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I nod, zipping my lip and listening.
“One, nobody knows shit and I intend to keep it that way. The gossipy Guses of this town have enough ammunition to keep them busy six days a week and twice on Sunday, and I don’t need them gossiping about me, coming in to check on me, and sending over casseroles like I can’t cook my own damn dinner.”
He says the word ‘casserole’ with disgust, and a smile tries to bloom, but I press my lips together.
“Two, you’re a damn good worker and an even better bartender. I might have some days where I’d like to sit on my keister and catch a fish or two, so if that’s what I want to do, I’m gonna, if that’s good with you?”
He means the days he’s too tired or nauseous to come into work, but if he wants to call it ‘fishing’, I’ll happily oblige.
“Of course. Fishing is important. Relaxing on a boat in the sunshine sounds lovely.”
He looks toward the door, and I know he’s trying to escape this next part. But he digs down for courage and says what’s on his mind. “Third, there might be some days where I’d like you to go fishing with me, just sit on the boat by my side, you know? I promise not to be a grumpy asshole and throw screwdrivers around when you’re trying to help me . . . fish. Sorry about that. It was a bad day.”
Tears prick at my eyes, hot and burning, but I refuse to let them fall. If he can be this brave, so can I. “I would love to go fishing any time you’d like, Unc.”
He dips his chin once. “Thank you, Willow-girl. You’ve always had the sweetest spirit and you’ve already brought so much sunshine to my days.”
I smile at the kind compliment. Right up until he finishes . . .
“Now get out there and get to work. The lunch crowd ain’t gonna wait for you to get ready for them. They want their drinks and want them now.”
He’s not my kind uncle anymore, down because of a hard situation. Nope, he’s back to my steel-cored, iron-willed boss.
I salute, definitely getting the form wrong, but he cracks a smile, nevertheless. “On it, Unc.”
I get up, beelining for the door, only to have him stop me.
“One last thing.”
I turn around, eyes questioning.
“How’d you know? Who blabbed?”
Oh, shit. There might not be buses in Great Falls, but this is a loaded question, one that’s going to shove someone right in harm’s way. But I’m not going to lie, not when Unc is finally being honest with me.
“Doc Jones called Mom. Told her you needed somebody and we’re the only family you’ve got left. She thought it’d be too hard on you to see her, so she sent me instead.”
“Asshole. Doc, not your mom. Carrie’s sweet to care after so long. Doc, on the other hand, I’ll rip ’im a new one for nosing around in my business when it ain’t none of his concern.”
“If he had something going on, you’d take care of him. Or Richard. You three are thick as thieves. The Three Musketeers of Great Falls. He did what he thought was right. And it got me here, so it’s not all bad.” I think my case is pretty strong that Doc did right by Unc, but who knows if he’ll feel the same way?
“Mmm, we’ll see. Maybe I’ll just lord it over his head a little. Get him to feel sorry for me a bit so I can win a few hands at Sunday’s game.” His smile is tinged with ornery devilment.
“Well, you two work it out however you need to. I’m going to get to work, if that’s okay?”
His eyes refocus on mine, likely leaving the fantasy world where he wipes out Doc Jones’s entire piggy bank without telling him that the cat’s out of the bag. “Yeah, thanks. And tell your Mom to come visit soon. I’d like to see Carrie before . . .”
His voice trails off, and I let him leave that possibility on the tip of his tongue. No need to speak it into existence. Instead, I nod. “She’d like that. I’ll let her know.”
“Willow Parker! You’d best get your boo-tay behind that bar and start slinging drinks like your life depends on it! Or you can act like we’ve been bought out by Coyote Ugly and climb up there to shake your moneymaker so these heathens don’t realize how long it’s been since they ordered a Coke! I’m in the weeds, girl!”
Olivia’s voice carries through the whole room, and everyone stops what they’re doing to look at me. They’re probably wondering which option I’m going to choose.
Option one, for sure. There’s zero doubt about that.
I step behind the bar, already apologizing. “Sorry, I was talking to Unc.”
