I flip on the bedside lamp and click on his name to return the call. It rings a few times before he picks up, but all I hear on the other end is breathing.
“Kian, is Sara okay?”
“Who?” he slurs and hiccups. Great. He’s drunk.
“My sister, Sara. She works for you.”
“Oh, she’s great. She’s such a good employee. I’m lucky to have her.”
“Then why are you calling me at one in the morning?” I grit out.
“You called me.”
“Jesus Christ.” I run a hand through my beard, tugging on the ends. This conversation is painful. “I called you back, Kian. You called me first.”
“Hold on, let me check.” The line goes quiet except for his incoherent muttering while he checks his phone. “I did call you,” he gasps as though he’s surprised at this revelation.
“I know. Why?”
“I’ve been drinking.”
“I know,” I repeat.
“I wasn’t finished. See? That’s your problem. You don’t ever let me finish. You jump to conclusions before you know the whole story.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Today. I’m talking about today. Or, yesterday? Whatever day it was. You told me I don’t know your sister and I don’t have a right to an opinion. That’s bullshit.” It’s hard to follow along when his words are running together, but I try to keep up. “Where were you last week right after it happened? Because I was with her every day. When someone’s depressed, you can’t get in her face and demand she tell you everything that’s going on. I don’t know much about much.” He starts laughing. “That’s a funny sentence. Much about much.”
“Kian. Focus. What’s your point?” I’m on the verge of hanging up. He isn’t making sense.
“My point is, I know people. They come to my bar, they sit down, they tell me their problems, and I help them. I know people, Archer. And your sister needs help. The professional kind. She’s too skinny, she doesn’t sleep judging by the circles under her eyes, and she won’t talk about how she’s doing. I’m worried about her and your aggressiveness will push her away. That is my point and it’s a good one.” He breathes heavily from the effort of stringing so many words together.
“She’s a newly single mom who got cheated on. Of course she’s sad. She’ll pull through. That’s why I’m here. Don’t worry about her. I’ve got it.”
“Do you? Because you’re sad, too.”
“You’re drunk, so let’s forget this conversation ever happened. If you remember anything about this call tomorrow, remember this one thing. I don’t need your help. We’re fine.” I hit the end button and toss my phone on the nightstand.
I wake up to crying. Emmy’s probably giving Sara a hard time. It’s Sunday and I don’t have to work, so I planned to sleep in, but not if I’m needed to help with the kids.
I throw on a pair of sweats and walk into the living room. It’s empty. So is the kitchen. Emmy starts crying again and I follow the sound to her room. I open the bedroom and find her on her little toddler bed, clutching a stuffed animal and sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” I lift her up into my arms and settle us both back on the bed. She clings to my neck.
“Mommy won’t get up. And Lou called me a baby,” she whines.
“Why won’t Mommy get up?” My hackles rise. Even though Sara works until two in the morning, she always gets up with the kids.
“She’s sleepy.”
I’m opening Sara’s bedroom door in seconds to find her curled into a ball on her bed. I reach down and shake her shoulder. She groans and opens her eyes, but just barely.
“What’s wrong? You sick or something?” I look around to see if maybe she’d been drinking or took a sleeping pill, but there’s nothing on her nightstand.
“I’m just tired. Can you handle the kids this morning, please?” Her eyes close and she’s back asleep before I even answer.
I step out of the room and close her door quietly.
“All right, little miss. Looks like Uncle Archer’s in charge of breakfast. Where’s your brother?”
“He’s playing his video game.” She points to the bedroom next to hers.
“Okay, let’s go get him and we’ll take a walk to the restaurant around the corner. Give Mommy some time to rest.”
I get the kids dressed and their shoes on, not bothering to change out of my sweats. As we walk to the restaurant, the kids chirp happily about all the things they see along the way. I nod and smile, but my mind’s focused on Sara. I’ve been working on hiding my own sadness, so maybe I missed something bigger going on with her.
That seems crazy, though. She’s been doing fine. This is the first time she’s slept in since I’ve been here and I can’t fault her for that. She works hard. She deserves a morning to herself. I dismiss my concern. She needed some extra rest.
I never did speak to her about what happened with Chad when Jax chased him from town. After Kian left, I was too angry about how intrusive he is to dive into the other reason I was pissed off. So, I left it alone. I wonder if that was a mistake.
Kian said Comida’s Diner was good when he took me for a tour, so we turn up on Main Street and head that way. The kids must know the place because they get excited when we walk inside.
The same obnoxious teenager that sat Kian and me leads us to a booth and hands us menus without a word or smile. He returns with water cups and tells us our server will take our orders.
“I want bacon and eggs,” Lou says.
“I want tacos,” Emmy chitters.
“I don’t know if they have tacos this early, but we’ll ask, okay?” I open the menu, but before I can scan it, our server appears.
The man I see when I look up is sexy. He’s Hispanic and probably around my age. He has deep brown, soulful eyes, and a trim goatee. A tattoo of three crosses peeks up from the collar of his shirt on the side of his neck. It gives him an edgy vibe that feels progressive for such a sleepy town. This place breeds beautiful men. If I’d lived here in my early twenties, it would’ve been like living in Disneyland.
“Welcome to my diner,” he greets with a blinding smile. Jesus Christ.
“You must be Fernando?” I ask.
“I am. You must be Archer.”
“Yep. And this is—”
“Emmy and Lou, my favorite little munchkins.”
“This small-town thing is going to take some getting used to. I forget everyone knows everyone,” I say.
“I was born and raised here, so I don’t know any different.” He crouches down to the kids’ eye level. “I think smiley face eggs and bacon for Lou and Emmy. You want the breakfast tacos?” The kids cheer and he turns to me. “And for you?”
“What do you recommend?” I ask since I didn’t have time to look at the menu.
“I’ll bring you the huevos rancheros.”
“Sounds good. Kian told me that you have the best.”
“Kian’s right.” Only the voice doesn’t belong to Fernando, it belongs to the drunk dialer himself. He steps around Fernando, looking worse for wear. He has on dark sunglasses, his hair’s mussed, and he’s wearing the most casual outfit I’ve seen on him, running shorts and an oversized T-shirt.