Page 15 of Nothing Less than Magic
“I have supersonic hearing, not to mention mad lip-reading skills.”
I chuckle. “So basically, he’s a compulsive gambler.”
“Sounds like. She thought a weekend getaway would work as an intervention. He thought a weekend getaway was going to get him laid. Neither is getting what they came for.”
I withhold my opinion but think Katie is one heck of a perceptive bartender.
“Hey, when you two are done gossiping down there, maybe you could get us another round,” Calvin calls from the other end of the bar.
Katie gives him the finger, then draws four pints and delivers them to the plaid shirts.
“Put it on my tab,” I tell Katie, who then shouts, “This round is on Chelsea.”
The four men salute me and go back to talking amongst themselves.
“Knox told me he’s working over at your place,” Katie says as she wipes down the bar, a gorgeous live slab of wood that’s been epoxied to a high shine. “At this rate, he’ll never get his book done. But that’s Knox for you.”
Clearly Knox is the reason everyone seems to know who I am. Small towns; people talk. I don’t hold it against him. But I am curious how Knox and Katie fit in together. She seems a bit young for him.
“Are you two an item?”
She seems startled by the question. “Ew.” She looks at me long and hard. “Knox said you were in some kind of an accident. Must’ve banged your head.”
Obviously, I’m missing something here. But when one of the plaid shirts calls, “Hey, Hart, how about some of those smoked chicken wings?” I put it together. I don’t know why I didn’t see the resemblance before. I guess I was distracted by Katie’s bottle-red hair. But she and Knox have the same hazel eyes, same crooked smile.
She disappears into the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a plate of hot wings large enough to feed the entire town of Ghost, then wanders back over to me. “You want anything from the kitchen?” She eyes my barely eaten chips and guac. “We’re slow tonight, so they’re closing early.”
“I’m good. Is it usually this slow?”
“It can be in the offseason. We’re booked solid for Halloween, though. Everyone coming up to see the ghosts of the Ramseys.” She laughs, but it’s clear as a local, she finds the fascination with the legend of the town tedious. “You going to the parade?”
“Yeah, sure.” Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do, and in the five years we’ve owned the cabin, I’ve never been to Ghost’s annual Halloween parade. I’m sure it’s hokey as hell but when in Rome . . . right? “How about you?”
“I’ll be here, serving the likes of them.” She tips her head to the plaid shirts. “Come in and say hi. The rush won’t start until after the parade when the flatlanders want their martinis and cosmopolitans.” Katie snorts.
It’s funny that she isn’t counting me as a flatlander. I don’t know when I became a local, but I like it. I like sitting here in this bar, having human contact with people other than paying clients or colleagues I’m trying to impress. I like talking about something other than marriage and how to keep it alive. Perhaps now that Austin is out of the picture, I should start finding some balance in my life.
“I will,” I say. “I invited my sister, but I’ll probably be flying solo.”
“I didn’t know you have a sister. Knox never said anything about her.”
“We’re sort of estranged. But I really miss her. We used to be close.” It’s not like me to talk about Lolly, especially to a stranger. But Katie doesn’t feel like a stranger.
“Well, you should work things out with her. Life’s too short to hold grudges or to hang onto a lot of meaningless bullshit. She’s your sister. Whatever came between you can never erase that.”
She’s right, of course. I only wish Lolly would see it that way. But she thinks I deserted her, and she’s not the type who forgives and forgets. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to know that both she and I have abandonment issues because of our parents dying when we were young. And while Uncle Sylvester tried, he wasn’t much of a surrogate.
I used to think it was Lolly more than me. But I’m starting to wonder.
“I’m trying,” I tell Katie, but honestly, I haven’t tried very hard. How many times did I prioritize a lecture or symposium or a looming deadline over Lolly and her family? How many times did I blow off one of her kids’ birthday parties or weekends at Uncle Sylvester’s getaway home in the desert?
“Try harder,” Katie says.
On my drive home, I make a pact with myself to do it, to try harder.
Chapter 5
It’s odd, but my assistant Ronnie hasn’t responded to my last email. I want to make sure everything is in order for my lecture next month. It’s in New Mexico, and she is seeing to all the details, including my lodging. Ordinarily, I’d book it myself, but I’m not supposed to be thinking about work while I’m at the cabin. I’m supposed to be recuperating from my accident, though I feel fine if you don’t count the short-term memory lapses. I’ll take care of that problem as soon as I get home. For now, I just need time to heal from the past year and figure out a way to move forward.
