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The drinking chant went up behind her again, and Birdie looked at the shot glasses lined up on the bar. To her left was Betsy and to her right was Bart Matilda. Nina stood at her back.
“You okay, Birdie?” Bart was still clear eyed, unlike her.
“I’m goodish, Bart,” she said slowly and carefully.
“It’s good to see you cutting loose, girl. Must be your man’s influence.”
She frowned. “I don’t have a man. I’m single,” she said in a singsong voice. “Also, Bart, I cut loose sometimes.”
“When?” the woman to his left, Letty Kistermaker, who was in her eighties, said.
Was Birdie the only person who had never lined up at this bar and had a shot drinking race?
“When what?” she asked, focusing on Letty’s dangly earrings. They were large American flags.
“When have you let your hair down?” Letty asked. “I ain’t seen it, and I’ve been around since your mama birthed you at home on that snot-green sofa they still have.”
“It’s been re-covered,” Birdie muttered.
“Point is, you’ve been too good for too long. Let go, girl. Dating that bad boy Sawyer Duke is a start.”
“He’s not a bad boy,” she said. “He’s a great guy.”
“Well, hell, we know that, girl,” Bart said. “Seen enough evidence, even if he doesn’t want anyone aware of it.”
“You do?” She squinted at Bart.
“We all know he’s a good one, but that bitch broke him,” Letty said.
“Maybe you could help each other out,” Bart said. “He could toughen you up some, and stop you people-pleasing, and you could soften him up.”
“I don’t always people-please,” Birdie protested. The “yes you dos” came from more than just Letty and Bart.
“It’s not a crime to be nice,” she muttered.
“No, but it’s a crime to not live your life,” Nina said over her shoulder. “Pick up your glass.”
She felt a tingling sensation in her spine and turned. Sawyer Duke now stood back from the people in line waiting to drink shots. They locked eyes. The grumpy bearded oldest Duke. She turned away quickly and nearly fell off her stool. Hands steadied her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Welcome,” several people called back.
Sawyer Duke may want to fudge her, but he had no say in any other part of her life. She was his dirty little secret. That thought hurt, so she threw back her shot. The whiskey burned down her throat.
“Gah.” She slapped the glass on the bar. Nancy moved in to refill it.
“Good?” Betsy asked.
Birdie nodded. “I love your dress, Nancy.”
The woman was rail thin with blonde hair today, the color and texture of straw. Nancy believed in herself and that she looked awesome.
“June Matilda made it. She’d do the same for you if you asked, Birdie.”
“Thanks, Nancy, I might just do that.”
But she wouldn’t because she didn’t think she could carry it off. Birdie didn’t believe in herself. She was a nothing… or believed she was. But no more!
