Even worse—the weather is so bad that receipts in the bar are down. People don’t want to slog through the cold and the snow after work, I guess.
Also, Charlie flunked a math test. He needs tutoring, so now Ruby and I are bickering about whose fault it is and what we’re going to do about it.
“He failed, Seth,” Ruby’d hollered on the phone. “He got a forty-seven percent! We don’t fail subjects in this family.”
“It’s middle school,” I’d sputtered at her. “And it’s one test, not a subject.”
She hadn’t been soothed by this clarification. Now she’s on the warpath, and we’re both unsure how to find a tutor.
The subtext, unless I’m projecting, is that math-flunking genes are from my side of Charlie’s genetics, and I should really be more concerned.
When Beck returns from his trips, my schedule doesn’t magically clear. The bartender that I eventually hire lasts three shifts before moving to L.A. with his new boyfriend.
So now I’m interviewing bartenders again, and covering shifts that I thought would be someone else’s problem. And then everything gets suddenly worse one cloudy afternoon as I’m cruising toward the grocery store. I press the gas pedal and get nothing but a horrible metal-on-metal shriek while the RPMs spin uselessly.
I manage to coast into a Walmart parking lot before the thing seizes up completely, steam rising from under the hood like a funeral pyre. I sit there for a long moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel, watching other people go about their normal lives while mine officially falls apart.
Two hours later, I’m waiting in the mechanic’s shop, hoping for a miracle.
“Have a cup of coffee,” Craig says when he catches me staring into the garage again. “Give us a minute to take a look.”
I’m too keyed up for coffee, so I take a seat in one of the unoccupied chairs and unlock my phone. I find texts from three people. One is my ex. One is Scully. And the other one is Beck.
I’d like to open them in reverse order, but duty calls.
Ruby
Hey Forest, I’m sorry but I might need a favor. Another doctor is down with the flu so I can’t get away. You need to pick up Charlie after hockey, and I’ll get to your place when I can.
That’s how she does these things—it’s an order, not a request.
I check the time. Practice ends in less than an hour. Shit.
Moving on to Scully’s text, he asks if I can fill in tonight. The easy answer is no. I’ve worked so many nights lately that I am practically making drinks in my sleep. But I could really use the money.
Except… If I have to pick up Charlie, then I won’t be able to open the bar. And if my truck is toast, I don’t know how I’ll pick him up at all.
I stand up and do a lap around the waiting room, peering into the bay again as if somehow it would move things along faster.
Then I read Beck’s message, because I could really use a smile right now.
Beck
Hi, remember me? I pop up in your texts once a day or so. And sometimes I suck your dick? Ringing any bells?
Uh-oh. I have been awfully uncommunicative this week.
Just wanted you to know I’m back in town. And free to see you. In case you missed it when I said that last night. And a couple hours ago.
Even a thumbs up would be an improvement at this point.
Actually it probably wouldn’t. I hate that fucker.
I let out a quiet groan. There’s no part of me that wouldn’t like a night with Beck and his adventurous hands. And, if I’m honest, I want the following morning, too. Coffee in bed. His wacky sense of humor. A few hours with him feels like taking a two week vacation from my life.
But my current reality is this expensive repair shop and maybe an extra shift at work.
Forest
