Page 40 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
CHAPTER TWELVE
Like a lot of places in Wyandot County, Main Street Café had once been a private home. As nearly as I could tell, the original building had been a clapboard house, two stories tall with a wraparound porch. At some point, a one-story addition had been made on the side. It had all been painted a sunshine yellow, which was emphasized by the snow piled up around the building.
Inside, the main area had a split personality. The large bar in the center of the room with a TV playing sports made it seem like a bar, but the booths ringing the room made it seem like a restaurant.
Eva Bailey was the barmaid; my mother knew her. But she wasn’t there. Instead, there was some guy in his late fifties who seemed to be wavering between a chronic case of alcohol poisoning and cirrhosis.
It was barely seven o’clock and it was fully dark outside. Snow was falling, but no one inside seemed the least concerned. The place was nearly full. I managed to snag two stools at the bar: one for me and one for the car seat. Emerald was alreadyfussing, so I took her out of the contraption and bounced her in my arms. She went from crying to laughing in seconds.
The bartender came down, and as I tried to say I wanted a root beer, he said, “You’re Emma Cole’s grandson, aren’t you? I remember when she used to bring you in here. You were about the same age as this one. What’s her name? I know someone told me but I?—”
“Emerald.”
“Ah. Pretty name. What’s her last name?”
Honestly, I had no clue. And that had been a problem since my mother had run off with the baby’s birth certificate. She used the name Fetterman, her second husband’s name, so Emerald Fetterman was a possibility. I was Milch after her first husband, though he wasn’t my father. So Emerald Milch was unlikely. The baby could have her father’s last name, even though they married after she was born. That was Hounsell. Emerald Hounsell. That was a terrible name, so I made an executive decision, the same one I’d been making for months, and said, “Cole. Emerald Cole.”
“Lovely name. Did you want something?”
“Yes, I’ll have a root beer.”
While he walked a few steps down the bar to get it, I looked around. Something was going on. At the far end of the bar a middle-aged guy stood on a bar stool messing with the back of the TV. The kind of guy you took one look at and knew he’d been divorced at least twice, had children with several women, and was swamped by child support payments. Near his feet sat a laptop with a microphone next to it. God, I hoped it wasn’t karaoke.
The bartender was back with my root beer and a maraschino cherry for Emerald. Cherries aren’t mushy enough for a baby, so I said, “Oh, she’s a little young…” But it was too late, she’d already taken the cherry out of his hand and was putting it intoher mouth. I didn’t know she could actually do that. Since I knew how maraschino cherries were made I wanted to snatch it away from her, but she already had most of it in her mouth. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to chew it.Could you gum a cherry?I had no idea.
I was waiting for her to spit it out, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and there was the girl from the fudge shop, Zoey Calder. She didn’t look as awkward. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t wearing a red-and-white smock.
“Hi! Are you here to play trivia? Do you wanna join our team? Please, please, please… Join our team.”
“Um, I don’t know…” I turned back to the baby and looked for the cherry. Emerald wasn’t chewing. Had she swallowed it? She couldn’t have. She’d have choked. Oh God, did she need the Heimlich? There was a chart on the doctor’s wall. I’d almost read it?—
“Your baby is adorable.”
“What? No, no, no… god no. She’s mysister.”
I wanted to yank open her jaw and stick my fingers in her mouth, but it seemed like a bad time.
“That explains the family resemblance.”
Family resemblance? She’s a blob with a tuft of hair. I mean, I hoped Emerald would take after me at some point, but at that particular moment?—
“So what about it? It’s going to start in a minute or two.” Then Zoey leaned in close and said quietly, “Patty brought this guy, I think she’s trying to set us up and it’s a hard no on my end. You’d be helping me out.”
I glanced over at the table. There were Patty Gauthier and a guy in his early thirties. Honestly, he wasn’t that bad. Dark with a heavy beard and a few extra pounds. With the right lighting, though… Besides, Zoey worked in a fudge shop. She couldn’t really have prospects. Could she?
“Uh, yeah, sure…” I said, mostly because it might be a good idea to talk to Patty again. I stood up, picking up the baby as I did and the cherry fell out of her lap—where I hadn’t noticed it, and landed at my feet.
Thank god. Cancel the baby Heimlich.
Tucking Emerald into the crook of my elbow, I picked up the root beer with one hand and the diaper bag and car seat with the other. Taking care of a baby meant holding onto more things than you ever thought possible. As I got settled at the table, I said, “This is my sister, Emerald,” before they could ask.
I decided this must be an important social event for Patty. She’d taken her hair out of its braid, and it was now in a bun sitting artfully atop her head with strands falling out here and there. She wore a creamy Irish sweater and a lot of blush.
Patty said, “Hello again. This is my next-door neighbor, Brian Belcher.”
I smiled sympathetically at Brian. His life must have been hell from grade school to high school graduation. Probably much worse than mine. Belcher, Milch. We might have been friends.
He glanced oddly at Patty, then asked me, “Are you good at this?”
