Page 30 of Another Last Call
Sixteen
Caleb
Ididn’tknowwhyI thought Maggie would return from the office in a better mood and be willing to talk.
Probably because I was an idiot sometimes.
I wasn’t expecting her to burst from the kitchen like a bullet, untying her apron as she flew through the dining room. She was moving so fast, her hair fanned back from her face, and I caught a distinct glimpse of tears in her wide eyes. The front door opened with a slam and wind blew into the restaurant as she left.
Without so much as a second thought, I jumped off the barstool and followed her out of the restaurant. By the time I reached the door, she had already crossed the street, walking as fast as she could onto the beach.
“Maggie!” I called out, though she either didn’t hear me or didn’t react.
I jogged after her, catching up just as she sank down on the wooden bench where we’d chatted for hours the week before. The beach was deserted, the wind pushing waves onto the shore with a fierceness that seemed appropriate. With the same caution I would have taken with an injured animal, I approached Maggie, any frustrations I’d had melting away to concern as her hair whipped around her head.
“Maggie, are you okay?”
It was a stupid question. She clearly wasn’t.
The last time I’d seen Maggie cry was when she was maybe nine or ten and had gotten that scar on the bridge of her nose. We were running through the woods near the beach—not the one we were sitting on, but the other beach, the one surrounded by trees and nature and tourist families—playing tag or something. There was a group of us running from someone and I was just a few steps behind her, laughing my head off, when a loudthwackechoed through the trees and Maggie screeched.
She stumbled and I almost tripped on her, but she hadn’t noticed; between the tears and the blood on her face, she was a little preoccupied. Whoever had been running in front of her had pushed a branch out of the way and it had snapped back at the perfect angle to whip Maggie across the face, andhard.
I remember being terrified. The way she was crying, all the blood… I thought she’d lost an eye. And I remember helping her up, trying to stay calm and using my shirt to mop up the blood on her face while the kid who’d moved the branch—God, I couldn’t remember who the hell it was, couldn’t even picture them—apologized over and over again. She’d sobbed, wailing and leaning on me as we walked back to The Sea Glass to get help from her mom.
That wasn’t how she was crying this time.
This time, she cried quietly. Her legs were pulled up on the bench and she hugged them to her chest as she buried her face in her knees. I was sure she’d heard me ask if she was okay, but she hadn’t answered. I didn’t think it was because she was ignoring me this time, though. Tentatively, I sat beside her.
“Mags, I know you’re pissed at me, but please tell me you’re going to be alright,” I whispered.
A choked sound left her throat. I thought it was a sob, but it might have been a laugh.
“My mom’s losing the bar.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“The building.” She sniffled, lifting her head and wiping her eyes. “Someone r-reported it or something. For being unsafe? I don’t know how… It’s old and I guess the… the soil’s shifted or something. They did an inspection. And the foundation needs work, they said. And the wiring. The plumbing. The… the whole fucking thing.” Her voice cracked and she wiped her face again, choking back a sob. “If we don’t fix it, they’re going to condemn it.”
“They… no,” I said, staring at her.
“Mm-hmm.” Her voice shook. “So she’s going to sell the land to the town. They’ll tear the building down and resell it to a developer and someone will build another Starbucks here or something. We only have one, after all.” She shook her head. “I should have taken up more of those old guys. Gotten a real sugar daddy. I could have saved the bar.”
She sniffled again, still hugging her knees to her chest as she stared out at the lake.
“She went to the bank today to try getting a loan, but they won’t approve her for something big enough. She’s got some savings, but she said even if she poured everything she had into it, it wouldn’t be worth it. We used to do good business, but not so much anymore. We’re not trendy enough for the tourists, and we’re getting too touristy for the locals.”
“That can’t… there’s got to be something. Isn’t there a landlord or…?”
She shook her head. “My mom owns the building.”
“How’d she buy it?”
The air suddenly felt colder, but it wasn’t from the wind.
“She got knocked up by a rich tourist who made her think he was different from the rest of them,” Maggie said, her voice bitter. “Let’s just say she got paid eighteen years of child support in advance. She bought the bar and a house. That was it.”
“Wait, what?”
