I grin. “Maybe. Is it working?”
There’s a very short pause. “Hell yeah, it’s working!”
We both laugh.
“So does that mean you’re going next week?” I’m willing to continue the ruse I started if it means helping my friend.
“If you’ll go back with me, I will.”
“I told you I would.”
“Then yes, I’ll go. Far be it for me to miss some interesting eye candy.”
“Yeah, I know. That would be a travesty,” I add sarcastically.
“I try to explain this to Dennis, but he just doesn’t get it.”
I snort and shake my head. “I can’t imagine why.”
I hear the muted bleep of another call coming in and hold out my phone to check the number. Even though it’s not in my list of contacts, I recognize it. I’ve seen it pop up far too many times not to recognize it.
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got another call coming in.”
“At almost ten o’clock on a Thursday night? Who could that be?” I don’t answer. I know once she thinks about it, she’ll know. “Oh,” she finally says. “Damn. Here I thought maybe you’d picked up a hottie from that meeting.”
“Not hardly,” I say derisively. Based on my normal total and complete lack of a social life, Tia and I both know that’s preposterous. What Tia doesn’t know is that tonight I actually considered it. Even though it was just for a heartbeat, I actually ran into someone who made me forget all my million and one reasons to keep to myself.
“You take such good care of him, Vi. He’s lucky to have you. We all are.”
“Thanks, chickie,” I say on a sigh, already dreading the night ahead. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Let me know if you need help with him.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“Love you,” Tia says sincerely.
“Love you, too.”
I hit the swap button and answer the unwelcome second call. “Hello?”
“Hey, Vi. It’s Stan. He hit his stride a little early tonight. Passed out on the bar about fifteen minutes ago. Think you can come get him?”
I swallow every comment, every emotion, even the simple sigh that is begging for release, and I answer calmly. “Sure, Stan. Give me ten minutes. I’m on the other side of town.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
He hangs up, and I finally start my car. I’m still in the parking lot outside the SAA meeting. I refuse to admit that I might—just might—have been watching the door to see if I could catch another glimpse of Jet. I refuse to admit it because that would be pathetic. And immature. And much more emotional than I ever get. I’m too levelheaded to let a guy like Jet get under my skin. Or any guy for that matter. Getting too involved, too dependent on a man for happiness leads to trouble. Trouble I’ve seen and trouble I don’t need. So I avoid them. Unless it’s to help them—professionally. Otherwise, it’s just not worth it.
I keep telling myself that as I drive across the small town of Greenfield, South Carolina, to the Teak Tavern, my father’s watering hole of choice. His other favorite bar-type place in town is called Lucky’s, but Dad was banned from there a long time ago.
I see his truck outside. It’s parked straight inside the lines of the space, which tells me he was okay when he left the house. At least he wasn’t out drinking and driving before he hit the tavern. He’s done that before, and it both infuriates and distresses me. It would be a tragedy in every way if he hit someone and hurt them. Not only for the victim and their family, but for Dad as well. He’s still pretty fragile emotionally and that would do him in for sure.
I pull up along the curb, close to the front door and cut the engine. I’ve learned all the best tricks for getting him out the door and home quickly and safely. Having the car close is step number one.
I see Dad as soon as I walk into the tavern. He’s sitting on a stool, slumped over onto the bar, mouth hanging open, snoring like a freight train. At least this one won’t be a violent, argumentative episode. I hope not, anyway. When he’s already passed out, that’s usually a good sign. It’s when he’s awake and running his mouth that poses a problem most of the time.
I walk in, greeting Stan as I pass. “Thanks for calling me, Stan.”
He smiles as he dries a glass with his white bar towel. He reminds me of Sam from one of my Dad’s favorite old shows, Cheers, anyway, but he looks even more like him when he dries glassware. “Not a problem, Vi,” he replies pleasantly. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
Even though Stan is a good ten years older than my twenty-two, I get the feeling that he’s attracted to me. He always watches me with an extremely . . . appreciative look in his eye. Not that it matters, because I’m so not interested. So. Not. Interested.
I walk to the end of the bar where my father is passed out and lay my hand gently on his arm, doing my best not to startle him. The most I can hope for is that he’ll wake up just enough to get to the car and then pass out again until I can get him home. “Dad, wake up. It’s time to go home.”
He grunts, but makes no move to sit up or even adjust his position. I give him a little shake. “Dad. My car’s parked outside. Time to go home.”
I hear his tearful moan and he slurs, “I don’t wanna go home.”
I fight the guilt that swells in my gut like a sponge in water. “Why not?” I ask. I know the answer already, but my point is not to ask him questions I need answers to. My point is just to get him talking. If I can keep him somewhat involved in the conscious world around him, I’ll have a better chance of getting him up and to the car.
“All alone. Everyone left me,” he mutters, rolling his head to the side to glare at me with one unfocused green eye.
“I didn’t leave you, Dad. I just moved out. There’s a difference.”
“No, there’s not.”
“Yes, there is. I’m only a couple of miles away and I still see you almost every day.”
“But you left.”
“I didn’t leave. I grew up, Dad. I would never leave you.”
He lifts his head and stares up at me, tears filling his remorseful eyes. “I know you wouldn’t, Vi. I’m just lonely.”
My heart aches for him. He drives me crazy sometimes, but I love him and I wish there was something I could do to help fill the space that my mother left when she bailed for good four years ago.