Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“Thanks. Keeps the lights on.” She smiles as she opens the computer and taps the keys as the other waitress I watched waiting tables, a brunette, comes over to rest one hand next to the open laptop, the other on her jutted hip.
“So, next Thursday, I’d like to work the day shift. Jeremy is coming back from his hitch and I want to be home with him if possible.” The girl looks at me with a thin smile, lips a perfect shade of red, cat-eye liner applied precisely reminding me of my inability to apply make-up outside of a little lip gloss and a swipe of mascara now and then. She turns her attention back to the blonde who is looking at her computer screen.
She looks up on a nod. “That’s fine. Linda and Wilson are both working that day, you can have it off. I’ll post the schedule in a little while after I get the liquor order entered.”
“Cool. Thanks.” The waitress spins on her heel and I turn to the blonde. “So, this your place?” The fact that I’m initiating conversation with a near stranger only reminds me just how desperate I am for human interaction.
She nods, still tapping keys. “Yep. Owner and chief bottle washer.” She stops typing and looks my way. “You’re not from around here. Passing through? Sorry, small town. You own the bar, you know almost everyone.”
“Yeah. Just sort of in transition, I guess. Used to come up this way with my grandparents. Felt like a good place to stop and figure out some things.”
She nods, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail, then wrapping it in a knot which promptly falls back, loose, down her back. I look at her eyes, they are a magnificent rich brown, wide and thoughtful, and I realize she looks a little like Britany Spears “It’s a good place for that, I guess. Quiet. No drama, usually. The woods around sort of hug the town, make it feel safe I suppose. As long as you watch out for bears.” She finishes on another warm smile.
“Yeah, my grandparents taught me about that when we used to camp up at the Manistee grounds. I keep my food away from my site. And, I’m not bad with a bow and I’m even better with my Remington.” I take the last sip of my beer and she looks at me with amusement.
“You camping alone then?”
I nod. “Yep. Got a little lonely, figured the local bar would give me a jolt of humanity.”
She tips her head back and forth, looking around the bar. “Such as it is.”
We both let out a soft laugh, then she waves at the brunette that was at her table earlier. She comes over. “Yes, boss?”
“Get her another beer. On me. Blue Moon, with an orange.”
The brunette nods. “Coming right up.”
“Thanks.” For the first time in months I feel sort of happy. I’m sure it’s that I’m desperate for any conversation, but a half hour later, I’m half done with my third beer and I’ve found out the blonde’s name is Beverly, and she’s my newest and very bestest friend.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll stay, but I think it says something that I feel safer here, out in the woods alone, than I did back at home with my stepfather.” I’m offering up way more information that I’m sure interests her, but it feels so good to talk I can’t stop.
The one thing I’m not going to say, is I’m not even sure whose land I’m camping on. The public land where we used to camp was chained off. A sign indicated there was a washout on the road up the mountain, so I took the next road and settled on an isolated spot. It would take some effort to find me, but I’m sure squatting on someone else’s land might not be taken kindly, so I’m keeping that tidbit to myself.
“Yeah, that says something, all right. Sorry...” She trails off in that way only a seasoned bar person can. Not wanting to know too much but trying to seem semi-interested.
“I mean, okay, he’s not like violent or anything.” My tongue feels thick and I know I should play my cards closer to the vest, but there’s something about her eyes, and probably the beers and I’m spilling my guts. “The day he came home and told me he’d scattered my mother’s ashes without me? It was the last straw. It was bad enough to watch her wither away for a year, me trying to go to school and care for her as well while he just went about his life. That last year, once they said there was no hope, and she wanted to stop any treatment and just be at home, was...” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without breaking into tears.