Mending Michael (27 page)

HOLLY

"You look a mess," I decide to tell my boss, whose eye sockets are dark lavender.

"You ready to be on your own? I'm barely standing."

"Mick didn't come in again?"

"No. He's having a hard time at home. I just need to sleep."

"You look it. Go." I wave my hand for him to leave. "I'll be fine, Don. Easy peasy."

"Thanks." On his way out the door, over his shoulder, he calls, "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"Hey, Holly." Tabitha skips over with an empty tray. "You ready to be on your own?"

"I was born ready."

"Good. I need one Apple Martini and one Toasted Almond." Business is slow, so she slides her tray to me and sits on a stool to wait.

"So what's up with Mick? Donny says family issues?"

"Pretty much. I guess. He doesn't talk much about it." It's not a lie, he really doesn't.

"Hmmm." I push the two drinks to her, and she takes them while I wipe down the tray she'd just given me.

I hear the door open and it only takes a few seconds to realize who it is. I've gotten used to his sporty scent.

"Holly." He sits at the bar with a smile.

My new bff. "Hey, Ben. What's going on?"

"Not much. Got tired of studying for my final. Came in for a burger."

"Plain or cheese?"

"Cheese... and fries. And a coke."

"You're so all-American, Ben. Want apple pie for dessert?" I joke.

"If you have it," he says in all seriousness.

I laugh and fill his glass with Coke. "No. No apple pie. Be right back."

When I come back from putting in Ben's order, Tabitha is sitting on the stool next to him. "I can't believe I've never seen you on campus. I go to all the parties."

"That's the problem," Ben points out, "I don't go to any."

Boy, Ben really is the all-American goody-goody boy next door. He makes me miss Rose.

"You don't party, boy?" Tabitha's stunned. "Whattya do for fun?"

"Play ball. Study." Ben shrugs.

Tabitha's facial expression is hilarious. If her eyes weren't snugly fit inside their sockets, they'd have popped out and rolled right across the bar top.

"Tabitha. Leave him alone and take care of your customers." I make sure to keep a smile on my face, since I don't want any tension between me and my co-worker, and possible new hang-out buddy.

"What's your next session class, Holl?"

"Experimental Psych."

"Mornings?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

"Oh my God, Ben. That's a relief. We can work on assignments together again."

"Yay, us?" he says sarcastically, with a roll of his eyes. "So what's going on with that bartender of yours?" He asks me. I had filled him in on Mick's and my non-relationship, plus he had a good laugh over my little fib about dating Ben.

"It's going. Still just
friends
," I say, using finger quotes.

"Why bother, Holl? If he really liked you, he wouldn't be stalling."

"Ben," I scold. "Stop. He's got major things going on. I get it."

He tilts his head, giving me that pathetic look of sympathy. “Let's just be friends. Isn't that what we all say when we want to break up with someone?"

"You're so blunt."

"I can't help it. I'm Italian." He winks.

Tabitha walks over with Ben's burger. "You order this?"

"I did. Thanks."

While Ben eats his dinner, I serve some other customers and think about Mick. Was Mick just delivering me a line?

No. I don't believe that.

I know Mick loves me.

Right?

MICK

"No," Kenna demands, her usual response lately to my sister's requests.

"Kenna. Please eat your applesauce. Please."

"Charity." I snap. "If she doesn't want it, stop forcing her."

"Mickey," Liz chimes in. "She needs to listen to her mother. Don't get involved."

"Don't get involved," I restate. "A little too late for that now, don't you think?"

Kenna tosses the applesauce across the table and shouts, "No," again.

For the past two days, this is pretty much how things have gone at my childhood home, for lack of a better word. The only ones actually supposed to be living here are Liz and Kenna, but for Kenna's sake, I've been staying here as well. Charity still goes back to Luke's, but not until Kenna falls asleep. She's back when Kenna wakes in the morning.

After Liz's insistence that I mind my business and don't get involved in the parenting of Kenna, I storm out the back door and slam it behind me. Not two minutes later, Liz is sitting next to me on the back step, handing me a cup of coffee. Really? Do girls actually think coffee is a cure-all? I take the cup and say, "Thanks."

"I didn't mean it to sound how it came out," my aunt says quietly. "Kenna needs to learn to listen to Charity, and Charity needs to build confidence. I'm only her legal guardian as far as the law is concerned. But I want Charity to be her mother. It was not a slight on you, I swear."

"I know that." I keep my gaze straight ahead on the newly landscaped yard. It's odd to look out and not see that haunting reminder of why our lives have turned out the way they have. It cost a lot of my savings, but even though a potential buyer would not have obsessively haunting memories of the forsaken pool, it still had a darkly eerie feeling about it, thus rendering my house unsellable.

"Mickey." Liz punctures my thoughts. "Go to work. Get out of the house. Leave us to handle Kenna...for your sanity."

"No. I'm gonna go start packing up this house."

"Why? You don't close for a couple weeks. You have time. Doesn't Donny need you?"

"I can't."

I get up, walk through the kitchen where Charity is cleaning up the applesauce mess and Kenna is playing on her tablet, and head straight for the basement for some boxes. I text Donny to tell him I'll be out again.

The first room I tackle is the hardest one to face—my brother's. Above the door jam, I reach for the long metal piece of hanger I'd cut and put there in case in an emergency, for whatever reason, I'd need to get in. With the metal piece inside the doorknob hole, I locate the button and pop it open, unlocking the door to Frankie's room, which hasn't been open in eight years. The last time being when my grandparents died and I wanted to feel my brother with me.

A musty scent is the first thing to assault my senses, but a second later, my eyes fall upon the room that hasn't changed in sixteen years. Aside from the deep grayish cast that has settled around the room. The once bright blue plush rug is now matted and dark gray. My feet, kicking up the thick dust as I cross the room, causes a cough to escape. I run a finger through the inch thick gook on his dresser and sigh. Even the photo of Frankie and me beaming behind the huge orange Matchbox car race track that Santa left under the tree can hardly be seen. The dust covering the room is both sad and symbolic. It is exactly how I've been walking around since I watched my brother die—behind a cloud of thick dust, masking the man inside, and seeing life through that same dusty cloud. The revelation leaves my heart heavy with remorse, feeling sad for my brother, and sad for the life I'd sacrificed because of it. My own.

Frankie's little clothes are still spread out on the bed I made for him the night he drowned. I remember picking up his room, folding his clothes, shoving them in his drawers, and keeping the outfit he had worn that morning, before he'd switched into his swim trunks, laying out on the bed. It was me who picked out his little suit for the casket too. Mom had been crying too much, so I went in there, found it, and brought it to her. She couldn't even say thank you, but at the time, I couldn't blame her.

It takes me three excruciatingly painful hours to go through Frankie's stuff and pack it in boxes labeled Goodwill, keeping only a little red baseball cap that I remember him wearing all the time. When I'm finally finished, I take my hat and my beaten heart and close the door. This time, leaving it unlocked.

Without a word to anyone, I leave the house, drive away on my bike, and head for the nearest liquor store. I return home with two pints of vodka and walk to the back of the house, not bothering to go inside.

Finding my spot by the tree, I ice up my bruised heart and blur today's events with my usual therapy.

HOLLY

I sit at the ignored keyboard and ready myself for my first gig.

Donny never did hire anyone to entertain his patrons during the slow hours, so he'd asked me to do it for the after lunch crowd three times a week. I’m happy for the opportunity, because it allows me time playing piano, which I’ve been missing, and I’m getting paid for it. It’s a win-win. Music is like therapy for me, so I’m glad I not only have my guitar to get me through the lonely times, but now I have the keyboard as well..

Since Mick has continued to call in sick the entire week, Donny has me tending bar at night and making the extra money playing keyboard after lunch. I can't say I miss waitressing, because I enjoy tending bar so much more. Today, I'm playing a few songs to the Friday afternoon crowd of about six. Starting with "Sweet Home Alabama," after a few notes, I'm so lost in the music that time flies along with my renditions of "Smoke on the Water," "Sweet Child O'Mine," and "Piano Man"—minus the vocals, of course. When my gig is up, I take my hour break at home, Griffin's home, grab a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, and continue reading
Running Barefoot
.

Now that my final is taken, yesterday was the last day of Psych Statistics, I'm finding it hard to keep thoughts of Mick out of my mind. The longer I don't talk to him, the more I allow doubt to seep in, and the less confident I am about where I stand. Which means, I'm unsure about shooting him a how-ya-doing text. A good friend would, most definitely, I decide, so I start typing.

ME: Michael, just letting you know I'm thinking of you and hoping things are going well.

No.

Delete.

ME: Michael, I'm here if you need me.

No.

Delete.

ME: Michael, I hope you're doing well.

No.

Delete.

ME: Hi. :)

Good enough.

Send.

I'm so freaking pathetic. Why can't I just be honest? Let him know I'm thinking about him and wondering how his week with Kenna is going. Why is it that I can tell someone where to stick it if I'm angry with them, but I can't tell them I care about them?

Well, that answer comes to me immediately. Rejection. That's what it boils down to. I don't want Mick to reject me. Even though he'd asked me to wait for him, told me he wanted me, I guess it still scares me that he could change his mind...or worse, like Ben said, it was just an excuse to let me down easy.

Back at the bar, I assure Donny that I'll be fine bartending alone for the next couple hours, so he can take a nap. Being it's Friday night, I definitely can't handle the crowd later on, but late afternoon isn't so busy. "Don. I got my drink mix app. I'm good. Go take your nap."

Without much more coaxing from me, Donny heads upstairs, and I wait on the early happy-hour customers, excited to be tending bar again.

It's seven o'clock before I catch a breath, but Donny comes back, and I'm able to work at a slightly slower pace. At about nine, Ben comes in and sits at the bar.

"For someone who doesn't drink, you're sure here a lot."

He laughs. "You're the only friend I got right now, Holl. Where else am I gonna go?"

"Poor, Benny." I laugh. "You don't want to drive all the way home to Cherry Hill for the weekend?"

"Not really, smart ass. A lot of my friends from home I haven't seen in a while anyway. Besides, my parents are in the Bahamas for the week."

"Nice. No siblings?"

"Yeah. They're in the Bahamas too."

"What? And they couldn't wait for you?"

"Nah. I didn't expect them too. I really needed to take these classes, and when I'm done, I'm going in for surgery the next week. Besides...it's not like I haven't been there before. They have a time share. We go every year."

"Cool. So what'll ya have? A nice, safe Coke?"

"How 'bout a beer?"

"Holy shit. I'm a bad influence on you, Ben," I say seriously.

Patting the top of my hand, he says, "I don't make a habit of it, but I
have
had beer before, Holly."

"Whew. I thought I was gonna have to stop being your friend there for a second."

I wait on a few others sitting at the bar and return to Ben. "What kind of beer?"

"Coors Light is good."

While I'm filling his glass, he says, "So why would you have to stop being my friend?"

"Because...you're, like, good. I'm not. If you were gonna pick up my habits, I'd have to drop you like...like a can of beans."

"A can of beans? What the fuck is that?"

"Now see. The cursing is starting too."

"Holly." He looks at me seriously. It makes me suddenly nervous. "You are not
not
good. I think you're cool as shit. Why do you say that?"

I look around the bar, making sure everyone is content, and also minding their own business. "Ben. Thanks, but let's drop it."

"What? You don't want to hear that you're sweet. Does that ruin your reputation?" he jokes.

"Yeah. I'm not sweet. I'm bad-ass."

"That's right. You're bad-ass and mean as shit."

"You know it," I say with a wink.

A few minutes later, Griffin and Cali come in and sit at a bar table for two behind Ben. And both of them give me a conspiratorial wink.