Page 81 of Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter

“I want us to be happy. I wish it could be with each other, but it can’t. I have to learn to be okay with it.”

Her hand slides further up my cheek and I cannot help curling into it. Her lotion smells like honey. “You’ll be happy. You’re too stubborn to not end up happy.”

I kiss her on the cheek, and then I leave, lighter and heavier at the same time.

CHAPTER

23

August 22nd

8:08PM

THE POOL HALLis quieter than a graveyard at noon. I blame it on the Rockies being trounced, twelve-zip in the third inning. Their manager looks to be on the brink of an aneurysm, which is not unlike how I feel as the boyish bartender brings me what is supposed to be a Tom Collins but has the distinctly battery acid taste of a gin and tonic.

But no, that’s not true, is it? That knifelike pain in my head has nothing to do with a botched drink order and everything to do with the supercut of childhood memories playing in my head. First the good, the pure: chokecherry pies, baby sisters bundled into my arms, Annie the dog, flying high on the rusty swing set. When the horrors resurface, I am not angry, or frightened, or distraught. I am only tired.

I am so, so tired.

“Mind if I join you?”

Josiah’s hat casts a shadow over his face. He approaches me coolly, like a bounty hunter finally tracking down an elusive outlaw. Unlike my father and his compatriots, loyal to their beers, Josiah nurses a clear drink garnished with basil leaves. “Unless you’re expecting someone?” he asks, gnawing on an ice cube.

“I’m leaving when I finish this.”

He sets his drink down on a damp clump of napkins. He whistles for the bartender’s attention. “Another one when you get the chance, son?”

“Fancy running into you here,” I say to Josiah.

“They let me out of the station every once in a while for some fresh air.”

I chuckle into my glass and hope he doesn’t notice. I don’t want him to confuse my amusement for a ceasefire. He fishes another ice cube from his drink to swallow like a pill. “Five years until I retire, God willing and the creek don’t rise. I’m ready to get the hell out of Nebraska.”

“Don’t come to Missouri. It sounds likemiseryfor a reason.”

“You got a fella waiting for you at home?”

“I’m a lesbian,” I deadpan.

The bartender drops off a fresh drink for Josiah. He transfers the soggy basil leaf from the old drink to the new. He sips and grunts approval at the flavor before blindsiding me: “My daughter is too.”

“Penny?”

He laughs. “Only one I got.”

“I’m surprised you’re okay with that.”

“What’s there to be okay with? She’s happy and healthy. That’s all a father can ask for.”

It’s all I can do not to choke on my own envy. “My father would beat me bloody if he knew about me.”

“I owe you a proper apology, Providence,” Josiah says. He removes his hat as if to underscore his sincerity.

“I don’t need it.”

“Can you do an old man the favor of hearing him out?”

“Don’t come to me for absolution.”