Maybe Ruth was right, but I didn’t think I could just let this go. I knew anxious when I saw it—I’d spent a good two months staring at it in the mirror.
About a half hour before midnight, Max went up to his apartment, leaving the rest of us to close up. Things had settled down enough that Lula and I sat at a table by the front window and sorted out our tips. She glanced outside and frowned. “It’s snowin’.”
I turned to look out and saw fat flakes falling from the sky. “I have to bring Hank to Greeneville tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t get bad.”
Anywhere else, I would have checked the weather app on my phone, but I didn’t have cell service up here. I felt completely out of touch with the world.
“Ruth,” I called out. “Do you know the forecast for tonight and tomorrow? It’s snowing.”
“Nope.” But she changed the TV to the Weather Channel. Max’s Tavern was one of the few places in town that had cable TV, and I was pretty sure that Bart Drummond had something to do with that since he’d owned the place up until Max took over from Wyatt. One of Max’s conditions for leaving college to take over the tavern had been a transfer of the title to his name.
“You worried about tomorrow?” she asked, making her way over to us, holding a glass of water.
“Yeah,” I said with a frown. “I’m used to drivin’ in the snow, but not on mountain roads.”
She gave me an inquisitive glance, likely because my cover story was that I’d lived in Atlanta for the last decade after moving from Michigan, which covered the snow comment. Truth was, I’d gained the driving experience while going to college and graduate school in the upper East Coast.
“I can call Franklin and ask him,” she said. “He pays attention to that sort of thing, what with workin’ on the roads. He needs to know what to wear or if he’ll be driving a snowplow, but he usually lets me know if it’s in the forecast.”
“Nah,” I said, “don’t bother him. He’s likely sleepin’. I’ll just check on Max’s computer when I put the money in his drawer.” A new thought hit me. “If you tend bar the nights the three of us are on shift together, we need to start sharin’ our tips with you, Ruth. Max never wanted tips as the bartender, but you need them.”
“You let me know if it hurts you too much,” Ruth said. “If it does, I’ll make Max give us all another raise.”
I noticed that Lula was silent through it all, still counting her money with a furrowed brow. She shot another glance out the window and anxiety washed over her face.
“You worried about getting home, Lula?” I asked. “If you want to take off early, I can finish that up for you.”
She shook her head. “Nah. I’ll be fine.”
But the look on her face didn’t match her reassurance.
We both finished a few minutes later, and after giving Ruth her share, I took the shares for Tiny and Sugar into Max’s office. I turned on the computer and as it booted, I tucked their money into their respective places in the cashbox. The computer screen came to life, and a spreadsheet filled the page, with the title “Max’s Tavern November Expense Sheet.” Items were listed down the side—food, liquor, wages, utilities, and a few assorted other items like insurance and repairs. The quantities of each entry seemed huge, but I had no idea how much it cost to run a bar. Max had likely been trying to figure out how to offset his increased payout in wages, which made me feel guilty. Maybe it would be better for me to take a few days off and let Lula settle back in. Given time, we’d have a better idea of how to best manage all of this.
I minimized the spreadsheet, then searched the Weather Channel website to check the forecast for the mountains. I was relieved to see the snow was supposed to stop in another hour or so, and that the temperature would be a balmy thirty-four when I drove Hank to Greeneville in the morning.
When I walked out of the office, I found Ruth and Lula in the back room, putting on their coats. Lula’s duffel bag sat on the floor next to the employee lockers.
“I’m good to go to Greeneville tomorrow. The snow will be letting up soon and it’s going to warm up in the morning,” I said. “I’ll be back by five. Lula, you still good with working the lunch shift?”
“What?” she asked, sounding distracted while she buttoned her thin coat. The words must have processed after the fact, because she nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here.” Then she made a face and asked, “I hate to ask you this, but can one of you drive me home?”
“Where’s your car?” Ruth asked in surprise.
“Well,” she said, refusing to make eye contact. “Dickie dropped me off here, so I ain’t been home yet.”
“How were you gonna get home if it wasn’t snowin’?” Ruth asked.
“I was gonna walk.”
“That’s a good six miles, Lula,” Ruth protested. “You’d be walkin’ in the dark on Highway 25!”
“It’s outta your way,” Lula said.
“I’ll take her,” I said eagerly. I was dying to find out more about her. I didn’t have high hopes of finding out much after what Ruth had said, but at least I could be kind to her. Maybe I could earn her trust. Something told me I should try—she had the look of someone who needed help, even if she didn’t want to ask.
Ruth gave me a dubious look that suggested she knew I had an ulterior motive, but she shook her head and said, “All right. Let’s go.”
We filed out the back door and she locked the door behind us.
“It feels weird without Max here tellin’ us goodbye,” Lula said wistfully. “He’s always here.”
“He’s here,” Ruth said with a hint of irritation. “He’s just upstairs.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It does feel weird.” Truth was, I missed him and his jovial spirit. During down times, Ruth, Max, and I usually hung out and talked. Max was surprisingly well-read, and we’d had several conversations about books.
The windshield of Hank’s car had a light dusting of snow, but the windshield wipers got most of it off. The car was slow to heat up, so we waited a couple of minutes to let it warm before I backed up. Ruth had already left and waved goodbye on her way out.
“Thank you so much for doin’ this,” Lula said.
“Would you have really walked?” I asked.
“I considered askin’ Max if I could stay at the motel, but I gotta get home to get my car anyway.”
“Anytime you need a ride, you just let me know, okay?” I said. “I don’t mind, Lula. Really.”
“Thanks,” she said, staring out the windshield. I got the impression she was embarrassed.
I started backing up and said, “Okay, where to?”
“Head toward Ewing,” she said.
Once I pulled out of the parking lot, I turned right onto Highway 25, the road that ran through town and connected Drum to Greeneville. After half a minute of silence, I said, “How long have you lived in Drum?”
“Oh,” she said in surprise. “My whole life. I was born in my daddy’s shack.”
“No wonder you have wanderlust,” I said. “Stuck here your whole life. You probably want to see the world.”