Chapter 50
Gabriel
I pull up to the building at nine thirty in the evening. There are cars lined up and down the main street, but I find a spot only a block away. Stepping out of my car, I adjust my suit coat and button up the front. A gust of wind whips down the street tousles my hair. I need a haircut.
Checking to make sure I’ve got my wallet, I stride to the front door. Loud music and raucous voices can be heard from the sidewalk. It must be quite a nice celebration. I still don’t know what she’s celebrating. A class reunion? An anniversary? Cammy wouldn’t tell me and I’m not sure why. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.
I open the door and the scent of beer and fried foods hits me square in the jaw. Stepping inside, I see that the place is, in fact, packed with people. There are so many, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get to the bar without bumping into people as I go.
“I’ve come this far.” Using my body to work through the crowd, I make it to the bar with only one pant leg and my right sleeve drenched in beer. It’s okay, beer washes out of wool, right? When the bartender sees me, she ignores everyone else waving cash at her and makes a beeline for me. She’s cute in an Iowa farm girl kind of way. She’s even got braids in her dark hair, a flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off and ripped jeans. The part that doesn’t fit my notion of a farm girl is the array of tattoos she’s got on her left arm. “Well, you’re new,” she says in a flirtatious tone. “What can I get you, handsome?”
I look down at the worn bar top and the stools covered mostly in foam and little else. I’d love to ask if they have 12-year-old Macallan, but I’m guessing they won’t have that. “Beer.”
“We’ve got Bud, Coors, Busch, an Iowa micro-brew called Blonde Fatale, and another called Red Rambler.”
“Red Rambler, please.”
“Right on. Be right back.”
Setting the beer down, she leans forward rewarding me with a view of her chest. They look like fine breasts, but they’re small and, well, they don’t appeal. “So, what’re you in town for?”
“I heard this was a Cartwright party of some sort.”
Her face changes in seconds. What was once a smile has turned sour. “I guess you could call it a party. It’s more a celebration of life.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s the guest of honor?”
“Lexie’s mom.”
“Oh, yeah? Where’s she?” I say looking around the interior of the bar. “Lexie?”
“No, her mom.”
She doesn’t answer. Her face reddens, and I see her eyes start to water. “You’re an asshole.”
“Huh?” Okay, I know I’m an asshole on a normal day, but I didn’t mean to be just then. What am I missing?
“Yo! Assface?” says a drunk guy next to me.
“Yes?” I say warily.
“Lexie’s mom is dead. One year ago, today. This is a celebration of her life. Her dad threw this party. Thought it’d be cathartic or some such bullshit.”
“She died?” I’m going to kill Cammy.
“Car accident. She swerved to avoid a deer and rolled her car. Died instantly.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
“Lauren Cartwright was an amazing woman. Well-respected in the community, doting mother, devoted wife. She had a wicked sense of humor and cooked the best fucking chili. She won first place at the state fair four years in a row.”
“She sounds incredible.”
“Damn straight, she was. Broke that little family to bits when she died like that. Rick hasn’t been the same since. Turned to the bottle. Luckily, little Lexie left to follow her dreams of living in the big city and doing that marketing shit she went to school to study.”
“How do you know all this?”
He blinks at me. “I live here.”
