Page 9 of Sweet T

“I’m saying you’re in your head. You need a change of focus. Someone new in your life would help put things into perspective. Javy is Javy, there’s no changing that. He’s away and will probably never return, not to stay anyway. Do I feel ill will for him because of it? A little. I don’t begrudge his success. He worked hard to make it happen. I question his methods and loyalty, though, especially seeing how it’s affected you and your relationship with your father. But you need to remember, T, your family is here in Spoon. We’re not going anywhere. Your father knows that, deep down. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You could always talk to him about it. Resolution is a two-way street, you know?”

Tucker nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. I guess we’re both good procrastinators, too.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t decide about moving yet, at least for the summer. Let us get through this wedding and the honeymoon.”

“Where are y’all going?”

“Mexico, of course. Actually, I don’t mean that as a joke. We’re really looking forward to the trip. He’s never been farther out-of-state than our vacations to Florida. I’m looking forward to showing him where I grew up.”

“It sounds wonderful. He’ll soak up everything like a sponge.”

“Yes, he will... and, for that week at least, you won’t be bothered with assigned pool times.”

“There is that.”

“So, you’ll give it some more thought?”

“I will. Thank you, P.”

“Always, my son. Always.”

Two

Both Shelly and Tucker arrived at the tavern at four o’clock. The doors didn’t officially open until five, but they had their regulars, including one Sebastian Collins who showed up like clockwork every day upon opening.

The tavern was small, just a long alley-shaped room with a front and back door. The bar ran a good three-quarters the length of the room, and there were twenty booths and tables combined. In the back corner, opposite the restrooms and rear entrance alcove, was a small section devoted to two electronic dart machines.

Ben arrived after them. “Hey there. Storm’s a coming,” he said, putting his backpack and umbrella with Shelly’s bag under the counter. Ben worked the kitchen, a tiny, claustrophobic room containing only a grill, a fryer, a sink, an industrial refrigerator-freezer, and two metro racks—one for dishes, the other for pantry items. They kept any other supplies under the bar, as there was No. Place. Else. This meant that, along with their belongings, you could find many other items, including office supplies, a safe, dish-washing soap, toilet paper, stamps, ledgers, light bulbs, and backup booze. But even that space was compromised as half of it contained long, chest-type coolers housing the bar’s prize commodity—a vast variety of cold beer.

“Hi, Ben,” said Shelly. She sat at her “office” on the patron side of the bar, reconciling invoices. Tucker was in the rear alcove with a delivery man. “No wonder. It’s so fucking hot. God decided he needed to cool things off.”

Ben turned on the grill and fryer so they would be ready for use by opening. He came back out with a glass, got some ice, and used the soda gun to make himself a Coke.

“It may be worse. I’m hearing talk of tornadoes. How is everything?” he asked.

“Good. Just playing catch up with bills and shit. What’ve you been up to? Your hair is getting kinda long.”

“Really?” He combed his fingers through his short red hair, puzzled. “Well, I had homework, cleaned out gutters, mowed the lawn, and did laundry. Oh, and I did dinner prep for my mother. You know, the glamorous life.”

Shelly laughed. “That’s very sweet of you. I’m sure she appreciates it. My dad keeps up with the lawn stuff, but I prepped something for him too—Chicken Divan. And I’m not talking about that glop we used to eat at school. I mean the real deal.”

“I’m sure your divan will be divine. You look pretty. Another one of your designs, I presume?” He was referring to the shoulder-cut, pink t-shirt she was wearing.

“It is.” She smiled.

“Is what?” asked Tucker. He was scrutinizing a packing list, the back door slamming shut behind him as the delivery man exited.

“Ben was asking about my t-shirt.”

“What about it?”

“Never mind.”

“Is this a staff meeting?” Ben asked, jesting.

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