The Last Call

Chapter Two

Oakvale, Indiana

The sound of a pop and the Bronco’s engine sputtering is what pulled me

out of it.

Every so often I’ll think of them. Of what happened. I’ll essentially space

out, disassociate. I look “stuck.” I don’t know if it’s a form of PTSD, or if it’s a

form of healing. Either way, it happens.

I led the Bronco to the right shoulder. I’m on a mile-long stretch of a

two-lane highway so I’m partially in the shoulder, partially in a cornfield ditch. I

try turning the key, the engine struggling to turn over. I sit for a moment and try

again. Still no luck.

“I guess we aren’t going to the library today, old lady.” I pull out my cell

phone and call Stan. After a few initial I-told-you-sos, he’s on the way. Looks like

I’ll be working today despite trying to have a day off. If the Bronco has gone

kaput, I’ll be needing the extra money.

Stan finally picks me up and we head back to the Oak & Ale. I drown out

his comments about the Bronco and how I should just scrap it, and close my eyes.

The rumbling of the car and the radio are the only things I hear. Stan only listens

to country music, so all of his presets are programmed to different country

stations.

The sound of crunching gravel signals our arrival to the tavern, and I open

my eyes again. This time, the parking lot has a few more cars in it. Some hoopties,

beaters, trucks, and even a newer Jeep. You don’t see a lot of newer cars in

Oakvale. Usually newer cars mean tourist/out-of-towner. The tavern gets a lot of

passersby, but no one special.

After running upstairs to change, I throw on a black t-shirt and non-slip

combat boots. I tousle my hair and throw it up in a claw-clip. I head back

downstairs to join the crowd and do my job as an adult babysitter.

I shoot-the-s**t with Frank, complaining, like always, about his daily

routine. “I don’t care when you come in, Frank, I just wish you’d come in once we

were actually open for the day.” I said, handing him a pint of beer. “I don’t want anyone taking my seat!” he argued. Frank was always

particular about his seat. It’s the seat he sat in when he met his late wife,

Louanne. He’s gotten into full-blown bar brawls over someone sitting in his seat.

Everyone knows it’s Frank’s seat.

“No one wants to sit where your ass has been, Frank!” hollered Jim,

another regular. A few people at the bar rail sitting next to Frank laughed and

poked fun, enjoying the vibe. Even Frank let out a slight smile.

“Can I get a drink, Miss Bartender?”

I froze. The deep, succulent voice sent chills down my spine. From the base

of my neck to the bottoms of my feet. My heart raced. A twinge of fear fluttered in

my chest. Goosebumps rose over my thighs far and in between. I glanced over to

the far end of my bar rail and there sat the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes

on.

●

My Jeep rolls into the parking lot of a small bar of the interstate. I let out

a loose breath. I’m finally away from everything. I turn of the car, open my

door and step out onto the gravel lot. My boots crunching on the pale, gray

stones.

I brush of my shirt, the collar popped and damp from the heat. My tie

lays limp in the backseat. I lock the Jeep and head into the bar. Air conditioning.

The bustle of laughter and glasses clinking fill the room. A few people sit at the

bar rail, joking and fussing with an older man in the middle. Two people are at

a table, enjoying a meal together. A small bay window sits empty on my left. An

empty seat at the bar rail on the far right.

I decided to go with the bar rail. I place my keys in my pocket along with

my wallet and phone. I glance down the left, the bartender smiling with her

patrons. She comes down a bit to place an empty glass near the sink.

“Can I get a drink, Miss Bartender?” I ask.

She looks up.

A green forest floor with patches of hazel moss looked at me.

I have never seen anything so beautiful.