How We Deal With Gravity(36)
“Hey, Avery?” Mason’s voice calls from the kitchen door. My heart speeds up the second I recognize it, and out of instinct I grip Claire’s hand.
“Yeah, just a second,” I say, standing and checking my shirt, making sure it’s tucked in completely. I brush back the fine hairs, adjust my headband, and get a reassuring smile from Claire that I look somewhat put together.
I try to keep my face normal—not smile too big, not chew my lip with nerves. The closer I get to Mason, though, the more uneasy I get. He’s scratching at his neck, and he seems unsure about something.
“Whatcha need?” I say, my stomach now completely twisted on itself.
“You, uh…you have someone here to see you,” he says. I don’t like the face he’s making, and even though I can’t read it, I can glean enough to tell that whatever—whoever—is waiting for me on the other side of this door is about to change the course of my day.
“Oooookayyyyy…” I say, looking over his shoulder and then back to his face, trying to get one more read. At first, I see nothing but an empty bar. Maybe it’s someone from the school, maybe Max had an issue and the principal stopped by—that’s okay, I can work with that. I knew there would be bumps along the way.
I scan both ends of the restaurant area. Nothing. For some reason, not seeing someone is making my worry intensify, and I’m starting to feel sick. I start to move to the main door when Barb arrives and opens it wide. She says, “Hello,” and I nod at her with a smile. But that smile lasts only a fraction of a second, because behind her, I catch a glimpse of my guest while the door is closing.
Adam. I haven’t seen him since the day he left—more than four years ago. I don’t know where he’s been, and I’ve told myself for the last couple of years that I don’t care. But right now, more than any urge I’ve ever felt, I want to run to him, slam him hard in the chest, and knock the life from him—just like he did to me.
Mason
I never liked Adam Price. Oh who the hell am I kidding—I never really gave two shits about him. But now…today…I f*cking hate the man. He’s smug—he looked smug the second he pulled up in that giant black Chevy Tahoe with blinged-out rims. He had on these expensive sunglasses, and when he pulled them off his face, he actually looked around to make sure people were noticing him. Arrogant *!
The only thing I can take comfort in right now is those few words I heard Ray whisper under his breath when he pulled up. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” he said. I may have disappointed Ray a time or two, but he’s never wanted to kill me.
I feel so goddamned helpless sitting here in the bar. Ray walked in the second Avery walked outside to talk to Adam. I could tell he wanted to stay with his daughter—have her back. But he also didn’t want to pry. He’s pacing still, moving from the small window by the front door, to the storeroom, and back again, all the while muttering a choice set of words.
Ray saw him first. He sent me in to fetch Avery, and told me he needed to keep Adam outside, away from Max. Before I left, I heard him lay into the man that was once his son-in-law. He didn’t touch him, but his fist was raised. Ray may be an old man, but that fist is experienced—before he used to hire bouncers, he used to take care of funny business at Dusty’s himself.
“I’m surprised he didn’t just shoot him,” Claire says, leaning over me to get her own good look in through the window. I planted myself here the second Avery went outside, and I have no intention of leaving.
“People say I’m the *,” I laugh.
“No one says you’re the *, Mason,” Claire says, reaching into her purse for her keys. She’s keeping Max inside, not letting him leave until his dad—who he probably doesn’t remember and hasn’t seen in years—leaves.
“Oh, they do. I know that one does,” I say, tilting my head to the window. Claire looks out again and stares at the conversation happening outside for a while before answering.
“I won’t lie. Yeah, you’ve been the * a few times for that one. But she’s got you in a whole different place now. Don’t screw it up,” Claire’s bluntness takes me by surprise. She taps her keys on the counter and pulls her bag over her shoulder before heading over to sit with Max at the booth. He’s busy on his iPad, oblivious to the domestic minefield threatening to explode all around him. I should go sit with him, too, but I’m stuck on watching over Avery.
Seconds later, the door swings open, and Avery walks in. She holds her hand up to both Claire and me to tell us she’s fine, but it’s so clear she’s not. Her face is red, and her teeth couldn’t be clenched any tighter with a vice grip. She walks straight through the bar into the back, and Claire and I follow.
“Seriously guys, I’m fine,” she says, her face buried in her locker. She’s rummaging through her work apron, and pulling out old Dusty’s shirts, but eventually she just stops, and her entire body slumps forward.
“I can’t believe that guy! What did he have to say for himself?” I let Claire ask the questions, and just lean against the wall, trying to be barely visible. I probably shouldn’t even be in here. This is something best left to her family—and Claire is like family. I’m nobody. But God, do I want to be somebody for her.