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“None taken.” He purposely gentled his tone. “You seem like a pretty genuine person, too. I think we’ll get along really well going forward.”
“Thank you. I look forward to working with your father. If you’ll excuse me.” Josiah practically bolted off the porch and down to a dusty two-door sedan. The kind of car you bought to get you to places, rather than for looks or status.
Michael waited on the porch until Josiah backed out of the wide driveway and disappeared down the long country road, heading for his next destination. He shut the door, the house suddenly too big and empty now that he was alone in it again. Josiah had filled in those odd gaps with his smile and wide, haunted eyes, and with his clean, soap scent. Without those things, it was just a house.
A big, lonely house.
No longer hungry for lunch, he snacked on the last of some stale potato chips and bits of turkey lunch meat while contemplating the hospital bed. If Dad’s recovery went well, they’d only need it for a few weeks. If it didn’t, they might need it a whole lot longer. And since the best spot to care for Dad was in the living room—hello, access to the biggest TV with cable and to the kitchen—Michael spent a lot of time rearranging the furniture. A coffee table there, a love seat over there, things went around and around for a while, until he created a good space for the bed, while retaining one sofa for himself, Josiah, and any company to sit on.
Not that he assumed Dad would get a lot of company, but stranger things had happened. Maybe he’d adopted a few friends in his old age who’d drop by once in a while. For as much as Michael still cared about his dad deep down inside, he knew nothing about the man’s life right now. On one level, it hurt, but on another level, it was exactly what Michael had wanted: distance. Distance to deal with his grief so it didn’t turn into something darker that destroyed his relationship with his father completely. Distance and the chance to create a new life separate from his dad and this place with all its bad memories.
And that new life had done nothing but screw him in the ass. Figuratively and financially. Often literally, because while Kenny liked to get fucked on occasion, Michael very much liked to bottom. And Kenny always had a high sex drive.
Probably too high, since Kenny had cheated on Michael more times than he cared to remember in the last few years. But Michael wasn’t angry about that anymore. He needed to focus on the present, not the past. And in the present, he was stupidly hungry and really wanted a drink. After checking all of Dad’s old hiding spots and not finding a speck of liquor in the house—only a few cans of beer in the fridge—Michael grabbed his keys and left.
Instead of back to the diner, he went to the Roost, a not-too-divey dive bar on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t quite dinnertime but the place already had a lot of tables taken. Michael sat himself at the bar near a pretty, petite woman with a curvy figure and black hair. She came right over with a laminated menu.
“Get you started with something to drink?” she asked in tone of voice that almost dared him to order anything from her. “Usually I know everyone who comes in here, but you’re new.”
He loved her bluntness immediately. “Technically, I’m old. Used to live around here until I was about twenty. Back for a while, and I’ll start with your best cocktail.”
“The place’s best cocktail’s probably the Moscow Mule.”
“I asked foryourbest. What do you make the best?”
She grinned, then went to work, dropping a sugar cube into a short glass, two dashes of bitters, and then whiskey. She stirred until the sugar dissolved and added an orange twist, which impressed the hell out of Michael. Too many bartenders made an Old Fashioned by shaking it or muddling the fruit.
The flavor was perfection.
“Start a tab?” she asked.
“Definitely. I’m Michael, by the way.”
“Ramie. Nice to meet you.”
“That’s a pretty name. It has to be short for something.”
“It is.” With a wink, she moved on to another customer at the bar.
Amused by her and hoping he’d made a friend, Michael perused the menu. Mostly burgers, with a few sandwiches and appetizers thrown in. Not a single salad or healthy option, but whatever. He didn’t need to impress anyone with his abs right now. When Ramie breezed past him again, he ordered the Woodland Burger, which was the only one on the menu made with certified local organic beef. Might as well support the locals while he was around, even if it wasn’t exactly in his budget.
He listened to the basic country music piping over the sound system while he sipped his drink and thumbed through his various social media accounts on his phone. He’d unfriended and unfollowed a lot of people after his breakup with Kenny, but he still followed different celebrities and news outlets. No reason not to keep abreast of the world, even when he felt like he’d walked into a completely different world here in Weston. A world where nothing mattered beyond town limits, and the wider issues didn’t really reach.
Unlike life in a big city like Austin.
When Ramie delivered his burger and fries, she said, “So I never did get nosy and ask why you came back to Weston.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Her lips twisted into a smirk. “So why did you come back to Weston? We’re not exactly known for our fun touristy stuff. We don’t have a single postcard about this town.”
“My father had a stroke yesterday morning, and I’m in town to help him out.”
“Elmer Pearce is your father? I’m sorry.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“Not sorry that he’s your father,” she continued. “I mean, I’m sorry about the stroke. I don’t know him well, but I’ve seen his work. He’s got a very interesting imagination. I’m not originally from Weston, so his yard was very eye-catching when I first moved here.”
