Chapter Nineteen
Cash
The trip out of town told me more about Bobbi Jo than all our time in the sack. The remainder of our stay in New York wasn’t any better than how it had begun.
She hated the meal at the Waldorf. She hated wearing the dress she’d found on the plane. She hated the bed we had to sleep on in the hotel. She hated the breakfast of lox and bagels. She hated the whole thing.
So, when we got back to Carthage, I decided to give it a rest. Maybe she and I didn’t have such a great connection after all. I couldn’t say I saw it coming, but I had known that she was a small-town girl and, apparently, she wanted to stay that way.
A month had passed since I’d seen her. When I drove through town in the evenings, I saw her car at The Watering Hole. She was still tending bar, which I
