Five
The Lucky Star was closed for the day, even though Jonah’s parents, his aunt and uncle, and even Amy were there. That they were not open New Year’s Day had been another point of contention between him and his parents—Jonah thought the store ought to be doing business. The Starbucks three blocks down was definitely open. The restaurants around them were open. People would be walking up and down South Congress enjoying a day off. Was there a better day to visit a coffee shop?
“But we’ve always closed New Year’s Day for inventory,” Uncle Marty had said, appearing almost bewildered by the conversation. “Our staff deserves a day off, Joe. And we have to do inventory.”
“But we can do it just as easily on a Monday sometime. And our staff might like the overtime,” Jonah had pointed out.
“But we like to have a cocktail when we do inventory.” This, from Aunt Belinda, who liked to have a cocktail with everything she did.
“Let’s table this discussion for now,” his dad had said. He’d looked exhausted, and Jonah had let it drop. And then, before he knew it, one of the four had announced to their staff members that New Year’s Day was a well-deserved holiday for them all and that, as they say, was that.
On his way to the Star, Jonah imagined them all with their legal pads and cocktails and pencils so short, it didn’t seem to make sense to keep them. Truck would be there, too—Amy had kept him while Jonah was gone.
He parked in the lot in back and let himself in with a key, shouting his arrival so as not to startle anyone. He was immediately assaulted by Truck, that enormous mix of husky and Great Pyrenees (at least that was the vet’s best guess as to what exactly Truck was). The dog was so excited to see Jonah that he slammed into a metal baking rack in his haste, almost toppling it, then twisted his huge body into a knot before launching at Jonah, paws to chest, trying to lick his face. Jonah stumbled backward into the door.
Truck was the worst-trained dog ever. Amy said that was Jonah’s fault. Jonah thought Truck was unusually resistant to command, but tomay-toe tamah-toe. Truck tried to lick Jonah’s face again, but this time, he caught the dog’s legs before he could knock him onto his ass. He answered Truck’s enthusiastic greeting with a vigorous scratch of ears and chest. “Hey, buddy! I’m happy to see you, too.”
He managed to get Truck off him and walked into the kitchen. He could hear Willie Nelson drifting over the restaurant from the speakers.
“Happy New Year!” His mother appeared from the big walk-in storage area. She was wearing a leather apron over her jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She looked like she was conducting some chemical experiment in the back. “How was Chicago?” She came forward, her arms out, and wrapped him in a tight hug.
“Great,” he said into her hair.
“Did you see the photos I sent?”
“I did eventually,” he said as she let go of him. “Did you forget I didn’t have my phone?”
“What?” She smiled and patted his cheek. “That was a week ago, wasn’t it?”
It was just as he’d told Harper—they didn’t listen. “How would I have gotten my phone back while I was in Chicago?”
She cocked her head to one side, her blue eyes searching the ceiling for an answer. And finding none, she said cheerfully, “Good point.”
“Oh. It’s only you.”
Jonah turned to see that Amy had entered the kitchen area. Her red hair was once again piled on her head, but she’d changed out her candy cane glasses for glitter frames. “Back so soon?”
At the sound of her voice, Truck rushed to her, hopeful for a treat. She petted his head while she gave Jonah a good once-over.
“You are, like, always here. Are you an orphan?” Jonah asked, leaning over Truck to put an arm around her and give her a quick hug.
“If I was an orphan, I’d adopt your parents. News flash—they like me better than you.”
“Oh, Amy, that’s not true.” His mother winked at her. “It’s a very close tie between the two of you.”
“There’s no inheritance if that’s your angle,” Jonah warned Amy.
She snorted. “Like you had to tell me that. Are you almost done, Darlene? I’m about ready to make a pitcher of my famous margaritas.”
“Famous! Then I’m finishing up right now.”
“Come on, Jonah, be my taste-tester,” Amy suggested.
A margarita sounded pretty good. They didn’t serve alcohol at the Lucky Star, but it was definitely an option on Jonah’s list of last-ditch efforts. Somewhere along the way, they’d gotten the license for it. If it brought people in, he was for it.
He followed Amy out into the restaurant seating area. Truck stayed on his heels so closely that he kept bumping into Jonah, his paws catching the backs of his shoes.
The main dining room, awash in Christmas lights and ornaments, had remained unchanged for decades. With its scarred wooden tables and chairs, the three window booths, and the framed, autographed pictures of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, as well as framed photos of old Austin, the place looked dusty and tired to him, particularly after going in and out of trendy bars and restaurants in Chicago all week.
Someone had rounded up his tabletop Christmas trees and stuffed them into a corner. They were bunched together like some dystopian landscape. What the hell was he going to do with all those trees?
“Joe, buddy. How are my sons?” Uncle Marty stood up from a table near the coffee bar. He had a ledger spread before him, entering the inventory. By hand, of course, because heaven forbid these guys invest in technology. There was still a push button cash register on the counter.
“Your sons were horrible. Bastards, the both of them.”
Marty laughed.
“Aren’t they the best?” Aunt Belinda walked out from behind the coffee bar and gave Jonah a hug. Truck tried to shove his enormous body in between them. “For heaven’s sake, Truck!” Belinda said, and kneed his panting, slobbering snout out of the way. “He’s not going to let you leave again, Joe.” She bent over to give proper attention to Truck. “How is my grandbaby? And the new house? Tell us everything.”
“Lena is very cute. And your house is big and roomy. I think you will like it. Naomi has already started painting the walls.”
“She is just the best. One of these days, that will be you, Joe.”
“I’ll be Naomi?”
“I mean you’ll find someone special to marry.”
“Belinda,” Uncle Marty said, sounding disgusted. “Don’t say that. Jonah marches to his own drummer.”