Dammit, for years now I have yearned for her return. I envisioned long talks in which my dear friend confided all her troubles, prepared myself for the day I could lend a sympathetic ear and a bracing shoulder. After all, that is what friends with special bonds do. They extend comfort and keep their counsel when secrets are divulged.
Yet Hayley shows not the slightest inclination to talk about hers.
I cannot help but feel a teensy bit resentful. I know Hayley has always been extremely private, but for God’s sake. Such reticence is unnecessary between good friends. And, truly, in the greater scheme of things it is just plain rude. I bet Hayley talks to her oh-so-precious Kurstin about her problems. The bitch.
No. I must not allow myself slip into ire. Anger is wrong and granting oneself permission to give in to it inexcusable. Once parameters of social behavior are breached, civilization is left with nothing but chaos, pure and simple. The proper thing to do, of course, is go talk to Hayley yet once again.
And this time I will leave my friend in no doubt that I am at her disposal, a willing receptacle for all the garbage that has accrued in my darling Hayley’s life.
It is several hours later when I finally approach Hayley in Bluey’s bar. "Hello, dear."
"Patsy!" She shuts off the water where she has been washing something off her hand and gives me a smile that warms my heart. "Well, hello, stranger,” she says. “I was wondering when you would finally accompany your husband to our fair lounge." She wipes her hands and sets aside the towel. "We see Joe in here all the time, but we never see you. And after all the times I asked where you were, wouldn't you think the bum would have mentioned you are here with him tonight?” She shrugs. “Men. I will never understand them."
I swing around to search the depths of the bar. Joe is here? I locate him talking to some men at a table in the lee of the stage and shake my head. Not only here, but a frequent patron from the sounds of it. I am beginning to think I never knew Joe Beal at all.
"What can I get you, Patsy?"
“Hmm?" I swing my stool back around and blink at the woman across the bar. "Oh! I will have a Riesling." A heartbeat goes by before I recall my manners. "Please." Then I cannot help but glance over my shoulder again. On the bright side, he obviously has not told anyone he moved out of our house. That can only mean he plans to come back home. Probably any day now.
"We have a nice Hoodsport Johannesburg Riesling. Made right here in Washington. How does that sound?"
"Fine."
"One Riesling, coming up."
I watch Hayley stoop to open the refrigerator beneath the counter. My old friend pulls out a bottle, rises and draws the cork. She pours a glass of wine and reseats the bung. Passing me the goblet, she asks me if I want to run a tab.
I decline and pay, then just sit there a moment, staring into the pale depths of my wine. I had a definite strategy when I walked through the door. I had known precisely what I intended to say and how I wanted to proceed. But finding Joe in the bar and learning he comes here all the time pisses me off—no!—throws me off my game. Straightening my spine, I force myself to concentrate. "Um, I have been wanting to get together with you, Hayley, to have lunch together or something. Just the two of us."
"I know. I’m sorry about canceling our coffee date last week. Things have been so hectic, but that’s no excuse. I should have set aside the time." Hayley smiles apologetically. "The problem is more about scheduling than anything. My hours are different than practically everyone else’s."
I nod. "As a realtor, I know all about erratic hours. I do not work as late into the evening as you, of course. But my hours are not exactly nine to five, either." I pull my cell phone out of my purse and bring up my calendar. "Let's schedule something right now while it is fresh in our minds. We need a chance to sit down and have a real heart to heart."
Hayley took a large mental step back, then felt guilty. It was so typically Patsy to want to organize everything right down to the nth degree. But the fact that her lack of spontaneity drove Hayley a little crazy was her problem, not Patsy's. Besides, she felt bad about putting her old schoolmate off for as long as she had. They used to be good friends. If Pats was a little too intense these days in her desire to hear Hayley’s every secret and be let in on her every confidence, well, she should be able to circumvent the neediness while still making her old friend feel included.
Somehow.
Lucy came up to the bar. "I need a pitcher of the Brewhouse Blonde, Hayley," she said, slapping down her tray and scooping her hair behind her ear with impatient fingers. She had gone natural this week, which for her meant basic black and blonde. No theme colors. Her nose ring was a discrete onyx stud, her pushup bra was utilitarian black to match her Doc Martens and long skirt. “The stuff’s starting to move! You should have heard these yahoos when Bluey first introduced it. Then they tasted it and they can’t get enough.” She shrugged at the vagaries of the small town man, then snapped her fingers. "Oh, and one Sex on the Beach." She included Patsy with a wry grin. "Don'tcha just love that name?"
"Sex on the Beach?" Patsy echoed faintly.
"You would probably like it," Hayley said, smiling at her friend as she swiftly assembled the order. "It's vodka and peach schnapps with OJ and cranberry juice. Pretty yummy stuff." She set the drink she assembled almost in the same breath she had recited its ingredients on the barmaid’s tray, then drew a fresh pitcher of beer and added it to the tray as well. "Here you go, Luce."
"Thanks." Lucy swept the tray off the bar and walked away.
Hayley wiped down her work space, then turned her attention back to her old school chum. "You know what I'd like, Patsy?" It had come to her while she was putting together Lucy’s order. "I would really like you to show me how to use a compound bow."
I stare at her in surprise. "You would?"
"Yeah. I think it would be fun to take your bow and arrows out to the woods and set up a target. Not only could you show me how it works, but it would give us a chance to be alone and talk. I am so impressed you know how to use something like that, and I would love the opportunity to see how it’s done."
I find myself blinking rapidly. It was not what I had planned. My intention was to take Hayley someplace elegant for lunch and lend a sympathetic ear while Hayley poured out all her troubles. I do not like it when my plans get changed. I do not—
Do you hear what I'm saying, Patsy? Joe's voice grouses in my mind. I can't live in dread of upsetting your carefully structured life. I can't constantly fear that this will be the change I suggest that upsets all your rules and routines.
I look at Hayley across the bar and recall what she said about being alone to talk. "Well...okay. I suppose we could do that."
"Excellent. When is a good day for you?"
Patsy flipped through her calendar. "How about Tuesday?"
"Tuesday it is. Two o'clock okay?"
"Yes. I will pick you up."
"It’ll be fun. I’m looking forward to it."
Yes. I straighten my shoulders. Yes. It will be fun.