The Other Woman's Son. Darlene Gardner
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I’d really love is a big old glass of wine,” she said wryly, “but I suppose tonic water will have to do. Half a glass, please.”
“Coming right up,” he said.
As he filled the glass part way and topped it with a lemon, he mentally reviewed what he knew of her dialysis routine. The physically taxing treatments took her out of commission for the rest of the day, but she usually bounced back on off days. She’d settled on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays for the treatments, so today was an off day. Still, if her rate of kidney failure had increased…
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked as he handed her the tonic water.
“Shh.” She brought a finger to her rosebud lips and raised the light-colored eyebrows that marked her as a true blonde. “If your employees hear you, they’ll ask me how I’m feeling every single time they see me, the same as you do.”
He couldn’t argue her point. Most of the people who worked for him knew Darcy, either from when she’d helped out at the bar last summer or her impromptu visits.
He was careful to keep his voice down. “I wouldn’t keep asking if you promised to tell me when you don’t feel well.”
“I feel fine today,” she said.
It didn’t escape his notice that she’d qualified her statement with “today” and that she hadn’t made any promises. “Then what’s wrong?”
“Am I that transparent?” She rolled her eyes, seemingly more at herself than him. “It’s Kenny.”
“Is he parking the car?”
“I don’t know where he is. We were supposed to hang out, but he cancelled on me at the last minute.”
Clay felt his back muscles tense. First Kenny let Darcy down on her first day of dialysis and now this. “Did he say why?”
“He thinks he might be coming down with something.”
Clay hadn’t forgiven the younger man for not realizing how much Darcy needed his support during her first dialysis treatment, but he couldn’t fault Kenny for canceling tonight’s date. Not when kidney disease compromised his sister’s immune system.
“You can’t afford to get a cold, Darcy,” Clay said.
“I can’t live in a bubble, either.” If another female had answered him that way, she would have sounded snappish. But Darcy managed to convey her point with wry good cheer. “I didn’t feel like staying in, so I called a couple girlfriends but they already had plans. So here I am.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He reached across the bar and patted her on the cheek. “As long as you don’t stay out too late.”
This time she very definitely directed her eye roll at him. On stage, Corrine’s impressive guitar work on the instrumental piece concluded, Jenna grabbed for the microphone.
“How ’bout I give you something to talk about?” she asked, then launched into the Bonnie Raitt song of the same name, interjecting the lyrics with a country twang. Corrine expertly accompanied her on slide guitar, but it was Jenna’s throaty voice that filled every corner of the bar.
Darcy listened for a few moments, obviously enraptured. “She’s good.”
“She is,” Clay confirmed.
“Hey, Clay, is a Long Island Iced Tea the sweetened or unsweetened kind? And where do we keep it?” Nick, the new bartender, cupped his hands around his mouth so Clay could hear his shouted question.
Hiding a groan, Clay held up a finger to indicate he’d be with Nick momentarily.
Darcy leaned over the bar and asked, “Did your bartender really just ask that?”
“He’s new. A friend from high school.”
“You want me to help him out?”
He wanted Darcy to take it easy and get well. “I’ll handle it. You enjoy the music.”
“Not a problem,” Darcy said, her eyes on Jenna. “I’m going to find a table nearer the stage.”
She left before Clay could say anything more. He frowned, realizing he hadn’t thought past getting Jenna to Memphis. He didn’t plan to keep her connection to Darcy a secret, but neither had he considered how to break the news.
“I got a customer waiting.” Nick sidled over to him, panic in his wide, unknowing eyes. The seats at the bar had started to fill up, something Clay had failed to notice.
“A Long Island Iced Tea is a mixed drink, Nick. Equal parts vodka, rum, gin, tequila and lemon, with a splash of Coke for color. It’s listed in that bartender’s guide to mixed drinks I gave you.”
Nick’s brow furrowed. “Vodka, gin, whiskey and what else?”
“Not whiskey. Rum and tequila. But never mind. I’ll make it. You help some other customers.”
The next half hour passed in a blur even though the bar wasn’t near capacity, mostly because of Nick’s inexperience.
“I asked for a Vodka Collins and got a Vodka Martini,” a customer groused to Clay. “Took a long time to get it, too. If not for the music, I’d be out of here.”
“We’ve got a new bartender,” Clay said. “Tell you what. The martini’s on the house, and I’ll personally make your next drink. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds like I’m staying through the next set. Where’s the duo from anyway? They’re terrific, especially the singer.”
“Little Rock. First time performing in Memphis. Tell your friends,” he said into the silence that signaled the band was taking a break. Music from the jukebox kicked in.
He glanced at the wall clock, noted the time at nearly eleven and looked up to check on Darcy only to find the table where she’d been sitting empty. Unease pricked the back of his neck as he scanned the bar. Surely she’d have told him if she planned to leave.
Vicky approached, curly red hair streaming behind her, barking out a drink order to Nick as she came. “Three Bud drafts and a glass of white wine.”
Clay made sure Nick pulled out the right glasses, then met Vicky at the bar. “Hey, Vick. Do you know where Darcy is?”
Vicky nodded toward the exit. “She followed that singer outside a couple minutes ago. Said she wanted to tell her how much she likes her singing.”
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER SPENDING THE PAST few hours inside Clay Dillon’s bar, Jenna expected the fresh air to invigorate her but humidity still hung heavily over the night.
“You were good in there,” a man old enough to have listened to his share of the blues told her. “Kind of reminded me of Etta James.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t hide her delight at being compared to a blues great. Getting out into the humid air had reinvigorated her after all.
Peyton’s Place was situated at a portion of the street that had a much quieter feel than the busiest part of Beale.
Not many people milled about except for herself and a quartet of young men, drinks in hand, clustered around a young blonde who’d exited Peyton’s Place. Sensing trouble when the tallest and broadest of the four released a piercing wolf whistle, Jenna started toward them.
“Wanna party with us?” the big guy asked the blonde.
“Sorry, boys. I don’t drink,” the blonde said firmly but sweetly.
“Who said anything ’bout drinking?” The shortest of the four slurred his words and took what Jenna perceived as a threatening step toward the young woman.
“Mind your manners,” the blonde scolded, still