I take a sip as she stares at me, I think for approval. The drink is delicious, and she’s right—it’s pretty weak.
“It’s great,” I say, lifting it to her. She fills her own glass with the same concoction, though she goes a little heavier with the vodka. She holds her glass up for us to toast, and we clink rims.
“To drunk men and all their bullshit,” she says, tossing back a big gulp, then running her arm over her lips.
“I bet you get some good ones in here,” I say, figuring this is where Coach Bastion got lit.
“Nothing but the best, even when it comes to drunks,” she grumbles.
She leaves her glass near me and begins to wipe down the bar.
“Can I help?” I offer.
She shakes her head.
“I just like the company.”
I nod.
Me too.
I nurse my drink and let my mind relax for the first time since Jayden fell asleep. Daisy loads two dishwashers before inventorying and storing the liquor, then moves on to counting the money from the register.
“You own this place, yeah?” I say, remembering what I read about Earl’s when I first arrived.
She nods with a smile.
“Yeah, it was my daddy’s. I mean, Earl is still alive, but he’s eighty, and not much for running a place where college kids and minor leaguers mix for no-good on weekends. And weekdays. And fucking mornings.”
She laughs out with a huff and stuffs a stack of bills into a yellow envelope before rejoining me to finish her drink.
“You’ve always lived here?” I ask.
She nods.
“It’s my home. And yeah, there are parts that are a bit . . . shall I say . . . rough around the edges?”
I chuckle at her framing of some of Sweetwater’s more interesting characteristics.
“I saw a guy pulling two goats in a wagon behind a tricycle the other day. He was maybe in his sixties. And the goats were pretty fat.” I shake my head, amused at the memory.
“That’s Jimmy. And yeah, those goats are his babies. His wife took the house. He lives in the trailer park by the highway. He got to keep the goats in their divorce,” she says.
“I bet you know all the characters.”
She nods again, then slides one of the stools around to her side of the bar and takes a seat. She props her chin in her hand and sets her gaze on me with a slight smirk on her lips.
“What’s your story?” she asks.
“Oh,” I cough out. I put my still half-filled drink down. Even weak, that’s probably enough. I shake my head.
“I don’t have much of a story. I mean, other than being a woman in a man’s world. But you get that,” I say, glancing behind me at the bar she runs.
“Yeah, I do. But also . . . you have a story. Remember what I told you about this place, everybody knows everything.” She squints one eye, and my stomach drops.
I draw in a deep breath, rubbing my suddenly moist palms on my thighs. I’m still wearing my practice clothes, and my hair is probably a mess. Plus, I was clearly leaving the apartment complex, and Daisy probably knows I don’t live there.
“You know Jayden Vargas, right?” I wince a bit, not sure why I’m opening up, but it’s too late to stop it now.
