Page 13 of Shortcake
“Addygirl,” a low, gruff voice said. Then my name was quickly followed by a cough.
“Hey Higgins, you okay over there?”
I waited for a long pause as I heard the shake and hiss of his inhaler. The man was in his seventies, and I’d never once talked to him where he didn’t have to use that inhaler at least once. My mom said that’s always been the case with him, even when he was younger. Poor guy.
“Oh, I’m alright,” he finally said. “How’s opening night going?”
“So far, so good,” I said as a man at the end of the bar signaled to me that he wanted another beer. I grabbed the cold Coors Light, popped the cap off and slid it over to him. Then, I went back to my iPad and marked it on his tab. “Rent’s not due until Monday, right?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Monday. Only…”
He faded off. I gave it a long breath, waiting for the cough or the inhaler. But when neither came, I asked, “Higgins? Are you there?”
“Yes. It’s just, what I’m about to say is hard.” Another pause. “I sold the house.”
“You sold your house,” I repeated as my fingers went tingly and numb. “Which means… you soldmyhouse, too.”
Or rather, the above-garage apartment I rented from him.
“That’s right. They have to honor your lease of course. But after that, I’m not sure.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Of course I knew this day was coming. Higgins had put the place on the market over a year ago. And though he’d had a lot of interest, none of the potential buyers wanted to buy a place with a built-in tenant living above their garage.
Luckily, I had signed a two-year lease with Higgins a little over a year ago, so I had some time. But it still sucked. I loved that apartment.
“When do they move in?”
“We closed on the house this morning. They moved in today.”
“Jesus, Higgins! Way to give me some notice, huh?”
He scoffed, “Don’t you Jesus me!” Even though I’d just cursed at my landlord—excuse me—ex-landlord, I knew he could take it. Higgins was an ex-marine who’d been stationed overseas and had fought in at least two wars that I knew of. He cursed worse than I did.
And that said something.
I’d always wondered how the hell he managed in combat with his asthma as bad as it was.
“Are you telling me you didn’t notice the moving van in the driveway today?” he asked.
Honestly, no. I usually slept from three a.m. until about ten or eleven—the life of owning a bar and being a night owl. And even then, my apartment over the garage had its own little driveway and entrance. I couldn’t even see the front of the house if I didn’t want to. And Higgins had been doing the airbnb thing for a year or so to make extra cash. There were always vans and RVs and boat hitches coming in and out of that main house.
“Listen,” Higgins said. “I told him what a great tenant you are and that he’d be a fool to walk away from the extra monthly income. I’m gonna text you the new owner’s number. Reach out to him. Make nice. Maybe drop the rent off in person on Monday and flash him that pretty smile of yours. He just may extend your lease.”
I smiled as I loaded some dirty glasses into the dishwasher. “I could sue you for that kind of talk, you know?”
“Not anymore you can’t! Ain’t your landlord no more, girlie.”
I laughed. “I gotta go. Come into the bar and get a pint on the house, okay?”
“You know I’m not one to say no to a free pint.” With that, he disconnected the call.
I put the phone back in its cradle, then grabbed the dishwasher pod, popping it into its case.
As I hit the button to start the dishwasher, the front door swung open and a girl walked in. She wore a tiny scrap of a mini-skirt, a tight cropped tank top, and about a pound of makeup.
Not that I was throwing shade. I love wearing makeup. Even now, I had winged eyeliner, fake lashes, and contour on my face.
But she couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Most likely in high school, trying desperately to look older.
