“I don’t think you realize what you’re in for,” she warned. “Phineas is no joke. He’s kind of difficult.”
“Can I borrow a car?” I asked. “If I drive him home in his car, that means his car will be there and he can make another escape.”
“I’m sure you can use Brom’s truck,” she said. “And good call.”
“Like I said, not my first rodeo.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“You’re a guest. You shouldn’t have to be babysitting anyone—especially Phineas.”
“It’s fine. Go back to your guests. I better get the old grouch. I don’t want him causing trouble.”
We headed back inside, and sure enough, Phineas was doing all he could to stir up trouble.
“Got it,” I said and waved the bottle in front of him.
He frowned. “Looks like you’ve been into it.”
“Oh, you’re too good for an open bottle?” I scoffed. “I guess you don’t really want another drink.”
“Now, hold on.”
I heard Sylvie’s grunt, like she was impressed I could handle the old drunk so well. Again, she had no idea. I had been attending parties, galas, and every other social event with people that loved to drink. Our dad taught us early on how to appear to be drinking without actually drinking. I could handle my alcohol and I knew how to help others keep from getting out of control.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in Phineas Withers’ small apartment above the Northwood hardware store on Main Street. I was nursing a very modest pour of bourbon while he worked his way through what was probably his dozenth drink of the evening.
I glanced at the bottle and cringed. I would make sure he didn’t drink too much more. Sylvie hadn’t been entirely comfortable with me taking him home. She was worried I wouldn’t be able to find my way back and would be stuck spending the night with him.
I told her I would walk back to the lodge before I let that happen. That it wasnota date. Her laughter was delightful, making my sacrifice feel worthwhile. Hanging out for a bit with a drunk old timer wasn’t so bad if it made Sylvie happy.
The apartment was small, dusty, and clearly hadn’t been properly maintained in years. The furniture was outdated but sturdy, and every surface was covered with the kind of accumulated neglect that spoke of someone who’d given up caring about his surroundings a long time ago.
I would never admit I pitied him but I did. The guy had it rough. I didn’t know what his story was, but something told me things were hard. Lonely. I wondered if his grouchiness had resulted in a lonely life or if his lonely life had turned a decent man angry.
Framed photographs hung all over the living room walls. Pictures of Phineas from what were clearly his younger, happier days. In most of them, he had his arm around a petite woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.
There was my answer. Life had done this to him.
I stopped in front of one photograph on the mantelpiece that showed the two of them at what looked like a wedding, presumably their own, based on her white dress and his proud expression.
“She’s pretty,” I said, genuinely meaning it.
For the first time all evening, the old man’s harsh expression softened completely. “That’s my bride, Tilly. Prettiest gal in the world.”
I used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the dust off the frame, bringing the image into clearer focus. The woman in the photo had laugh lines around her eyes and the kind of face that suggested she’d been full of life and mischief.
“How did an old fart like you get a woman like that?” I asked, grinning at him.
To my relief, Withers grinned back a bit. “I wasn’t always old, and I wasn’t always such a fart.” He stared down into this bourbon. “But you know, I asked myself that question a lot. Why a woman like that would ever look twice at a man like me.” Hetook a drink, and when he put the glass down, his eyes were watery. “She gave me the best years of my life.”
I raised my glass. “To Tilly.”
He wiped his eyes quickly and lifted his drink. “Damn straight, to Tilly!”
We drank.
