home to greet Mom.
I almost call him back, but instead, I call Danny.
“Are you in the car?” I can hear the background rumble.
“Yup. Heading to the track. Thought I might get there early, get in a practice lap.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“Insanely competitive, remember?”
“Nate wants me to call him,” I tell Danny. “I left a note to say I wouldn’t be back until late, and Shelby’s deputized him to force me to come home in time to see my mom. I feel bad about it, but I just can’t handle that right now.”
