Page 65 of Just Between Us

I twisted around, and, sure enough, I had a stain of brown on my back pocket: dog food or mud.

Not-Trashcan had gone nearly feral after being left at home for most of the day. He insisted I sit on the floor next to him while he ate. At least I wasn’t the one around here who missed Andy.

“Fine. Maybe I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

“Too distracted for personal hygiene?”

“I had three classes today and this puppy. I’m a little swamped, but you’ve made a good point. Keep him distracted,” I said, pointing at the dog prancing around my feet. “I’ll be back down in ten.”

“Ten? That’s gonna cost you four drinks,” Cal called after me.

“Fine!” I yelled back. “Five minutes.”

I slammed the bedroom door behind me, groaning loudly despite being out of earshot. I stripped off the stained pants and my shirt, rifling through what remained of my clean clothes. Despite having a washer and dryer in the basement, I’d blown off laundry to study. A mistake, I realized, as I opened an empty drawer where my pants should have been.

I moved over to the closet, flipping through the few dresses I owned, choosing on a long-sleeve olive sweater dress I hadn’t worn since last winter. I toyed with wrestling on a pair of leggings but dismissed it as taking too much time. It’s not like we’d be sitting outside, anyway.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to Bob’s?” I asked as we pulled into a parking spot downtown. “Stephanie’s probably working tonight, and it’ll be quiet.”

Cal shook his head. “I’ve got a craving for wings that only the bar can fill.”

I wrinkled my nose. The bar wasn’t exactly known for its tasty cuisine. Occasionally, when Cornbread manned the kitchen, something edible came out, but most of the time, the bar served droopy French fries soaked in old grease and frost-bitten meat.

I followed my brother, pulling my jacket tight around my body and speed-walking into the bar. Cal held the door open, and I slipped inside the familiar building, wishing for better weather. Patrons stood shoulder to shoulder in the tiny interior, filling the handful of barstools and booths. Cornbread and Patty worked behind the bar, unbothered by the small crowd and working at a glacial pace.

“I’ll snag us some drinks. Think you can find us somewhere to sit?” Cal yelled into my ear.

I nodded, surveying the bar for someone I knew well enough to bum a seat off of. A bunch of the workers from the cabinetry shop sat at a table in the corner. I made my way in that direction, correctly guessing they had only stopped for a drink after work and, with their empty glasses, they’d be heading home.

“A whole booth?” Cal returned, setting a mixed drink in front of me.

“Patty, right?”

“You think I’d let Cornbread make you a drink? I don’t want to carry you home.”

I took a sip, relieved not to taste straight tequila, one of Cornbread’s tricks for making sure no one ordered anything besides than a beer from him.

“So, we’re not meeting anyone?” I asked, searching the bar.

Cal’s lips curled up mischievously. “No one.”

I twirled the straw in my glass, annoyed. “Thea? Ben? Millie?”

He shook his head. “Can’t I just get a drink with my little sister?”

“Not usually. No,” I said, not bothering to tamp down my annoyance. I didn’t want to be in an overly crowded bar; I wanted to be home on the couch. “Or you want to go to Bob’s.”

“Bob’s closes at nine.”

I checked my watch. 8:45. “Fine,” I relented. “Two drinks, right?”

He chuckled. “Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

“I shouldn’t have let you drive.”

“You shouldn’t have, but now you’re trapped here, so no sense dwelling on it. Drink up.”

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