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He doesn’t say anything and we eat quietly, my eyes sometimes cutting to the TV on the wall beside the pool tables. I normally have it set to a sporting event or sports news channel, but I turned on Men in Black a bit ago. I have zero interest in sports these days.
“You working New Year’s Eve?” my dad asks.
I drag my eyes from Will Smith’s character trying to get comfortable in his little egg seat to take the MIB test. “Yeah. I’ve got one other bartender, and that should be enough. I don’t anticipate a huge crowd.”
At least not the sizes that were overwhelming us when the Titans hung out here. Those days are over, and it’s back to just my regulars.
“You going to come by?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “These days, I’d much rather lounge in my recliner for a true crime documentary binge.”
“That does sound heavenly,” I agree with a laugh that actually sounds genuine. Mirth has been hard to come by the last few days, so maybe that shows I’m moving on.
Not like I have a choice. Hendrix told me to leave him alone, so here I am in all my glory… leaving him alone and finding humor in life just fine without him.
The door to the bar opens, and I glance that way. I can’t decide if I’m happy or anxious about seeing Harlow walk in.
She glances around, locates me, and beelines to the bar. Her expression is as I’d imagined it would be—pissed.
Harlow takes the stool next to my dad after giving him a kiss on his furry cheek, nabs a slice of his pizza, and then turns to glare at me. “I can’t believe you’ve not returned a single call or text. Forcing me to come down here to confront you and eat this swill.”
“Swill? Really? Could you be any more dramatic?” I drawl.
My dad takes offense. “That’s my swill you’re eating.”
“Sorry,” Harlow replies with a bat of her eyelashes. “I’ll pay for it.” She then turns back to me. “I’ll have a beer.”
My dad chokes with shock, and my eyes bug out of my head at her request. Harlow is a recovering alcoholic and doesn’t drink at all.
“No fucking way,” I snarl, slapping my hands on the bar before her. “Are you crazy?”
“I don’t know,” she quips, picking a piece of pepperoni off her slice and popping it in her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, swallows, and then glares at me again. “Am I crazy? You wouldn’t know since you don’t return my calls or texts. What if I was having a crisis?”
“I would have answered,” I mutter, turning to the cooler again to grab her a bottle of water. “But you were reaching out about Hendrix, and I don’t want to talk about him.”
Placing the drink before her, I take a bite of my pizza. With my mouth full, I can’t be coerced into vomiting my feelings.
Harlow’s a sneaky one, though, so she turns to my dad. “Okay… catch me up on everything.”
My head whips his way to see if he’ll be a loyal father, but that question is answered when he blabs everything. “Short story is this… her mom made up a horrible sob story about owing ten thousand dollars to some criminals who were going to either rough her up good or kill her if she didn’t pay. She asked Stevie for the money, even though she doesn’t have it. Showed up bruised and bloodied to Stevie’s house one day. Her mom found a reporter who would pay ten grand for the right story, and Stevie went to see what that meant. She didn’t feel right going, didn’t want to go, but her mom’s life was in danger, so she went. Ultimately, she backed away almost as soon as she met the guy. Refused to give him any info.”
“But how did he know—”
My dad holds up his hand to quiet her. “Mandi stole Stevie’s diary out of her house, the journal where Stevie, as you know, records her whole life. Lots of stuff in there, and the reporter had a field day with it.”
Harlow’s head turns my way, her eyes filled with empathy. “Oh, honey… I’m so sorry. She… she… used you in a horrible way. That wasn’t your burden to help her out of trouble.”
A bark of colorless laughter erupts. “There was no trouble. It was a setup, I think. She took the money and went to St. Lucia. She’s not responding to my calls.”
Harlow’s jaw drops, and her head flips back and forth from me to my dad, then back again. “She faked it all?”
“She didn’t fake the bruises and blood. I treated those injuries myself, but maybe Randy slapped her around to make the ruse look good. Or maybe she really did owe the money. I don’t know what’s true anymore.”
