Page 47 of Blakely and Liam

“Hell yeah.”

I put the sacks on the bar and began pulling out the boxes and packages and placing them between us.

He chuckled. “What kind of dinner is this?”

“A ‘Blakely Doesn’t Have a Car’ kind of dinner.” I ripped open the bologna package and peeled off a slice, sandwiched it between two crackers and chewed, saying, “Delicious!” accidentally spraying cracker crumbs. “Oops.”

Liam pulled the plastic top off the cheese and swirled a small pile on a cracker. “Och, I think, Blakely, the sophisticated lady from Los Angeles, needs tae leave this hellhole b’fore she becomes too accustomed tae—”

“Too late!” I squirted a pile of cheese food right onto my tongue. Then shook my head and grimaced. “Wait, that sucks, I regret that.”

We each made another cracker piled with meat.

While chewing I squinted my eyes trying to place the music playing. “Liam, what is this music... is it... Hootie and the Blowfish? You don’t strike me as a Hootie and the Blowfish kinda guy.” I dipped a Dorito in cheese dip.

He looked over his shoulder at an ancient stereo. “See that pile of CDs and cassette tapes? Hootie is the best of it and the only CD that works.” He looked up at the speaker and nodded to the beat. “I hae heard it now a billion times.”

“You need Spotify.”

Liam laughed. “Naisha says the same thing, she brings in a speaker every now and then but she winna let me choose the music.”

“What would you choose?”

“I daena ken — good music. Danceable.”

“You like to dance?” I dipped another Dorito in cheese sauce and piled it on a meat cracker.

“Of course I like tae dance, the only people who daena like tae dance are borin’ twats pretendin’ tae be better than everyone else.”

“Are you a good dancer?”

“Nae, I am terrible, but I am so big nae one will interfere when I am swingin’ my arms and havin’ fun.” He grinned. He had such a nice face, his eyes crinkling and a wide smile. I did find him very attractive as he leaned on the bar, talking just to me.

I said, “Tell me about your dad.”

“There is nae much tae tell, Woodshee. I mean, I think his wife might hae some stories. His ex-wife, m’mother, had many tales, but I would never be daft enough tae believe hers tae be the only measure of him. I hear that his friends held him in high esteem.”

“What about you?”

“I dinna ken him, I used tae get a card on m’birthday with a bit of cash inside.”

“So how did you end up here?”

He swiped the bar towel across the bar, removing some crumbs. “His wife, May, called me. I had never spoken tae her before, she had tae tell me who she was — m’father’s wife. She said he was bein’ moved tae hospice and I said, ‘I dinna ken he was sick,’ and she said, ‘Oh, I thought he told you.’ The next thing I knew I was boardin’ a plane tae the US. By the time I arrived he dinna hae it in him tae communicate anymore.”

“I am so sorry, Liam, that is really hard.”

“Aye, and then the lawyer was givin’ the bad news about this shite business.” He looked around at the ceiling and walls, “and then... did ye ken, Woodshee, once it’s decided that a man is tae die, it takes a long time for the happening of it?”

“I haven’t really known someone to die.”

“It takes a verra long time.”

“So what did you do?”

“Most days I drove May, a stranger, tae hospice and comforted her when she was despairin’. Then, while she sat at his bedside, I tried tae understand the state of the business I had inherited. The records were scribbled across multiple notebooks, nae like a sensible person plannin’ tae be successful, but like an arsehole who wanted tae fail.”

“Ugh, this all sounds so difficult.”

---