CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NORA
“We’ll have to move the double date again,” José tells me. “Pansy’s got some kind of bug this time. Seems like the flu. I doubt she’ll be a hundred percent better by Monday.”
It’s Saturday afternoon, and we’re sitting in my office, having a check-in about our operations. We’re also hiding from the bachelorette weekenders starting their party off large at The Ginger Station. It’s two o’clock, and they’re playing catch with a blow-up dick. It’s a cartoon version with a smiley face, but I have a strong presentiment we’ll be getting complaints from the group of parents who came here to hang out and let their kids run wild. One of the kids, a deceptively innocent-looking little girl with pigtails, already tried climbing the trellis in the beer garden, which is ornamental and not weight-bearing.
No doubt the kids are trying to figure out how to steal the inflatable dick so they can play catch.
José’s waiting for a response about Pansy, so I say, “Oh, too bad. Do you need to go home and take care of her?”
I’m thinking:Does this have anything to do with Cormac’s texts?
Cormac said he was going to message Pansy about Bradleylast night. Maybe she’s scrambling today, trying to figure out who’s been texting her.
I remember that sickening feeling.
Oddly, the thought of her experiencing it too doesn’t please me as much as I thought it would.
José rubs his forehead with two fingers. “She basically kicked me out this morning. She doesn’t like people seeing her sick.”
I nod, trying very hard to look sympathetic.
Would a knitted brow be too much?
Nah, I’m going for it.
“Is there something wrong with your face?” he asks.
“An itch,” I say, scratching my forehead with my middle finger.
He rolls his eyes skyward. “Look, are you sure you want to go bowling at all?”
“Yeah, of course. Pansy seemed really sold on it, and Cormac and I felt bad for letting her down last time. We can do it the Monday after next. It’d be easier for both of us to get away when the brewery is closed.”
He eyes me incredulously. “You mean it?”
Well, no, I’d rather eat broken glass than bowl with Pansy. But the look on his face makes me feel like a shitty friend.
Actually, now that I’m looking at him more closely, he’s a bit haggard. Like he hasn’t been sleeping. Or maybe she really is sick, and he has it too.
I back my chair up a few inches, because no thank you, I do not want to be vomiting in a bowl for several days straight.
José sighs. “Really?”
I lift my hands. “I’m a shitty sick person too. I’d rather not risk it.”
“That’s not what I meant. You honestly felt bad for lettingPansy down?”
“Fine, obviously we didn’t feel bad per se,” I admit, allowing myself a smile, “but whatever, we’ll go bowling if she wants to bowl. Anything to appease her that doesn’t include letting her remodel the entire brewery.”
He leans back in his chair and folds his hands. “Her plans for the bathrooms weren’t bad.”
A smile stretches across my face, because damn, this is the closest he’s come to admitting he doesn’t want to throw money at her hobby business.
“You know we don’t have the budget for any of that. Not when it’s not going to increase our revenue.”
He nods. “Yeah, I know. I’ve told her, of course, but she gets excited.” He rocks forward in his seat and keeps his hands together. “But bowling…I can’t wrap my head around why you’d agree to it.”
