“I do tend to fall in love too fast, don’t I?” Violasniffled.
Bernie walked her to the door. “Yes, you do, but now you know what your problem is, you can tackle it.”
Viola blew her a kiss and left with a smile on her smudged face.
“Okay, kids,” Bernie said as she locked the door. “It’s past time for our Saturday night therapy session. I was about to pour the whiskey when this little problem came up.”
Chapter 12
Clara kicked off her shoes on the way through the apartment, picked up the remains of her cigar from the night before, and sighed when she sank down into one of the chairs in the backyard. “Before you leave, will you teach me how to take care of problems like Viola?”
Bernie sat down beside her. “Nope, but you will learn it as you go. Listening to others and helping them if they ask for your advice is part of a bartender’s job. Sometimes they just need to talk, and you don’t have to say or try to fix anything at all. The trials you have been through in your own life have given you the understanding of other folks, and also the knowledge to say the right things to help them through any crisis. Just lean on the emotions of how you have felt in any given situation.”
“Those are some good thoughts,” Nash said.
“Thanks, but it comes from years and years of listening to folks’ problems,” Bernie said and lit up her cigar. “Any bartender worth his salt should be given a complimentary license to practice psychiatry after their first year.”
Clara nodded in agreement. “I sure heard some stories—both sad and happy. Looking back, they were probably the very thing that helped me when Kent tossed me out. I figured if those people could survive through their deepest pain and talk to a stranger, then I most definitely could do the same. But I didn’t count on my own family telling me that I had to meet their demands before they could lend me a helping hand. Thank you again, Aunt Bernie.”
Bernie blew a puff of smoke out into the air before she spoke. “What made you think they would help you?”
“To begin with, I’m family,” Clara answered with a shrug. “And then when Myra wanted a big wedding last year, I cleaned out my savings account so she could have the dress she wanted.”
“Honey, that taught you a valuable lesson,” Bernie said.
“And that is?”
“Money can buy material things, but it cannot buy love,” Bernie answered.
“I thought the parents paid for their daughter’s wedding,” Nash said.
Bernie frowned and took a sip of her whiskey. “Why would your folks let you do that?”
Clara shrugged a second time. “Nana and Mother said that the wedding should be simple, since she was marrying a preacher. There was a lot of talk about being humble and setting an example for other young women.”
Bernie chuckled. “I can hear it all now, but I bet Myra had champagne taste on a Kool-Aid budget when it came to the dress.”
“Yes, she did, and when we went shopping for it, Mama refused to pay for it. Since she graduated from college, Myra has been working as the church secretary, and with her tastes, she barely makes it to the end of each paycheck. When she tried the dress of her dreams on, she cried when she saw the price tag, so I bought it for her as her wedding present. I thought that would surely carry a little weight when I needed help.”
“And you found out real quick that giving your older sister the money for that dress did not mend one of the fences between you and the rest of the family, didn’t you?” Bernie asked.
Clara swallowed down the lump in her throat and swatted at a fly buzzing around her face. “Too bad cigar smoke doesn’t chase away these pesky critters as well as mosquitoes. To answer your question, Aunt Bernie, no it did not fix anything between us. Mama was mad at me for buying the dress. Myra said thank you, but she didn’t ask me to be a part of the wedding party. I got an invitation two days before the event, and I went, but the reserved pews were too crowded with all their church family, so I was seated near the back with the less fortunate folks.”
“I can’t imagine having kinfolks like that,” Nash said. “It hasn’t been all wonderful with my folks. They divorcedwhen I was a little boy, and Granny and Grandpa had a big hand in raising me, but if I needed a place, my dad and stepmother or my mom and her husband would take me in.”
The heat of the last of Clara’s whiskey traveling from her mouth to her stomach was nothing compared to the sparks she felt coming from Nash. He was at least a foot away from her, but that didn’t stop the electricity between them. “It would take a pure miracle to change the attitudes of angels against those who don’t have wings,” she finally said.
“Amen,” Bernie agreed and stood up. “I’m going to turn in. You kids be sure you lock up. Good night.”
“’Night,” Nash said.
“I think she might be trying to play matchmaker between us,” Clara whispered when Bernie had gone inside.
“My grandfather is doing the same,” Nash said out the side of his mouth. “Shall we humor them a little? After all, they are all getting up in years.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Clara asked.
“Well, to start with, you could go to church with me and my folks tomorrow and then have Sunday dinner with us at the ranch,” Nash replied.
