Crimson Groves (2 page)

“Abby, please come talk to us,” pleaded Mandy. She wore so much makeup, I thought she was made of plastic. At least her hooker red lips matched her shirt.

“Get the hell out of here!” I hissed. I tried to keep my voice down, but anger surged up like a tidal wave.

John shook his head. “Please just step outside and hear us out.”

I stared daggers at the man I’d once wanted to share my life with forever, blah, blah, blah. “There’s nothing to talk about! Please leave now or I’ll have you both removed!”

Mandy took a small step forward. Her eyes looked watery. I could easily fix that problem—by ripping them off her face. “Please,” she begged. Her voice was broken, desperate, pathetic.

“Look, you guys need to leave. Now.” Justin came over next to me and slid his arm around my shoulders.

“We don’t want any trouble,” John said. “We just need five minutes with Abby. Please.”

I slowly swung my head to the right, then the left. “The answer is NO! Please leave!” My voice was borderline hysterical. I stole a quick glance around the bar and was thankful the customers weren’t watching me; even though I have no doubt they could hear everything going on.

That was all it took for Mandy to start crying. I sure didn’t remember her crying this much when we were best friends. “But Abby,” she wailed, “it’s been over six months. I miss you! You need to hear our side of the story.”

“I already saw your side of the story! I don’t need to hear anything else!”

Justin pulled back his arm and took off around the bar. “When I get back, the manager will be with me, and your asses will be thrown out!”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re outta here!” John’s gorgeous face crumbled a little. He grabbed Mandy’s hand and pulled. She resisted at first. Justin watched from the side of the bar area, halfway between the exit and me, his eyes locked on my enemies, warning, challenging. John tugged again and Mandy gave up, turning around and following him out.

Shaking his head and looking relieved, Justin said, “What a bunch of freaking jerks! Can’t they take a hint? You’re better off without them, you know?” His tone was louder than I liked. He headed back to the bar and sat down at one of the barstools.

“Thanks for helping me, but I really don’t want to talk about this.”

Placing his elbows on the counter, he said, “I don’t blame you. You’ve had quite a night so far.” He looked away, heavy in thought, and then turned back with his inquiring gaze. “So do you think you’ll ever listen to what they have to say?”

Tossing my hands in the air I exclaimed, “I don’t want to talk about them! Please! There’s nothing more to say!”

Justin sat there for a minute, speechless, watching me with his moon-shaped brown eyes. Then moving his arms from the counter to his lap, he said, “You look like crap! Your eyes are bloodshot, your hair’s a mess, and you never smile anymore! I can’t believe you’re letting them get to you like this. What happened to my dear sweet friend, Abby? You remember her, right?”

Now I was the speechless one. I turned around and stared at the mirror nestled behind the wall of alcohol. My reflection gazed back at me between the Grey Goose and Kettle One vodkas. Justin was right. What a sad, pathetic, lonely person I’d become. Over the last six months, I’d managed to distance myself from anyone who cared about me. Losing my boyfriend to a backstabbing best friend was too much for me mentally to handle.

“Abby,” Justin called out. I turned to face him. “You need to get back out there. Start dating. Maybe act nicer to the guys hitting on you. You never know, one of them might actually be a good match for you.”

“I’m not interested in meeting anyone while I’m working. Especially not at a bar!” I rested my hands firmly on my hips.

He looked down and hesitated for a minute, and I fought the urge to be immature and storm away. Then Justin stood up and said, “Whatever you say. Anyway, I’m out of here. Oh I almost forgot your dad called earlier. I told him you wouldn’t be in until later. He said he would call back.”

I stared at Justin, feeling like he’d just slapped me across the face. He turned around and headed out of the bar. My father called? I hadn’t spoken to my father in fifteen years. What would he be calling for? He left my mother and me when I was ten, and we never heard from him again. My mother didn’t take it very well—years of depression turned into dark anger and loathing bitterness. Then one day out of nowhere, she started blaming me. “Abby, you were always such a brat! No wonder he took off. I should’ve gone with him,” were the last words she ever said to me. I moved out shortly after that (with my good friend Mandy) and never spoke to my mother again. I heard “through the grapevine” that she remarried and had two more kids. Well, I guess she finally got her perfect little family after all.

Justin’s words echoed inside my head over and over again. I couldn’t help but feel anxious over the potential call I’d be receiving. Would he really call back? What would I say? What would he say? Shaking my head, I decided to put it out of my mind. The chances of him not calling back were far greater anyways.

“Excuse me, Abby,” Mel called down to me from the end of the bar, “can I get another glass of wine?” Mel was older, in his late sixties, had plump high cheekbones, thin stringy white hair brushed sideways in an effort to conceal his growing bald spot, and, was very overweight. His pants didn’t stand a chance of containing his oversized belly.

“Sure, sweetie.” I reached behind me to grab a bottle of Sequoia Grove, which was our house cabernet. Then I grabbed a fresh wine glass from the cabinet above the bar and slowly poured in the red liquid, filling the glass over half way.

Mel smiled. “You’re the best. Thanks for the extra wine.” His chubby fingers gripped the stem of the glass as he carefully swirled the contents inside allowing the wine to breathe a little before he raised it to his lips and took the first sip.

“No prob—”

Ring ring ring
—the sound of an impatient phone wailed behind me. I turned around and stared at it, unable to move.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Mel asked, sounding a little confused.

Nodding my head, I reached for the phone and grabbed it, yanking it to my ear. “Thanks-for-calling-The-Beacon-this-is-Abby-how-can-I-help-you?” My shaky voice pushed each word out so fast they ran together, making my entire greeting sound like one long word.

“Abigail?” a deep, gruff voice spoke. “Abigail Tate?”

“Yes, this is she.” My free hand found a few strands of hair and started twirling them.

“Abigail, this is your dad, if I can even call myself that anymore.” A long pause went by and all I could do was wait for him to continue. “Look, I know how bad I wronged you. And I know how angry you must be, but I need you to listen to me. Abigail, you’re in danger. He’s coming to find you. Somehow, I’m not sure how, but he figured it out. He knows how special you are. You can’t let him find you. You need to lay low and—”

I didn’t give him a chance to finish talking. “I haven’t heard from you in fifteen years! And finally, finally, I get a stupid phone call. But it’s not because you miss me or even because you want to apologize for walking out on me. It’s not even because you care to know what I’ve been doing with my life! You just called to tell me some crazy story because you think I’m in trouble? Oh and let me guess, my hero father is going to rescue me? You’re freaking crazy! Don’t ever call me again!”

I slammed the phone down hard on its receiver. I was shocked it didn’t break. Lifting my gaze to the mirror behind the wall of alcohol, I saw Mel and my other customer turn back toward the football game. Obviously I’d just put on a show for them, but at least they were pretending not to notice a thing.

“Stupid jerk!” I breathed. I hadn’t heard from my father in so long, and the only reason he wanted to talk to me was to warn me that I was in danger. What did he mean that I was
special
and that
he
knew? Who was he talking about anyway? None of that conversation made any sense. But my dear old dad had nothing to worry about. Since my breakup with John, I’d pushed him and everyone else out of my life. There was no one left that could hurt me, and I had no desire to let anyone in my life anytime soon. Sure I was lonely, but it definitely beat being heart broken. Didn’t it?

I’d always wished and prayed to hear from my father, to see him again. But now, after that insane phone call, I decided I was better off without him. My father had gone off the deep end—whether it was alcohol or drug related, I wasn’t sure; it could’ve been both for all I knew. That actually made the most sense. My father got wasted and then called and told me all that stupid crap about how I was in trouble and that
he
was going to come get me. Ooooh, I’m so scared. Maybe my father should come help me. Not! But I bet you that’s exactly what he wanted.

Shaking my head in disgust, I pushed my father and that deranged phone call out of my mind and tried to refocus on my work. The dining area of the restaurant was starting to seat people and that meant drink orders for me. And since I was the only bartender working tonight, I didn’t have to split my tips in half. Yay for me! I stole one more minute to mentally pump myself up with some positive thoughts (okay, so I tried), and then started to make my way toward the service window. There were already a few drink orders waiting for me, brightening my mood a little.

Ring, ring, ring
—the phone barged in, causing me to spill some of the Stoli vodka I was pouring.
Dang it!
I scolded myself, then set the bottle of booze on the counter and headed the few steps to the phone. My hand hesitated a moment, hovering just above it. This couldn’t be my lunatic father again. No, surely it couldn’t. “Thanks for calling The Beacon, this is Abby, how can I help you?” I was more confident this time—you could hear each individual word.

“Abigail, please do not hang up. Please. You have to listen—” A loud banging sound burst through the headset of the phone making me yank it away from my ear. It sounded like a fight had broken out, no doubt from whatever bar my father was in. He’d probably pissed off some other drunk and then said something stupid. I tried to put the phone back to my ear, but the ruckus coming from the other end was still too loud. I felt shivers crawling up and down my spine. My heart started beating faster, harder. Even though I had zero respect for my father, the thought of someone else kicking his ass left me feeling uneasy and confused.

Then there was a deafening shriek, and my father, or maybe it was the other drunk, screamed out in agony. The horrible noise reverberated over and over. I swallowed hard, trying to get my heart out of my throat, but it was stuck there like peanut butter. Sweat beaded up on my forehead; my neck felt sticky. After what felt like forever, the screaming trailed off taking the other noises with it. I pressed the phone to my ear trying to hear anything. Anything that would let me know my father was okay. “Hello, are you there? Hello!”

Then, the line went completely dead.

2

Encounter

I STILL HELD THE PHONE TO MY EAR even though there was no one on the other end. My body was numb. Confusion filled my mind. What just happened? I’d never imagined that the first conversation I’d have with my father would be like that. Did that horrible scream really belong to him, or was he the one responsible for it?

I set the phone back on its receiver and returned to the service window, where five more drink orders were waiting to be filled. Like a robot on autopilot, I poured the contents of each drink.

After mulling it over for a few minutes, it occurred to me that the whole thing could’ve been a hoax. An awful prank that he’d played hoping to win me back as his loving daughter. When he realized he wasn’t going to win the “hero” card with me, maybe he’d shifted gears to the “father in distress” card. Perhaps his goal now was to get sympathy from me. What a sick man my father had become. Or maybe he was like that all along and he did both my mother and me a huge favor by leaving us.

Unfortunately for my father, I was unable to see any positive reasons he would call and put on such a show for me. If I really were in trouble, why would he care? I’d been through my fair share of hard times, and no daddy around to help. So that made it even easier for me to assume that my father was a drunk, and worse, that he concocted that stupid scheme as a way to slip back in my life. What a terrible thing to do to someone, let alone your own daughter.

I kept busy making drinks with shaky hands, trying to keep an emotional safe distance from everyone. Twice Mel asked me if everything was okay and I just brushed him off with “Sure, it’s all good.” Dennis, the other bar patron sitting with Mel, refrained from saying anything at all, except, of course, when he needed a refill of his Chimay Reserve.

Over the next hour, the busyness started to die off. Mel and Dennis still sat at the bar, their attention razor sharp at whatever game was playing as they munched on a mix of cashews and almonds. I started cleaning some of the used glassware in the mini sink behind the bar. My mind kept replaying the two phone calls from my father over and over again—not that I wanted it to. I was stuck in a loop and wasn’t sure when I’d free myself from it.