Page 73 of Mourner for Hire
I toss the broken glass in the trash.
“Tell me how this happened,” Eli demands, rotating on the barstool to face her.
“When I rolled down the driveway to deliver her food, I couldn’t stop and skidded into the garden, taking out at leastthree bushes of flowers and then I cut my ankle, so she got me a Band-Aid?—”
I cock an eyebrow. I thought she was afraid of blood.
The fucking liar.
“Anyway, it turns out she ordered a ton of food—like it was all over the counters. And I was the last one to show up, and I made a comment asking if she was having company and she said, no, just hungry and couldn’t decide what she wanted to eat so she got a little of everything. Then I made a joke about her probably wishing there was a Cheesecake Factory in town and she said, ah yes, variety at its finest.”
Eli chuckles, and I continue to zero in on Lucy’s retelling that is explaining absolutely nothing.
“Anyway, I thanked her for the tip because it was actually a lot—like twenty bucks when you know everyone usually just adds a dollar or two. Anyway, I thanked her and told her why tips are important, and she said she’d order food three times a week and tip me enough to pay for the lens.” She pauses with a huff. “Do you know what this means?”
“She’s going to be eating a lot of food?” I mutter.
“No! I will have the lens by the eclipse!”
“That’s great, sweetie,” Eli says. “It’s going to feel good to work for something you want. I know how long you’ve been saving.”
“Oh, come on, Eli. Just buy the lens. Don’t make her deliver biscuits to Dr. Death three times a week.” My eyes practically roll onto the floor. Then I turn to Lucy. “How much money do you need?”
“One-hundred-and-forty-three dollars and twenty-three cents is what I have left to save,” she answers.
I open the till, grab two hundred-dollar bills, and slide them across the counter.
Her eyes widen at the crisp bills.
“No, Dunner. She has to work for this,” Eli says, slamming a soft fist onthe bar top.
“Come on, Eli? You’re going to make her spend extra time with some lunatic and call it work?”
“She’s not a lunatic, Dunner. She’s a very nice lady.”
She is. She’s incredibly nice. With skin like silk and a mouth like?—
No.
I watch the storm settle behind Eli’s eyes. He doesn’t do bailouts—hell, he doesn’t even do favors—and he sure as hell doesn’t like to be questioned about his parenting.
“Let her do the work so she can accomplish the goal she made for herself,” he says calmly.
I shake my head, taking the bills back. Lucy’s eyes follow, and her fingers seem to be itching to snatch them off the counter.
“Well, then she can help out around here, and I’ll pay her.”
Eli stares pointedly. “She’s twelve. She can’t work in a bar.”
“We’re closed. She can unload the dishwashers and slice the limes.”
“How much do you pay?” Lucy asks.
“Two hundred bucks an hour.”
Eli grits his teeth. “You are really going to beat this dead horse to the ground, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “What dead horse?”
