Her finger shakes when she points it at me. “You should be grateful for what you’ve been given. Dean took on your mama and her bastard child out of the goodness of his heart. The shame and disgrace she put on her parents. On good, hardworking folk who didn’t deserve a lying slut for a daughter.”
White-hot fire flashes through me, blurring my vision for a moment.
“So, you take what I give you, and you say, ‘Thank you, ma’am.’”
Slamming the dishes down on her table, I lean in close, giving her my best, darkest glare. It’s hard to talk when all I want to do is spit fire on her, but I somehow manage. “Keep your damn fifty cents. I don’t want it.” Raising my own finger, I point it right at the end of her nose and seethe, “And if you ever call my mama a lying slut again, I will spit in every cup of coffee I serve you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Her voice drops low, her own eyes narrowing to match mine.
“Wouldn’t I?”
“Know your place, little girl. You say thank you to me. And you say it now.”
I will do no such thing!
Easing back, I cross my arms and lift my chin.
“Say it, Annabelle Mae.”
“I’d rather eat pig shit.”
Her skin blanches, her indignant eyes bulging as she shoots out of her chair. “So that’s how we’re gonna play, are we?” Straightening her cardigan, she looks like a fat cat as she wipes a fingertip down the side of her mouth. “Let me tell you somethin’. If this place goes out of business, it’s on you. Don’t think I can’t talk every person in this town out of coming here. Now what would your father have to say about that?”
I swallow, nearly saying I’m not sure, because my father doesn’t live in Buckland Springs anymore!
But I hold my tongue because my blinding anger is being shoved aside by something worse. If this nasty woman says anything to Dean, I’m in big trouble.
“Mark my words, Annabelle Mae, Dean will be hearing about this at church on Sunday.” She touches her chest, the mock worry on her face making me want to slap her. “And I only tell him out of care and concern, of course. We wouldn’t want his wayward daughter—”
“Stepdaughter.” I can’t help myself.
She simpers and hitches the purse onto her shoulder. “His wayward daughter turning out like her mama now, would we?” Darby lightly taps the tip of my nose, and it takes everything in me not to grab her finger and bend it back so far it breaks.
I would.
If my mind wasn’t being dominated by her threat, I would be dropping her butt on this floor and pummeling her. But she’s gonna tell Dean, which means…
The blood in my head starts pounding, and I brush a hand over my suddenly nauseated stomach. Sunday is still three days away. If I’m on my best behavior… if I watch my every step and try to appease this wretched lady before that day comes, then I might just get away with a snappy lecture and nothing more.
I stare at the money scattered across the table and nearly gather it up to hand back to her. I could shout, “It’s on the house!” and maybe she’d change her mind.
But dammit, I just can’t do it.
The woman doesn’t deserve anything good!
But my mama did.
Violet Birdman was a sweet, kind, loving lady, and all she ever did was fall for the wrong guy and then tell the truth about it.
Tears scorch the back of my throat as I clamp my teeth together and cross my arms.
The crap she put up with because of these stupid people!
Words are bubbling up inside of me, and oh man, do I want to unleash a little hell on this woman. The things I could say to her right now.
“Darby,” someone chirps behind me. “Are you just leavin’? I’m sorry I missed you.”
Darby’s face lights with a smile like she wasn’t threatening my butt only seconds before. I refuse to turn around, knowing the woman behind me is just as judgmental as the one I crossed swords with.
Ada White will sit at the table by the window, sipping an herbal tea while nibbling on two pancakes smothered in maple syrup and completing the daily crossword. If I serve her, she’ll treat me like maggot food and not feel a shred of guilt over it.
Snatching up the dirty dishes, I rush past the two women and slam the plates down next to the sink. One wobbles, then slips off the edge, smashing into pieces on the floor.
“Damn, Annie. Control yourself!” Mateo snarls at me just as Celia walks in the door.
She takes one look at my face, and I don’t have to say a word.
“Why don’t you go take a breath? I’ll clean this up for ya.”
“I just had my break,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the larger pieces.
She crouches down in front of me, lightly touching my arm and whispering, “How ’bout you take another one?”
The soft words make me want to burst into tears, but she just pats my shoulder and sends me out the door. If anyone’s witnessed how cruel Darby can be, it’s her. She’s had her fair share of complaints, but at least at the end of the day, she gets to go home to a loving man who holds her, rubs her feet and then tells her a joke to make her smile.
That is not my reality.
And I don’t know if it ever will be.
15
An Old Cowboy
I didn’t sleep for long.
The light streaming through the windows made it difficult to truly slip away, plus the echoing gunshot in my mind.
I eventually ease myself up, taking a moment to let my head stop spinning before scanning the attic space.
It’s bright and airy with a large window at each end of the triangular roof and a skylight above me. Being early spring, the temperature is not bad, but I can imagine this place being an oven in the summer. Someone’s obviously taken care to make this a haven, though. I wonder if it was Annie.
It’s like I’m sitting in a secondhand store, surrounded by odds and ends that have been collected over time—a small stool with a dented harmonica sitting on it, an ancient-looking table fan that probably vibrates loudly when it’s on, an old record player next to a stack of battered vinyls. There are a couple of bruised Gameboys that take me awhile to figure out what they even are. One of them still has some life, so I play a quick game of Tetris before giving up and scanning the bookshelf behind me.
It makes me think of Grandpa’s shelves of westerns and the Hardy Boys. My eyes start to burn as I slowly extract a book I recognize. The spine cracks a little when I open it. Duke Elijah Birdman is written in neat cursive inside the cover.
My swallow is thick and painful as I brush my finger over the letters and see a different name.
“Raymond Lance Barrett,” I whisper, hearing his voice in my head.
Closing my eyes, I tip my head back against the shelf and let myself picture him.
His tall, lanky body and wide smile. His rough hands and tough skin, lined and wrinkled from hours in the elements. Sun, wind, rain, snow. He endured it all for the sake of his home. His cattle. His ranch. His family.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw him again.
He and Grandma Edie used to come to Florida once a year when we were little. Cooper told me how much we loved their visits. Apparently, Grandpa would throw me in the air and tickle my belly. He could always make me laugh. But then Dad lost his job, and that year, they didn’t come. Mama got pregnant with the twins and still they didn’t come. I used to lie in bed, praying they’d show up. I wanted to meet this Grandpa Ray. I wanted him to give me a hug and make me laugh. Maybe Grandpa Ray could tell Dad to stop being so angry and mean all the time. After Jake and Brody were born, it only got worse, and still… they didn’t come.