She mopped her cheeks with the hem of her cloak. “This is the part where you wait in silence until I unload all my feelings, isn’t it? I’ve read a few books, you know.”
“Hm.”
“I wasn’tsupposedto feel this way.”
“That so? Who says?”
“I thought forsureyou’d do the silence thing.”
Cal shrugged. “Can if you like. Just greasin’ the wheels. Speakin’ of.” He rummaged in his overall pocket and withdrew a flask. He spun the cap off, sniffed it, and took a slug of whatever was inside. He passed it to Fern.
She took it, and without pausing at all, put it to her lips and tipped it back. The liquor hit her throat with a quick burn and her belly with a slow warmth that made her eyes water.
Fern coughed and returned the flask. Wiping her eyes with her cloak again, she said, “Okay. Consider me greased. I just . . . I feel . . .empty. And it seems like that’s my fault. But I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t even know what I did wrong? If there was a choice that I made somewhere along the road that led me to this, I sure as shit don’t know what in the hells it was.”
“Seems your shop is turnin’ out fine,” observed Cal, tilting his head back toward it.
Fern snorted. “Better than fine. And that makes itworse. I figured a change of scene, an old friend, new acquaintances, it’d be something like a fresh breeze in a stale room . . . I leaned on the kindness of others to get here, it didn’t fix what I wanted fixed, and now I’mungratefulto boot.”
She took the proffered flask again.
It traveled back and forth between them while Cal ruminated on that. Eventually, he pursed his lips and ventured, “Didn’t get the impression Viv thought she was doin’ anythin’ more than helpin’ a friend open a business. Maybe allow that she wasn’t thinkin’ of . . . fresh breezes, or what have you.”
“Does it matter? I don’t know if I can keep doing this. But I don’t know if I canadmitthat to her, either. ‘Oh, hey, Viv, thanks for all the help, sorry it didn’t work out, but I’m questioning my very existence, and I can’t keep on this way. So sorry!’”
“Any reason you can’t say ’xactly that?”
“I . . . well,obviouslyI can’t say . . . what?” Fern spluttered through a mouthful of whiskey.
Cal shrugged again. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“She hates me and never wants to see me again?”
“Remind me how long it was the two of you didn’t trade a word?”
Fern gaped at him, her belly afire and head woolly with liquor.
“Awful quiet stretch for a friendship,” Cal continued. “Longer’n most could stand. Seemed to survive okay though. Sturdy, I expect.”
“All right, setting that aside, even though I amnotsaying I agree with you, what the hells do I do if I’m not doing . . .this? Who would I even be?” She stabbed both paws toward the shop.
“Seems to me Viv used to hack things up, and now she makes coffee. She’s still Viv though, I guess. You’d know better’n me though, considerin’.”
“I need some more of that. Seems to be working,” said Fern, extending a paw for the flask as a welcome cocoon of drunkenness enfolded her. “And it sure as hells beats figuring out a new career in an alley in the middle of the night.”
Cal considered her before reluctantly handing the whiskey over once more. But not before taking another swig himself. “Never really was one for givin’ advice. I’m more the askin’ questions type.” He leveled a finger at her. Fern had trouble focusing on it. “But I’m gonna break that rule and say you should talk to Viv. Tomorrow. Tell her what you told me. Don’t figure you’re gonna find anybody with a better idea of how you’re feelin’ right now.”
Fern considered the mouth of the flask, which seemed very black and big all of a sudden. She sighed, and the alcohol on her breath curled her whiskers. “I guess maybe you’re right.”
“Hm.”
“How do you turn ahminto whatever you want it to mean? How does that work?”
“Hob secret. Now, pass that back while there’s still somethin’ in it.”
She did.
“Promise you’ll tell her,” Cal said with an uncharacteristic earnestness.
