From Beer to Eternity. Sherry Harris
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Vivi was a beautiful woman with thick silver hair and a gym-perfect body. Seventy had never looked so good. She wore gold, strappy wedge sandals that made my feet ache just looking at them, cropped white skinny jeans, and an off-the-shoulder, gauzy aqua top. I always felt a little messy when I was with her.
“A promise made is a promise kept.” I could hear my dad’s voice in my head as clear as if he were standing next to me. It was what kept me rooted here, even with Vivi’s dismissive attitude. I’d win her over sooner or later. Few hadn’t eventually succumbed to my winning personality or my big brown eyes. Eyes that various men had described as liquid chocolate, doelike, and one jerk who said they looked like mud pies after I turned him down for a date.
In my dreams, everyone succumbed to my personality. Reality was such a different story. Some people apparently thought I was an acquired taste. Kind of like ouzo, an anise-flavored aperitif from Greece, that Boone used to drink sometimes. I smiled at the memory.
“What are you grinning about?” Joaquín asked. Today he wore a neon-green Hawaiian shirt with a hot-pink hibiscus print.
“Nothing.” I couldn’t admit it was the thought of people succumbing to me. “Am I supposed to be wearing Hawaiian shirts to work?” I asked. He wore one every day. I’d been wearing T-shirts and shorts. No one had mentioned a dress code.
“You can wear whatever your little heart desires, as long as you don’t flash too much skin. Vivi wouldn’t like that.” He glanced over my blue tank top and shorts.
“But you wear Hawaiian shirts every day,” I said.
“Honey, you can’t put a peacock in beige.”
I laughed and started cutting the lemons and limes we used as garnishes. The juice from both managed to find the tiniest cut and burn in my fingers. But Vivi—don’t dare put a “Miss” in front of “Vivi,” despite the tradition here in the South—wasn’t going to chase me away by assigning me all the menial tasks, including cleaning the toilets, mopping the floors, and cutting the fruit. I was made of tougher stuff than that and had been since I was ten. To paraphrase the Blues Brothers movie, I was “on a mission from” Boone.
“What’d those poor little limes ever do to you?”
I looked up. Joaquín stood next to me with a garbage bag in his hand and a devilish grin on his face. He’d been a bright spot in a somber time. He smiled at me and headed out the back door of the bar.
“You’re cheating,” Buford yelled from his table near the retractable doors. He leaped up, knocking over his chair just as Vivi passed behind him. The chair bounced into Vivi, she teetered on her heels and then slammed to the ground, her head barely missing the concrete floor. The Sea Glass wasn’t exactly fancy.
Oh, no. Maybe incidents like this were why Boone thought I needed to be here. Why Vivi needed help. The man didn’t notice Vivi, still on the floor. Probably didn’t even realize he’d done it. Everyone else froze, while Buford grabbed the man across from him by the collar and dragged him out of his chair knocking cards off the table as he did.
I put down the knife and hustled around the bar. “Buford. You stop that right now.” I used the firm voice I occasionally had to use at the library. Vivi wouldn’t allow any gambling in here. Up to this point there hadn’t been any trouble.
Buford let go of his friend. I kept steaming toward him. “You knocked over Vivi.” I lowered my voice, a technique I’d learned as a librarian to diffuse situations. “Now, help her up and apologize.”
He looked down at me, his face red. I jammed my hands on my hips and lifted my chin. He was a good foot taller than me and outweighed me by at least one hundred pounds. I stood my ground. That would teach him to mess with a children’s librarian, even one on a leave of absence. I’d dealt with tougher guys than him. Okay, they had been five years old, but it still counted.
He turned to Vivi and helped her up. “I’m sorry, Vivi. How about I buy a round for the house?”
Oh, thank heavens. For a minute there, I thought he was going to punch me. Vivi looked down at her palms, red from where they’d broken her fall. “Okay. But you pull something like that again and you’re banned for life.”
CHAPTER 3
I expected a thanks from Vivi—that wasn’t asking too much, right?—but she swept by me to the back, and I heard her office door close. Soundly. Winning her over, figuring her out for that matter, wasn’t going to be easy. Joaquín had returned and looked at me, eyes wide. I took more orders and he started mixing drinks—not that there were that many people in here midafternoon. I was more of a beer and wine drinker, so I’d only made a couple of cocktails since I’d started here. And always under Joaquín’s watchful eye, so I stood aside again today. Because the drinks were on Buford’s tab, everyone had ordered expensive gins, bourbons, and rums. Buford complained loudly about that, but everyone ignored him.
I probably wasn’t the best person to work in a bar because the smell of whiskey nauseated me. That was thanks to a bad experience in high school instigated by my two older brothers, who thought they were hilarious. They weren’t. Instead of thinking about that,
I focused on Joaquín’s strong hands. They were a blur of motion as he fixed the drinks. In no time, everyone was back in their seats, most facing the ocean. Except for the women at the bar, who continued to flirt with Joaquín. And Elwell, who nursed his beer.
Fans whirled and wobbled above, causing the warm ocean breeze to mingle with the arctic air blasting from air conditioners in the back of the bar. The resulting mix made it quite pleasant in here. I added lemons, limes, or cherries to garnish the drinks, as instructed by Joaquín.
“Good work, by the way,” he said.
“I just stood out of your way and watched.” Being praised for adding fruit to drinks was demoralizing after finishing college, getting a master’s degree in library science, and working in the library full-time.
“I meant with Buford.” Joaquín pointed at the man who’d knocked over Vivi.
“Vivi didn’t seem to think so.”
Joaquín turned his beautiful eyes to me. “She doesn’t like to think she needs help. If she could run this place by herself, she would. But deep down, she’s grateful.”
“Yeah, deep, deep down.” But it must be why Boone wanted me to come here. When we were in college, where we’d met, he spent all his holidays and summers working here. He loved this beach and his grandmother. The beach I understood. Maybe his grandmother would grow on me. Or me on her.
Elwell cocked his head toward me. The armadillo shell didn’t move. “What’s keeping you here?”
I guess he’d overheard my conversation with Joaquín. “I’m waiting for a part for my car.” I shrugged. “Finding parts for a vintage car isn’t easy or cheap. And they take forever to arrive.” It was a big fat lie. The one I’d been telling over and over. It was what convinced Vivi to let me work here after Boone’s memorial service once I realized things weren’t going the way I’d planned.
I’d inherited my vintage Volkswagen Beetle from my grandmother. It was actually fine, but Vivi didn’t need to know that, or anyone else for that matter. “It’s limping along for now, but no way would it make it all the way back to Chicago.” I was almost starting to believe my cover story. I’d had to do something when I realized Vivi didn’t want me here and Boone did. Talk about a conundrum.
Elwell studied my face, which I knew would give away nothing—thanks, brothers. Their years of torment turned “show no pain” into my personal motto, and had enabled me to quickly end their one-sided tickle wars when I was a kid.
I served the drinks. My last stop was at Buford and his partner’s table. They were back to playing cards as if nothing had happened. I dropped off Buford’s beer. His shaggy-haired partner cleared his throat and narrowed his