Bittersweet Homecoming (18 page)

Kambria is beaming at me. “I missed you, silly.”

I say the first words that come to my mind: “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for over a week.”

“I lost my phone.” She sticks out her lower lip. “It’s probably spare parts by now or lodged between the cushions of a booth at some club never to be seen again.”

She lost her phone. That would explain why her phone has recently gone from ringing without answer to her voicemail immediately picking up. The battery was dead.

I swallow hard. “So you didn’t get any of my messages?”

She shakes her head. “No. Why?”

I hear someone clear her throat. Charlotte stands behind the bar with a peculiar smile planted on her face. “Who’s your friend, Abby?”

“Oh, uh …”

Kambria sticks out an eager hand before I can utter more than a few unintelligible syllables. “Hi, I’m Kambria.” They shake hands across the bar. “I’m Abigail’s girlfriend.”

The handshake abruptly ends, and I make an involuntary noise.

Kambria frowns at our reaction. “I’m sorry. Did I just Out you to the bartender? I thought everyone in your hometown knew.”

Charlotte’s hazel eyes are trained on me. I don’t like how it feels—like a bug under a magnifying glass. I’m sure I’m going to combust into flames. “No, you’re fine,” she says. “Everyone knows.”

I grab Kambria’s elbow and gently try to pull her away from the bar. “We should be going.” With my free hand, I dig money out of my back pocket and toss the bill on the bar.

Charlotte pins the twenty-dollar bill to the bar top and slides the crumpled money back in my direction. “Your money’s no good here.” Her tone and face are unreadable.

I clear my throat uncomfortably. “No, I insist,” I say as I start to push the money back towards her.

Charlotte clamps her hand around my wrist, and I expect the worst. “No,” she says slowly and also noticeably chillier. “
I
insist. In fact, let me buy both of you a drink.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Kambria coos beside me. “I love American small town hospitality.”

She doesn’t know Charlotte, and she doesn’t know the sound of her voice. She doesn’t know that I’m seconds away from being crushed like a bug. Charlotte still hasn’t let go of my wrist. I’m afraid to move or even to protest the free alcohol. She isn’t hurting me; she just continues to hold me in place as if she knows the moment she lets go I’ll scamper away, proverbial tail between my legs.

“Kambria was it?” Charlotte asks.

Her head bounces affirmatively like a bobble doll.

Charlotte finally releases me. “Sit down, Abby,” she says, making purposeful eye contact. She uses what I can only describe as a Mom-tone, even though I don’t remember much of my own mother. She pulls another Labatt from the cooler and sets it in front of me.

“What can I get you to drink, hun?” she asks in Kambria’s direction.

Kambria bellies up to the bar and perches on an empty stool beside me. “What do you have for white wines?”

“I’ve got a chardonnay and a pinot grigio.”

“I’ll try the pinot.”

Charlotte fills the drink order, pouring a generous serving of white wine, and sets the long-stemmed glass in front of Kambria. “Your accent—South African?” she guesses.

Kambria practically squeals in delight. “Most people don’t guess that. This one,” she says, playfully nudging me in the ribs, “thought I was Australian when we first met.”

I try to smile, but I know it probably looks like a grimace. I desperately need to get Kambria out of here.

“How long ago was that?” Charlotte grabs an empty beer bottle and tosses it into the recycling bin behind the bar with enough force that I can hear the glass shatter.

Kambria sets a pink-painted fingernail to her mouth in thought. “About five months now, I think. Boy, time flies, huh?”

Charlotte continues the casual conversation. “How long are you in town for?” I picture her a dangerous predator, luring Kambria into her web of hospitality and kindness before attacking us both.

“Only a few days. Unlike some people,” she jerks her head in my direction, “I actually have a job and an office I need to get back to.”

My hands wrap around my long-necked beer bottle like I’m strangling it. “I have a job.”

“Of course you do, sweetie,” Kambria replies.

I lift my head to appraise Charlotte. I can see her working the back muscles of her jaw like she’s chewing on an oversized piece of gum. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she says in a mumbled rush. “Welcome to Grand Marais.”

She spins on her heel and walks directly for the door that leads to the kitchen.

The swinging door is still moving back and forth with Charlotte’s exit when I turn to Kambria. “How did you find me?” The question sounds like dialogue from a cop drama, and in this situation, I’m the criminal on the lam.

“Your sister said you were down here. You guys don’t look alike at all.”

“No, we don’t.”

She doesn’t elaborate on how she found my dad’s house, but I suppose in this world of over-sharing and saturation of information, those details are readily found.

“I feel like you’re not happy to see me,” she frowns.

I anxiously shred the paper label on my bottle of beer and cast furtive glances in the direction of the kitchen door. Charlotte has yet to return. “I am,” I weakly insist. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

Her hand comes to rest on my bobbing knee and she gives my leg a gentle squeeze. My leg jerks violently at the touch, and her hand is dislodged.

“I can’t do that,” I quietly hiss. “Not here.”

“I thought you were Out.”

“I am. But it’s one thing to know that I’m gay and something else entirely for them to
see
me be gay.”

Her bottom lip pops out. “Okay. Do you want to go?”

I hop up from the stool like my pants are on fire. “Yes.”

My eyes fall to the closed door again. There’s a circular window at the top, but I’ve seen no movement or sign of Charlotte since she disappeared into the kitchen.

Despite what Charlotte had said about buying us drinks, I leave the original twenty-dollar bill on the bar. Kambria’s eyebrows scrunch together and she stares at the money, but she doesn’t say anything about it. She leaves her wine glass on the bar, its contents largely untouched. My beer remains unconsumed as well, and we leave.

In the parking lot outside of the bar, the night air is insufferably humid. I don’t remember it being so oppressive when I first arrived. I know Kambria is eager to get back to my dad’s house, but I can’t leave without trying to talk to Charlotte first.

“I have to go back,” I blurt out.

Kambria turns to me. “What?”

My brain runs rampant, trying to come up with a reason why I can’t leave just yet. I make a big show of patting the pockets of my pants. “I, uh, I left my keys in the bar.”

“Want me to wait for you?” she asks.

“No.” My reply is suspiciously quick even to my ears, and I’m sure she heard it, too. “It’ll just be a second,” I insist. “I’ll see you back at my dad’s house.”

She hesitates, and for a moment I worry I’ve blown my cover. I’m not cut out for this double life of deception. But finally she nods and gets into her rental car. I walk back to the bar, doing my best not to look too desperate to get back inside as quickly as I can.

Inside the bar, Charlotte is still missing, and it’s clear from the empty glasses and bottles stacking up on the bar top that she hasn’t come back from the kitchen since I left. No one gives me a second glance when I walk behind the bar and knock on the swinging door that leads to the kitchen. There’s no response from the other side, so I take a deep breath and push the door open.

The kitchen is small. The bar menu is limited and most people come for the alcohol, not for the food. There’s a deep fryer and a large cooktop that produces adequate cheeseburgers and grilled cheese.

The room smells strongly of fish. Charlotte is by herself in the kitchen, breaking down the catch of the day. Scales and guts remain on the cutting board, and I eyeball the filleting knife that she wields with uncomfortable dexterity. I wonder if she’s imaging slicing off my skin instead.

I clear my throat so as not to startle her.

She looks up from the butcher block, wide-eyed and wild. “What?” she demands.

I jerk my thumb towards the bar behind the closed kitchen door. “I think your patrons are getting thirsty out there.”

“There’s other bars in town if they don’t like the wait. They’re free to leave and so are you.”

“Can we talk?”

“No.” Her tone tells me she’s in no mood to negotiate.

“Please, Charlotte.”

I wince when she hacks off the head of a large fish. The knife is impressive and she wields it like an axe.

She continues to avoid eye contact as she filets the next fish. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m at work and I’m busy.”

A curse word slips out and she sticks her index finger into her mouth.

I take an involuntary step forward. “Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?”

“Are you a doctor now?” Charlotte coolly asks. “Did you lie about being a writer, too?”

My arms flap uselessly at my sides. “Charlotte—”

“Go, Abby.” She tucks her head into her chest and continues to butcher the fish.

When she continues to ignore me, I finally leave, heartsick and repentant.

The first floor of my dad’s house is lit up when my car pulls up the long driveway. Kambria’s rental is parked next to my sister’s car. A feeling of foreboding sits heavily on my chest as I climb the four steps that lead to the front porch and use my house key to enter.

I hear the low murmur of voices inside. Emily and Kambria are in the living room. I don’t see my dad, but it’s late, so he’s probably asleep. Their conversation stops when they see me in the front foyer.

“Hey,” I announce my arrival.

I look between my sister and Kambria, but nothing in their faces reveals what they’ve been talking about. Kambria smiles at me, but Emily looks less than impressed.

“I’m going to sleep.” Emily stands from the couch and tugs on the front of her plaid pajama pants. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.” She stares me down as she turns the corner and ascends the stairs to her upstairs bedroom.

I know exactly what Emily wants us to talk about. I haven’t explicitly told her what happened between Charlotte and me, but from my spotty hours at home, I’m sure she’s been able to guess.

“Your sister seems nice,” Kambria remarks.

“What were you guys talking about?” I ask.

“Nothing much,” Kambria shrugs. “Girl stuff.” She pats the couch cushion beside her, inviting me to sit.

I continue to stand in the living room archway, my key ring clenched in my hand. I want to go back to the bar and try to talk to Charlotte again, but I know nothing will be accomplished tonight. Emotions are too raw and too fresh. “I’m really tired,” I say, which isn’t a lie.

“Okay.” She bounces up from the couch. “Let’s go to bed.”

She walks past me and begins to climb the stairs. She moves around my dad’s house with an uneasy familiarity. “Your bedroom is adorable,” she calls over her shoulder as she mounts the staircase. “The military posters were a bit of a surprise though.” When she notices I’m not following her up the stairs, she stops and turns. “You coming?”

“We’re not married.” My voice is devoid of all emotion. “I sleep in the den.”

She blinks once. “Are you being serious?”

“My dad has rules.”

“But I came all this way,” she frowns. Her fingers curl lightly around the banister. “I haven’t seen you in over a week.”

“I’m sorry.” The words are useless and empty at this point. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I’m like a robot removing the cushions from the couch in the den and pulling the foldable bed out of its hatch. The mattress springs and underused metal joints of the bed frame squeak and groan. I find a set of sheets, musty smelling but serviceable. The den smells like cedar and my dad’s cologne. Growing up we rarely used the room, and it had become a catchall for furniture that didn’t fit elsewhere and storage space for things that in other houses would have gone in a basement.

It’s a restless night. Every squeak and creak from upstairs jolts me awake, and after bar time, I wait for the phone call or the knock on the front door that never comes.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My dad and Emily are having coffee in the kitchen when I finally roll out of bed. I’ve been awake for hours, but I stay in the den, procrastinating on starting the day and facing the consequences of my bad decisions. My lower back hurts from the uncomfortable pull out couch. There’s a support bar down the center of the bed frame that dug into me all night. Regardless, I wouldn’t have gotten much sleep. My brain was too cluttered with should haves and what ifs.

The kitchen counters are still littered with unidentifiable electronic pieces, but none of them look new, and I don’t notice anything else missing from the countertop. Kambria’s visit shattered the make believe life I’d been living with Charlotte, but maybe it’s put a stop to Emily’s appliance destruction, if only temporarily.

My dad pours coffee into a clean ceramic cup and silently passes it to me. Both he and Emily are reading the newspaper and their avoidance of the elephant in the room—namely me—is obnoxious.

“Will one of you say something?” I huff.

Emily looks over the top of the local news. “What would you like us to say?”