Burned in Broken Hearts Junction Page 6

  Dale and his goddamn cheap metaphors.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I said. “After all I’ve given to this place.”

  “Well, maybe you could look at this as an op-por-tun-ty instead,” he said. “You know, a chance to find something better.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “What are you gonna do with the place, huh?” I said. “How else are you bailing out water?”

  He rubbed his eyes.

  “We’re turning it into a sports bar. No live music. Just games on the TV.”

  My mouth fell open a little.

  “A sports bar?” I said. “A sports bar?!”

  Like saying it twice would convince him what a terrible idea it was.

  You didn’t take a place as good as The Cupid and turn into a sports bar.

  “It’s a better business model,” he said. “No bands to pay. And that’s what we need right now. A plan of action.”

  A better business model would have been him not gambling away all the saloon’s money.

  “I’ve been coming to The Cupid before you or Courtney ever moved to Broken Hearts, Dale,” I said.

  I wasn’t sure why I needed to say that, but I did.

  “And I hope that you do keep coming back,” he said. “But it’ll have to be as a customer.”

  That was the last straw.

  I thought about throwing something. About picking up that stupid green lamp from his desk and chucking it against the wall.

  But I restrained myself.

  Breaking glass wasn’t going to do me anyone any good now. Nothing would.

  I started heading for the door, walking fast and mean.

  “Wait, Bitters,” he said, standing up. “Look, you don’t have to leave now. You can work here a couple days more if you want. Until you find something. But no more than that.”

  What on earth was I going to find in a couple days? What good would it do? I wasn’t going to take his pity.

  I turned around to look at him.

  “Go to hell, Dale.”

  I walked out of his office and to the back. I grabbed my coat, and rushed quickly through the saloon, not even so much as looking in Courtney’s direction.

  “It’s been nice knowing you, Dry Hack,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll miss hearing you recount all them battles.”

  Dry Hack’s big bushy black eyebrows drew together in confusion.

  “C’mon, Hank,” I said, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth to grab his attention.

  The dog stood up and followed me.

  I tried slamming the door on my way out, but in the same way that it hadn’t slammed for Raymond the night before, it didn’t slam for me.

  It just closed feebly.

  I couldn’t even take that satisfaction with me.

  Chapter 16

  I sat on the hood of my car, bundled up in my sheep’s fleece jacket, listening to the sound of Dwight’s BuenasNoches from a Lonely Room coming from the car speakers, mixing in with the sound of the river running past.

  I was holding a flask in my hand.

  You’ve probably got a bad impression of me by now, thinking I’m some sort of lush.

  But I’m not.

  I only drink when the occasion calls for it. It’s just that it had been calling for it a lot lately.

  Hank sat on the hood with me, lying on his side, dozing. Big dog snores coming out of his mouth.

  It was cold, but the afternoon sun was out. A bright, clean sky glowed overhead.

  The snow had all just about melted, and the dead leaves of the cottonwoods along the river were dancing in the fresh wind coming down the canyon. It was all so pretty that it almost made me feel better.

  Almost.

  I took another swig of whiskey from the flask.

  “Things just don’t come easy, do they Hank? It’s always so hard.”

  Hank wasn’t listening, but it didn’t matter. I was listening enough for the both of us.

  I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had lost not only my job, but I’d lost The Stupid Cupid Saloon too.

  The place wasn’t going to last three more months the way it was going: whether or not Dale and Courtney decided to go with the sports bar idea and replace me with flat screen TVs. And somehow, the idea that The Cupid was in its death throes hurt even more than losing my monthly pay check.

  I knew that it was dumb to be so invested in a little old bar in the middle of nowhere. It was stupid to turn a place like that into your reason for staying in a small town.

  I sighed, thought again about that night, standing out on the sidewalk, listening to The Rusted Spurs play. Those same feelings rushing up inside of me, the way they always did. But they were fainter, now, getting farther and farther away with each passing year.

  I shouldn’t have been at the bar that night. That was what I was thinking when I first walked in nearly 20 years ago, the nerves jumping around inside of me like short circuited wires. I remember my hands were damp with fear, and I was holding onto my fake ID with all my might, scared to death I might run into someone at the bar who would recognize that I was just a junior in high school. Trying to cover up that fact with about two pounds of foundation and mascara.

  I was there that night with a group of girls from school, including Beth Lynn. We were young and wanted to do things we weren’t supposed to. Which in a town as small and isolated as Broken Hearts Junction, meant sneaking into The Stupid Cupid Saloon for a show.

  Lawrence owned the saloon back then. And he knew how to run a bar, all right. In another lifetime, Lawrence Halliday had been a country guitarist who had played tracks on some Willie Nelson records. He was a real legend in certain, knowledgeable circles. And for some reason, Lawrence had given it all up and returned to his hometown to buy The Stupid Cupid Saloon and turn it into a live music venue.

  The night I snuck in, my insides were shaking like Jell-O sitting on the flatbed of a truck going down a gravel road. But the second I walked into The Cupid, I knew I had nothing to worry about.

  Because when I walked in that night, it felt like…

  To this day, it’s hard to express what I felt when I walked through that old growth pine door, and got a glimpse of the brick walls and the low lights and cozy feeling of warmth inside.

  The sound hit me like a wall of water, drenching me with its sonic intensity. A steel guitar and a voice that cut through every falsehood and cliché that had been my life up until that point, and that lifted me to another dimension. A song that made my whole being shake with something that amounted to everything that had ever been missing in my small-town life.

  The Rusted Spurs were on fire that night. And in that moment, I knew that there would be no going back to what I was before.

  And then… then it was all over.

  Lawrence saw us, and then showed us why people called him Law Dog. Without even looking at our fake ID’s, he kicked us out of The Cupid, threatening to tell our parents if we showed our faces there again.

  The rest of the girls took the hint, leaving to get sundaes at the Dairy Queen. But I didn’t leave with them. I stuck around, listening to the music out on the sidewalk alone.

  But I soon discovered that I wasn’t really alone.

  I heard someone strumming a guitar somewhere in the parking lot. I remember walking over, feeling like I was in a dream.

  And there he was, sitting on the hood of a car, playing guitar.

  And when our eyes met, I felt the spark.

  I’d seen the boy before—in a vision I’d had a week earlier.

  I met Jacob Halliday that night, in The Stupid Cupid Saloon parking lot.

  Lawrence’s grandson, Jacob Halliday.My soulmate.

  I took another long swig from the flask, and brushed away the tears.

  He’d have to come back to me, sooner or later. We were meant for each other.

  He just had to.

  He was just a little lost. That’s all. And in the big sche
me of things, three years was just a drop in the bucket.

  And I’d wait even longer if that’s what if it took. If I only knew that he’d be coming back to me.

  “I believe they call this here a liquid picnic,” a deep voice said from behind me.

  I jumped so high, I nearly fell off of the car hood.

  Chapter 17

  Hank jumped down off the truck and started barking at the stranger.

  I turned around. It only took me half a second to recognize him once my heart started beating again.

  It was hard to forget a face like his, what with the busted nose and those stormy grey eyes.

  Hank growled at him for a few moments, but the growls turned to whimpers and whines of joy when the stranger knelt down and started rubbing the top of Hank’s head.

  I liked to think that Hank could sense when somebody was good. But the truth was, the big ol’ dog was just a sucker for attention of any kind.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” I said when I finally got my breath back.

  Not too many people passed by this spot on the river. I always thought of it as my cottonwood grove. I liked coming here and listening to the water run and the trees rustling in the wind. I’d play some country on my car stereo and feel more or less at peace with the world.

  Or that was the goal anyway.

  I’d forgotten about the hiking trail that passed through here that people, mostly tourists, used sometimes.

  The stranger rubbed Hank’s side. The big St. Bernard rolled onto his back, growling with delight.

  “What’s his name?” the stranger asked.

  “Hank,” I said.

  He smiled down at Hank’s oafish face.

  “Does he sing, too?”

  “Yeah, but he’s got a bad case of stage fright,” I said. “He won’t sing around strangers.”

  I got down off the hood, leaving the half-empty flask closed on its side. I walked over to the stranger, my hands in my jacket pockets.

  “Funny running into you again, Orange Soda,” I said.

  He grinned.

  “Yeah,” he said, standing up. “I guess it’s a small town.”

  He stopped petting Hank. The St. Bernard looked positively betrayed.

  The stranger nodded to my swollen cheek.

  “I see that shiner hasn’t gotten much better.”

  “That’s not what you’re supposed to say,” I said. “You’re supposed to lie and say how well I look today.”

  “Pardon my poor manners, Miss,” he said. “But sugar coating it doesn’t negate the fact that you still look like you’ve been hit by a heavyweight champion.”

  “Don’t I feel it,” I said, walking back to the car, grabbing the flask and taking another drink.

  I was half impressed that the stranger used the word “negate” and worked it in so it didn’t sound highfalutin in the least.

  “So what’s all of this about?” he said. “Bad day, or something more?”

  He came up alongside me and leaned against the hood. I looked out across the river.

  I really didn’t want to get into it. I wasn’t the type who spilled my entire life’s history to strangers. Hell, I rarely expressed myself to the people closest to me. But the drink had loosened my tongue, and there was something about him that made me want to talk.

  Maybe it was because life had busted him up some too.

  “Sometimes, it feels like my whole life’s been a bad day.”

  “Can’t be that bad,” the stranger said.

  “Easy for you to say,” I said.

  I smirked.

  He folded his arms across his chest, his cowboy boots sticking out in the dust in front of him. He followed my gaze out to the river, the ripples still dancing in the orange afternoon sunlight.

  “Damn, this is pretty country,” he said. “Almost hurts to look at.”

  “So is that what you’re doing out here?” I said, offering him the flask. “Taking in the scenery?”

  He shook his head at my offer, and I took a drink for him.

  “I’m in town for a little while,” he said. “Got here just before my car gave out. The engine’s shot to hell, and I’m thinking I best just get a new one. But as long as I’m here, I figured I should get to know the area. I heard about the trail back there. Felt like exploring a little. I’m a wanderer at heart, I guess.”

  I nodded, about to ask him where he was from and what he was doing here, things I hadn’t gotten around to asking during the mayhem that was Saturday night at The Cupid, but he interrupted me before I could.

  “So tell me the truth. What’s got you out here on a Sunday afternoon throwing back a flask and looking so lonesome?”

  I sighed.

  “Just a feeling that the rest of the world’s moving right along, and I’m standing still.”

  “That’s not so bad,” he said. “There’s some benefits to standing still.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like being able to see where you’re going,” he said. “The rest of the world might be moving, but that don’t mean anyone knows where in the hell they’re going to.”

  I took another sip of whiskey. The flask was getting lighter and lighter in my hands.

  “You go on philosophizing, Orange Soda,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere but down into the bottom of this flask.”

  “C’mon, you can tell me. What is it?” he said.

  I stared out at the river and then looked back at him.

  Our eyes met for the first time. I mean, really met. Like one of those rare moments when you look into someone’s eyes, and catch a glimpse of their soul.

  And you know that they caught a glimpse of yours too.

  I didn’t mean for that to happen, but it did.

  And there wasn’t any way to hold back now.

  I bit my lip.

  “He left,” I said.

  They were just two words, but I could tell by the silence that followed.

  The stranger understood what I meant.

  Chapter 18

  I woke up early the next morning feeling like a brick wall had crumbled and fallen on top of me.

  A sick feeling of regret settled in at the base of my chest.

  No. It’s not what you think.

  Not that I haven’t given you reason to think I’m not morally corrupt, what with my drinking hard on a Sunday and the type of characters that I seem to hang around, and the type of job I have.

  I mean had.

  But it’s not like what you’re thinking. Nothing happened between the stranger and me.

  The reason I was feeling regretful had to do with the fact that I’d made a fool of myself in front of him. With a good amount of drink in me, I turned into a rambling mess. I didn’t even remember half the things I said to him.

  Except for the very last thing. Which I remembered with a kind of vivid clarity that drinking grants you, just so you can remember it the next day and feel like a fool.

  And now, now I was regretting it sorely.

  The stranger, whose name I still hadn’t learned, had been nice enough to take me home, driving my truck for me and walking back to wherever he was staying in town.

  He had helped me up to the front porch. I had lost all control of my tongue by that point, and had been saying God-knows-what about God-knows-what.

  Before leaving, he asked me if I’d be okay.

  I told him I would be, because Jacob was my soulmate and he’d have to come to his senses sooner or later.

  “Soulmate?” the stranger had asked, noticing the strange emphasis I’d put on the word.

  And for some reason, some stupid reason, I felt the need to tell him, in detail, about the visions I got.

  By the end of my ranting, the stranger had given me a look like he thought I was insane.

  And that was how we left things.

  I cradled my head in my hands and tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I was going to ever see him again, so there wasn’t any re
ason for me to feel embarrassed.

  But that was easier to say than it was to believe.

  What he must have thought of me… that I was some past-her-prime barmaid who drank in parks on Sundays and was crazy enough to think that she had a divine gift for matchmaking.

  It sounded crazy, even to me.

  Why had I blabbed like that? I normally never told people about my visions, unless I felt like they might understand.

  But the first good-looking stranger to come through Broken Hearts Junction in ages, I decide I need to blab about it to.

  I sat up in bed and swung my legs over the side. My head felt like it was going to explode.

  Hank rolled over onto his feet and attacked me with dog kisses.

  Waking up to a wall of slobber wasn’t my idea of a hangover cure. No. I would have much preferred some hash browns and eggs and bacon.

  But at least Hank would never judge me or think me crazy, no matter how much I rambled.

  I sat there at the edge of the bed for a while, trying to find a reason to get out of it. It was hard to think of one. Nowhere to go. No one to see.

  The most I had to look forward to today was three Advil and a glass of orange juice.

  So I just sat there, kept thinking, until suddenly my phone buzzed on the night stand.

  My heart jumped in my throat, thinking it might be Jacob.

  Hoping that it was.

  Praying that it was.

  It wasn’t.

  It was a text message from Beth Lynn.

  Any luck yet? :-)

  I let out a great big old sigh.

  Speaking of regrets, I was pretty sure that I was going to regret agreeing to help Beth Lynn find her soulmate.

  But for the time being, it was giving me the reason I needed to get out of bed this morning.

  Chapter 19

  Embarking on a soulmate search was never easy.

  In fact, it could be a real tedious, pain-in-the-ass.

  It took time. Time, patience, and above all, a little luck. Save for the time part, the rest of those I was short on these days.