“I do not have a good answer yet,” Clifton said, “but I’ve decided to talk it through with Gladys after our first date. I’m planning on saying something like, ‘Normally, this is the moment when I would discern whether we shared a mutual interest in a goodnight kiss. Should you be as interested as I am, what with times being what they are, I believe we should discuss it when we see each other again. Until then, I will leave you with the knowledge of how much I’d like to kiss you and how eagerly I anticipate doing so.’”
Her hand pressed her heart. Only he could make that sound romantic and not like something Data from Star Trek might say. “Oh, Clifton! That is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”
He chuckled almost heartily. “I have kissed a few women in my time, and I’ve always found it very enjoyable.”
She paused, feeling awkward again. “Then there’s the, uh, physical contact issue.”
He stood. “If we are about to discuss the birds and the bees, as you Americans say, I believe we might drink something stronger than tea. But Alice, talk to Hank. I don’t know the man well, but from what everyone says, Sarah included, he appears to have a good head on his shoulders. You’ll come up with a good plan if that’s the direction you wish to go in. I expect Gladys and I will as well, should it come to that, which I hope it does.”
“Hope, chocolate, and love in the time of Covid.” She held her face in her hands. “Clifton, I can’t wait for the virus to be gone. It’s affected everything, and frankly I’m tired.”
“I know you’re tired,” he said softly. “I’m grateful these days my newfound enthusiasm for life outpaces any fatigue and sadness I feel from everything we’re facing. I’ll make us a pot of tea and bring out some more champagne truffles and Aztec brownies. Afterward, I’ll call Maria and set up a time for you to meet her.”
Right. They’d been speaking of that before her Sarah moment. Clifton had really surprised her today. “I can’t wait.”
Almost as much as she couldn’t wait to see Hank again.
Chapter 6
There was only one person who could puncture Hank’s excitement over his date with Alice tonight. His father.
He knew it was him even before he even looked through the peephole. Only his dad would pound on the door like that, and sure enough, Paddy O’Connor’s broad shoulders filled the frame. His buzz cut made his thick neck seem bigger, not from fat but pure muscle. He did a hundred push-ups three times a day and other calisthenics he’d been conditioned to do while in Vietnam.
“You’re working with that nutso chocolate lady on some festival?” his dad roared. “When did running the pub become not good enough on its own?”
“When Covid hit and we lost the majority of our business.” Marty had likely spilled the beans. Not that it was a secret, but Hank would have preferred not to deal with the massive chip on his dad’s shoulder tonight. He pointed to his mask. “Dad, we talked about the rules for visiting. We both wear masks and stand six feet apart.”
Paddy stepped forward with his full weight, the kind of intimidation tactic he used to use on troublemakers in the bar when Hank was growing up. “I’m not wearing a damn mask to visit my own son, and I turn off Luke Combs’ song about being six feet apart every time I hear it on the radio. Who the hell decided it was six feet anyway? Why not three or eight? It’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid.”
Good thing Hank was used to his father’s forceful personality. “I don’t like it either, but it’s for your protection as much as mine.”
“I’m not sick, and I won’t have you lecture—”
“You have heart issues, Dad, and I come into contact with plenty of people every day.” His father also spent time indoors with friends like Marty, and Hank suspected some of them didn’t wear masks. Marty had agreed to wear one regularly to protect the pub from exposure, and Hank trusted him to abide by it. “I’ll talk to you in the backyard without a mask, six feet apart. Take it or leave it.”
“Six feet apart.” His dad cursed, but he went back down the front steps and headed toward the backyard. “Might as well bury us all six feet under with all these restrictions.”
“Dad—”
“People need to live their lives, Hank. It’s ridiculous, asking us to wash our hands for ten minutes at a time, wear a stupid mask, and stay six feet from the people we care about. They don’t know jack shit about how to stop this virus, and we both know it. Life is a crapshoot, and you do the best you can. I learned that in Vietnam.”
Hank followed his father to the table out back. His father’s anger had been fired up by the isolation of the pandemic, something Hank tried to remember whenever they had blowups. He wasn’t proud to admit sometimes he wished Paddy O’Connor wasn’t his father. “We’re done with this topic. And last time I looked, you gave me the bar to run. If I want to work with Alice Bailey or Miley Cyrus, I’ll do it.”
“Miley Cyrus.” He snorted, yanking a metal lawn chair back from the table. “That pop tart wouldn’t give you—”
“Dad! Stop. Look, you’re my father and I respect you, but I don’t want to hear this. Okay?”
“You too old now to take advice from your old man? It’s bad enough you hired that wop—”
“Vinnie is my best friend, Dad.” He fisted his hands at his sides. “You call him that again, and you and I won’t be speaking for some time.”
“That’s how we Irish and Italians talk about each other here, and you damn well know it. You think I wanted to be known as Paddy? My mother—God rest her soul—named me after Ireland’s greatest saint. Every Italian kid in school called me ‘Paddy.’ So you know what? In seventh grade, I knocked their biggest bully, Mama’s Gia’s brother, flat on the playground of St. Mary’s and started using that name myself just to fuck with them.”
His father had never told him that before. Nor had he ever talked about going to school with Mama Gia’s brother. The man had died young, before Vinnie was born. He wondered if those slurs had hurt his dad when he was young. “That’s pretty horrible, Dad.”
“It’s my name, isn’t it? No one’s going to out-slur me. That’s why your mother and I taught you the whole ‘sticks and stones’ thing.”
But words did hurt, and his mother had been the first one to acknowledge that when he and Vinnie had come home from kindergarten upset that some older kids had called them a dago/mick sandwich. After giving them milk and brownies after school, his mom had said “sticks and stones do break bones” and that was why it was important to use them wisely. She’d also said fighting back like Hank’s dad wasn’t the answer, but to keep that between them.
“Yet you keep throwing the slurs around like the old days. Dad, when is it going to stop?”
“When I say so.” His dad stood up slowly. “You got pretty big for your britches when you worked downtown. I’d hoped the bar would humble you.”
“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” Hank thought of all the people he’d had to lay off after lockdown, something his father had never needed to do. And of all the money he’d already taken out of his retirement. “You think running the bar during Covid is easy? Dad, I’d work with the Easter Bunny right now to turn a profit.”