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Trouble is, I don’t. I glance around the office, checking for any sign of alcohol, and my father grunts irritably. “Go on, get,” he says. “Go home to my grandbaby. Give her a hug for me.”
I remain for a second longer before leaving the room and heading out the front door. My father spends more time at Chuckles than he does at Ganny’s house nowadays. I whip out my phone and shoot Jesse a quick text.
Leaving now. You make sure he doesn’t do anything wild?
Come on, Cash, he’s a grown man. He’ll be fine.
You remember what happened the last time, don’t you?
I’m the one who arrested him, so I’ll say, yeah, that memory is pretty much firmly ingrained in my brain, dickwad.
Fuck you.
I’ll check in on him. Be there in five. Go home to Alex and your live-in fantasy.
Double fuck you.
I grit my teeth and slip my phone into the front pocket of my jeans. I get into my pick-up, start her up, and take the long drive home, my thoughts on the bar, my father, and Alex. I try to keep them that way, but they drift to June.
June in her yellow silk dress in the diner, smiling as she talks to Alex, wishing me good night at the top of the stairs last night.
June, the one that got away. Who left town before I could say goodbye properly. Who stopped writing.
I pull up to the house and park.
June’s in the kitchen, visible through the windows that look out on the porch and the front yard. She’s got a yellow ribbon twined in her hair, and she’s wearing a tight camisole that presses against her perky breasts. She laughs at something.
I grind my teeth again.
She’s so perfect.
Alex comes into view, gesturing wildly, and talking to June like they’ve been best buds for years. It figures that they’d get on. June’s always been good with kids, and Alex needs a friend.
That thought cools my jets. I get out of the pickup and head up to the house, sore from a long day.
I open the front door.
“Dad!” Alex comes around the corner and throws her arms around my waist.
I squeeze her back. “I missed you,” I say.
“Me more! But you’ve got to come sit down right now. June and I made fried pickles with ranch dressing as a side for dinner.”
“You didwhat?”
June peeks around the corner, smiling at me in a way that makes my blood burn. “Hey! How was work, Cash? I hope you don’t mind, but we made fried pickles.”
“I hate fried pickles.”
Alex looks like I’ve personally offended her. June’s face is a mirror image of hers.
“Dad,” Alex says. “Dad, no. No, you have to try them, they’re the best.”
I drop my keys and wallet on the entrance hall table and follow her into the kitchen, trying not to pay too much attention to June.
The nanny. Just think of her as the nanny. Think of her like Mrs. Crouchbottom.
They’ve whipped up chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, greens, and the accursed fried fucking pickles with ranch sauce. It’s an amazing spread.
