Page 50 of The Bartender Special

Thank every god that had ever existed, Jack couldn’t see his face.

Or the thought that accompanied it.

That scenario would definitely make it into his shower thoughts later that night.

NINE

The long Southern goodbye was a torturous, unnecessary ritual that everyone had to endure, never mind if it felt like it was one-hundred degrees outside.

Small talk, gossip, and southern polite on repeat until your soul slipped out and baked on the sidewalk.

Jack was there now. Frustrated and hot. A sigh-grunting zombie of a man, going through the motions of trying to leave.

But he couldn't.

He was stuck in a loop. An old loop constructed from tradition and did you hear abouts. Might as well have been a steel cable coated in concrete.

Unbreakable.

Though Jack had still tried.

After putting the lawnmower back into the shed, he'd slipped into his shirt and loaded the several plastic bins Benny had picked out into the truck. He'd been ready to go right then, but Benny had been lingering in the house. Jack had bet if he hopped into his truck and headed back to his place for a shower, he probably could have come back by and picked Benny up without either him or Ms. Peggy realizing he’d been gone at all.

But then he’d imagined Benny standing at the end of the sidewalk, looking out at the empty street alone, and decided that wasn’t the play.

So, he'd gone back into the house to give Ms. Peggy Stares-A-Lot a nod. The nod that said it’s time to go.

A nod that had done absolutely nothing.

Instead, he'd been an unwilling participant in another half hour of trying to leave.

In the house, Ms. Peggy wondered if Benny had heard about some woman named Deirdre and her recent divorce. Benny hadn't, so he had, for whatever God-forsaken reason, needed to learn the lore and Ms. Peggy had been more than happy to educate him. On the front porch Benny had made a comment about his brother Callum which had, in turn, devolved into talk about his ex-girlfriend, some kid named Justus, and an unfortunate haircut. On the sidewalk—two feet from the truck—Ms. Peggy had commented on the heat.

That seemingly harmless complaint had thrown them all down a rabbit hole where they fell past the seasonal topic of the festival, a mention of Benny's parents participating in the pageant in their youth, a longer mention of Carol, and then they’d splat down onto the topic of the parade.

And then, when escape was finally in sight, Ms. Peggy had actually gotten Benny to roll his window down seconds before Jack had been ready to hit the gas.

“You know, building a parade float from nothing is a lot of work to squeeze into two weeks. I think I have an easier way to make one and make it look good without all the hair-splitting effort. Either of you know Roger Norman? He should be around your age.”

Benny's nod was immediate.

“I went to school with him. He's a good guy. Quiet, but nice. Married...to Zelda Keller, right?”

Ms. Peggy nodded.

“His uncle gave him his boat when he moved up north, but Roger never uses it since he's always working. If he let you borrow it, you could decorate it and pull it on this thing.” She slapped the side of the truck. “Roger owes me a favor and I can't see me ever personally asking for one from him anyways.”

“You could ask him to do your yard work,” Jack muttered, still hot despite his truck trying its best to cool off. If the window wasn't down, the process would go a lot faster.

Ms. Peggy ignored him.

Benny had already perked up, nearly bouncing in his seat when he responded.

“That would be amazing, Ms. Peggy. Are you sure, though? That's asking a lot of you and not giving much else in return.”

Ms. Peggy waved the concern away.

Then she was staring daggers into Jack.