Page 2 of Pumpkin to Talk About

She squeals as I pick her up, tickling her sides. “I said ‘sheet,’ you little rat!”

“It’s… the intent… that matters…” she says between breathless laughter.

I tickle her harder. “You sound like your mom.”

Speaking of the devil, a robe-clad Annie appears in the doorway to the kitchen. Her bottle-dyed blonde hair is matted, and she rubs at bleary, blood-shot eyes. “Can you two keep it down?” she moans. Without looking at us, she takes a glass down from a cupboard, fills it with water at the sink, chugs it, and drops it in with the rest of the dirty dishes. A pan clatters to the floor, and she just leaves it there.

Nicholas winces. “There’s three of us, Mom,” he says. “Uncle Mike is here.”

Annie finally looks at me, blinking rapidly. Suddenly, her shoulders slump, and she buries her face in her hands as her body convulses with sobs.

“Oh, shit.” I do, actually, curse that time, but a wide-eyed Claire doesn’t correct me. In four steps, I cross the threshold and wrap my arms around my little sister. She grips my shirt with her slim hands—have they gotten thinner since the last time I saw her?—and bawls her eyes out.

“It’s okay,” I croon as I rub her back. “I’ve got you. We’ll get you back on your feet in no time.”

“I don’t even have a job,” she wails into my chest. “What am I going to do?”

“One step at a time, Annie.” I look over her head at the clutter. “The first one is to get this place in working order. Kids, time for some chores. I want your rooms cleaned and your toys picked up from the living room. Whoever can do it the fastest wins ice cream after dinner tonight.”

Those kids take off at lightning speed, their heavy footsteps sounding throughout the whole house. Annie’s sobs have lightened, though she surreptitiously rubs her snotty nose on the fabric of my t-shirt.

“Fuck, Annie. That’s so gross,” I groan.

“That’s fifty cents!” Nicholas cries from his room.

“Dammit,” I curse under my breath. I’m going to have to find several rolls of quarters.

“Seventy-five,” Annie sniffles, then sighs into me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” I say, and it’s true. I’d go to the ends of the Earth to help my baby sister out of a tough spot. But the walls of this tiny town are already closing in on me, and I hope I can get her back on her feet quickly so I can get out of here and back to my life in the Midwest.

Chapter 2

Belle

My boss’s terrible Halloween playlist crackles through the shitty bar speakers. As if the songs from horror movie soundtracks weren’t bad enough, they keep going in and out like they’re being played from an ancient record player rather than the MP3 player hooked up to the AUX cable behind the bar.

To be fair, that thing is from the early aughts, so an ancient record player might actually work better.

I jiggle the cord until I get consistent sound, then back away slowly so as not to upset the delicate balance. Old Man Peña gives an affirming nod and a grunt from his barstool at the far corner before shaking his empty beer bottle in my direction. I pop the top off another and slide it down the bar into his gnarled, cupped hand. He nods again before taking a drink.

And this is why I love tending bar at The Broken Spur. The weeknight townies are familiar enough that I don’t even have to talk to them anymore. It’s mostly just me, the horror movie soundtrack, and my thoughts.

But because the universe has it out for me, the door to the bar bursts open and a gaggle of men spill in from the street. A loud gaggle at that. There are about ten of them, and they’re all pounding each other on the back and shouting in a competition to be heard. I almost turn up the music, but I’m not sure which sound is worse. And I’m pretty sure if the music gets louder, they’ll just match it anyway.

I recognize about half of the guys from high school, which is saying something because my twenty-year reunion has just come and gone. I didn’t go. I see enough of these assholes here; I didn’t need to see them again in the Ironwood High School gymnasium while we all pretended to have amounted to something. They’ve made it clear that they think they’re better than me, but we’re all stuck here in the same small town we grew up in which puts us on a pretty even playing field as far as I’m concerned.

As if to illustrate this point, Brian Turner saunters up to the bar and leans sloppily against it to look down his nose at me. Even in the musty air of the bar, I can smell the booze rolling off of him. This is clearly not these guys’ first stop. He drags his eyes over me, and I have to fight the urge to audibly gag. He is a paying customer, after all, and the owner, Carter, would be none too happy if I pissed them off.

“Hey darlin’,” Brian drawls. “Can we get a round of shots for me and my friends here?”

I plaster on a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Sure thing. Any particular kind of shot y’all are looking for?”

He licks his lips, and at that, I do shudder. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice. “Surprise us,” he sneers. He leaves his credit card on the bar and makes his way back to his friends.

I take a bottle of tequila off the bottommost shelf and line up ten shot glasses on the bar. I dole out the liquor, drop a bowl of lime wedges and a couple of saltshakers next to them for good measure, then punch in the top shelf tequila price before charging Brian’s card. They’re too drunk to care how much their shots cost, and it feels like a small win. They surely won’t be tipping much, anyway.

They all come over to the bar to grab their tequila. Before they toss them back, they all raise their tiny glasses and shout, “To freedom!” Brian slaps one of the guys on the back—Jacob Adams, I think, though he’s looking a lot worse for the wear than the last time he was in here, and it’s dark so it’s hard to say for sure. Every one of them grimaces when they take their shots. Only two bother with the lime wedges. The rest try to man through it with a few coughs and breaths sucked in between their teeth. I start handing out beer chasers, which Brian also puts on his card. When they finally move to the far side of the bar, I can breathe a little easier again.