I tell them how the guys were great brothers — until they weren’t.
“What happened?” Becca asks, ignoring a couple who’ve just sat down in her section.
“We all lived together as a family for six years. When Barrett and Bronson graduated, they took community college courses and did odd jobs, things like landscaping and lifeguard work. They talked about making a life on Four Points.” My voice trails off, and Christine gives me a supportive half smile.
“Two days after Lincoln and Lennox graduated — two years after their older brothers — all four brothers left home.”
“Where did they go?” Becca asks.
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I don’t exactly know. Rachel never talked about it, and she ignored my questions when I asked. She was obviously upset that they’d left, but she never mentioned them after that. Not one word.
“And the worst part was that not one of the guys said goodbye, or even told me they’d be leaving. I woke up and they were just gone.”
“Something must have happened,” Becca says. “That’s too strange.”
“Do you think they were in trouble with the law?” Christine asks.
“I doubt it. I found out eventually that they joined the military, but I didn’t know that until after they’d been discharged. They never came home on holidays; they never even texted.”
I don’t tell them that I just found out the men had been visiting their mom a couple of times a year. It’s too painful to repeat, and I’ve already said more than I wanted to. It was bad enough having Becca and Christine at the funeral; I don’t want them feeling sorry for me about this.
“Families can be complicated,” Christine observes.
“That’s for sure,” Becca agrees.
Complicated seems too kind a word for my family situation. I moved out of my dad’s house as soon as I was eighteen. I didn’t get very far — I only live a few miles away from my childhood home on this little island — but having my own place made all the difference in the world.
“You’d better get your customers,” I prompt Becca.
She gives me a smile and a supportive little pat on my forearm before she heads off to get their orders.
I’m not scheduled at Rusty’s the next two nights. I fill in the extra time with virtual assistant work. I send emails, create social media posts, proofread and post blog entries, and research leads for my clients. It’s interesting work; I like the variety.
When I run out of projects, I get into bed. It’s early, but I probably won’t sleep for hours because I’m in the middle of a good book about time travel and a civilization of alien-human hybrids.
The next night, I’m back at Rusty’s. Though I’d rather stay home and read, I’m looking forward to the tip money, and I’m feeling ninety-percent sure I won’t see the Stone brothers. They’ve probably gotten Rachel settled and headed back to their exciting big-city lives. Maybe they have girlfriends or even wives waiting for them. Distracted by my anger, I never even checked to see if they were wearing rings.
Rusty’s in his office when I pass by, and his desk is oddly tidy. He’s never been an organized person, and I’ve rarely seen the bare wood of his desktop.
“Caz, you’re here,” he calls out.
“Yep. Hi, Rusty.”
“I need to talk to you — to all of you.” When I stop at his door, he adds, “Go ahead out. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I throw my bag in a locker before finding Becca and Christine at the bar. They’re huddled together, talking in a way that strikes me as just as unusual as my boss’s clean desk. Something’s going on.
Rusty doesn’t keep us waiting long. When he comes out, he invites us to take seats on the barstools. He’s not one for staff meetings, so Christine, Becca, and I exchange looks as we settle in. Rusty’s has more employees — other servers, and another bartender — but it’s just the three of us tonight.
“So, ladies, I have some big news,” he says. He’s shuffling from foot to foot in a way that puts me on edge, but his vibe seems upbeat.
When he doesn’t continue right away, Christine says, “What’s going on, Rusty?”
More shuffling. “I want to tell you first that your jobs are safe. I made sure of that.” He looks at each of us one by one, wanting to make sure we understand what he’s just said. I frown and wait for him to go on.
“I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse, as they say.” He pauses again, and I envision taking him by the collar and shaking him to make him talk faster. “I’ve sold the bar,” he says finally.
“What?”
“Are you serious?”
“For real?”
All three of us talk at once. Rusty’s has been on Four Points Island for as long as I can remember.