Chapter 2: The Bartender

It was Tuesday morning when Jolene decided she needed to brave the open door and go out into Benton. With the exception of the first grocery shop, and attending Billy’s funeral, she had not left Clarette’s house. Most of her time had of course been consumed by keeping everything in order in the home, and being there for Clare, though she got the distinct impression that even her friend was growing tired of her 24-7 company. Actually, Clare had briefly mentioned—and not at all sarcastically—that she needed a friend, not a babysitter, and that it would do them both some good to be apart sometimes. The trouble was, Jolene didn’t know how to spend her new found time.

“Where are you going today?” asked Clare, peeking her small head into Jolene’s temporary room, still in her flannel pajamas and a cup of coffee steaming in her hand.

“Hmm, not sure.” Jolene paused in what she was doing to look at Clare.

Her words were spoken in the usual flat tone that Jolene had come to expect the past few days. Perhaps today wasn’t a good day to leave her alone. Her brown her was lank, and tied loosely to her head, and the heavy bags under her eyes had begun to turn purple and unsightly. Still, she had gotten out of bed on her own accord, and had even made herself morning coffee. It was a small effort, but commendable after having witnessed her skip showering for four days straight.

Jolene stopped her pondering when she realized she had been staring silently for an uncommon amount of time. “I just realized, I don’t really know the town that well anymore, or the people.”

“You could go see Maeve at work,” Clarette suggested before taking a sip of java.

“No, she said she was coming over tonight, no need to bother her now. I figure it’s best to reacquaint myself with some places that aren’t the grocery store or your front yard.”

She slipped into a pair of plain white sneakers to wear with the baby blue cotton dress she had laid out for that day. The summer heat had persisted, and more often than not she found herself waking up in a damp sweat. The temperature was much warmer in Benton than it was up on the North Shore, and so most of her belongings she had were better equipped for rainy days and sopped streets. New clothes were a must.

“Do you have any suggestions for clothing?”

“You could go to Iris’s on Main Street. She has a lot more stuff like that,” said Clare as she indicated to Jolene’s outfit.

“Alright, sounds good,” She said while grabbing her knockoff sunglasses from the nightstand beside her bed. “Do you have any requests for me to pick up?”

“No…well…” Clarette took a considerate pause, and sipped more coffee before continuing. “You could go and see Charlie Sokolsky for me.”

Jolene felt her eyes narrow into pins as she shot an unamused look at Clare. Maeve had tactfully brought up that whole conversation the last time she had stopped in for dinner, and even Clarette had managed to find her smile in Jolene’s discomfort. She longed for the past when they used to be on her side about creepy Sokolsky, now it was only endless teasing.

“What for?” she groused.

“To say thanks from me, for the gift he sent.”

“Send him a thank you card, I’ll personally hand deliver it to the post office,” she retorted curtly.

Clarette held up her free hand in surrender, taking a step back from the door to let Jolene pass. “Alright, still a sore subject I guess.”

“Not sore, just would rather avoid it altogether,” She said as her shoulder brushed passed Clare. Admitting it was a subject that caused her any discomfort at all implied that she was giving it more thought than usual, which she wasn’t.

She tackled the stairs two at a time, with Clare slobbing behind her in slippers that resembled sheep. Well, sheep if they were dirty grey, and missing patches of wool.

Jolene then decided she would pick up a few new articles of clothing for Clare as well, at least to help her outward appearance from remaining in shambles. That would only earn her more pity for her loss, something she did not need reminding of.

“I’ll be back this afternoon, so we can have lunch together.”

Clare nodded as she sat her coffee mug down on the antique dining room table. “Are you going to stop in and see your mom?”

Jolene sucked at her teeth and shook her head side-to-side nervously. She had a special bond with her mother, one that was better spent talking over the phone…or in letters…or telepathically if possible. Pretty much any way that created some distance so Jolene could cut and run at the first sign of trouble rearing its head. “Nope, that’s like admitting defeat. I’ll never live it down.”

“I still can’t believe she doesn’t know you live up in North Shore,” Clarette said with some admiration. “Usually she sniffs out everything.”

Jo didn’t understand it either, with her mother being something of a bloodhound when it came to secrets, but the lie had gone on for so long now that the reaction would be explosive. She spent most of her juvenile years complaining about Benton to everyone, yet she had only managed to move forty minutes north from it. That was a thought that crept up on her every now and again, that she had been all talk and had not followed through on her fantasized ideations. She had wanted a life in a city somewhere, Boston had been the hope, but in the end she had settled somewhere not all that different from her original perceived dungeon.

“I suspect it’s because she never leaves the house. She keeps up in the cottage until necessity forces her into town.”

“True, me or Maeve almost never see her,” Clarette commented. She strode over to the kitchen, and returned shortly with a small square box in her arms. There were no wrappings, only an address stamped in black ink on the cardboard front. “She did send me a Ba Gua mirror, as a sympathy gift.”

Jolene closed her eyes for a moment and put her hand to her forehead. ‘Why she could not just send flowers’, she thought in regards to her mother. “I’m sorry about her.”

“Oh don’t be. Remember your graduation present? I was there when she gave it to you, so something like this didn’t catch me off guard. I don’t know if I want to hang it up though.” Clare turned the box over in her arms, a hesitant expression on her face.

Jolene didn’t blame her. She was constantly surrounded by her mother’s spiritual artifacts growing up, along with the smell of burning sage in the house from her smudging. “Unless you’re expecting her as a guest, I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Jolene with a wave of her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun,” Clarette hollered, balancing the mirror under her arm so she could close the door behind her.

Jolene bounced down the porch steps, enjoying the warm weather on her arms as she started down Clare’s long driveway. The neighborhood was alive already with activity, her seeing more people wandering than she first assumed would be out. Joggers were striding in their shorts and headphones, some with leashes and dogs leading the way. Sprinklers were spritzing the lush lawns, and somewhere she could hear the start of a gas mower.

Perhaps it was to be expected, but because of her water privilege, Jolene was actually something of a gardener. Back home in North Shore she had flowerbeds bordering all around her house, and trimmed hedges in the yard. Clare had neglected doing any of her yard work thus far, and Jolene was considering broaching the subject, to offer her assistance. It would give her something to do, and make her feel a bit more useful in helping her friend besides just bringing home the groceries and taking up space for free.

That was something she had learned from a young age from her mother. They, and others like them, were privileged. Doris Brock had set out to educate her daughter from a young age, and Jolene’s bedtime stories were often of the first coven of The Thirteen. The thirteen privileges that had long since been muddled in bloodlines. Jolene’s primary privilege was water, like her mother’s, and with a secondary privilege undiscovered. Not an uncommon occurrence though, as most secondary privileges go, they were usually too insignificant in strength to be summoned unless well weaved into the blood. Neither Clarette nor Maeve knew of theirs either.

It had been a while since she had allowed herself to think about such things. Despite some of her mother’s more outlandish habits, she had loved those stories as a child, and had even taken some of the books with her when she had left Benton behind. She had needed the comfort of familiarity then, and they had been better friends on lonely nights. Now they had become worn-out at the spine with time spent standing on a shelf in her bedroom back in North Shore, collecting dust. Guilt swelled in her breast, and she wished she had considered bringing at least one of them here with her.

Such remorseful thoughts were distracting her from the now, and she abandoned them in favor of joining behind a jogger on the most direct path into town. Younger families outside didn’t immediately recognize her face, and some even surprised her with a wave or a friendly hello. It was a good change of pace to be seen as something welcome and unthreatening to the community. She smiled back accordingly, and even said a few greetings back. Her jovial actions caused her to get sidetracked, so much so that she wasn’t watching where she was going.

There was a cable van up ahead, with the sliding side door opened and the worker busy talking on his radio when she collided into his legs with her own. He stumbled, dropping his radio to the pavement with a clack while cursing.

“Christ, watch it lady,” He snapped loudly, bending at the waist to retrieve his radio which he snatched up aggressively. When he stood up straight to full height again, he was glaring at her in scrutiny.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” she replied back sharply, not liking the tone he struck or the look on his face.

“Then look next time,” he retorted, mumbling some selective choice of rude words under his breath, though loud enough still for her to listen. The Mass Cable Company cap on his head was pulled down enough to shade himself from the sun, but Jolene could still see his squinted eyes on his long face. There was no nametag on his navy work shirt, though her reason for looking was purely curiosity. The hint of an accent in his voice was not from around here. He took a close step towards her and pointed down the right towards town with his radio in hand. “Get moving.”

It must have been on assumption that he thought she was headed for Main Street. Whatever the reason, Jolene didn’t stop to ponder it as she sped away in short quick steps, eager to bring that confrontation to a swift close. She could still feel his gaze centered on her back, prompting her to cross over to the other side of the street just as soon as she judged there to be no oncoming cars. With one last discreet look over her shoulder, she could see that he had returned to his conversation. His head was tilted down and the device tucked against his ear.

So much for avoiding negative attention. Benton was committed to make her the local pariah, and it seemed as if there was nothing she could do to avoid that. There must have been some onlookers from her verbal match with the cable guy, and she hesitated to think of their forming opinions.

As she journeyed forward, the streets started to narrow into one road leading in and out of Benton’s town center. The small homes and cottages that she passed by were of lower property value than Clarette’s ritzy back neighborhood, but were no less colorful or charming in their own right. Being stuck on the busy main strip saw heavier traffic, and there were more parked cars, and litter among the gutters lining the way.

Benton’s size made its center accessible by almost every connecting street and damn near impossible to miss from afar. The quaint out-of-time feel was an attractive quality, and the cozy bed and breakfasts were booked solid through the holidays. The town was never swarming as opposed to the likes of Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket, but with its economy reliant on tourism and fishing, most of Benton lived comfortably enough.

The paved roads turned into cobblestone when Jolene’s feet met Main Street. The shapes and sounds became familiar before her eyes, and she could almost relate the feeling to nostalgia if she didn’t know herself better. She had spent too much of her youth cutting the place up to everyone, and she wasn’t about to mistakenly think herself sentimental for her old home.

Thinking of which, she spotted the faded red light house from its spot on the cliff by the harbor, only a breath away from her mother’s cottage. There was a small nagging in her mind that she ought to do the daughterly thing and pop in for an unexpected visit, but procrastination had already threaded through her mind. Another day then, when she was feeling better about admitting her perceived failures to her mother. She at least considered the notion of making a phone call later, and letting her mom know she was staying in town with Clarette. That would sooth her unrest at least.

“Jolene?”

She looked left at her name being called, and one face against the many called to her memory, standing beside the dancing stone fountain in Benton’s center. It was a better change to behold now that his black hair was no longer cut in an even bowl cut, but rather swept to the side across his forehead. Those beady blue eyes, which admittedly had always reminded Jolene of a shark’s, were searching her face with recognition. She allowed a smile to come to her face, remembering him as a harmless classmate, and a distant friend.

“Simon,” She called, waving with the first real enthusiasm she had summoned to use in Benton. And why should she not? After all, he was the one person she could count on to be welcoming to her return.

“I’d heard from word of mouth that you were back,” he said when he reached her, not holding back in giving her a light embrace which she tightened. His shyness still surfaced, and she was surprised he had been the one to initiate the contact. That was the mark of a new trait in him, one she had not seen before. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Simon,” said Jolene. He must have been boiling in that green flannel shirt, because she could feel his heat through the layer on his back. She was tempted to tell him to unfasten the button on his collar at least, that habit he still kept up with, but she stepped out from the hug instead. “So I’m notorious already, huh?”

“I’ve only heard your name tossed around, nothing bad, just that you’re staying with Clarette.”

She was relieved to discover that bit of news. It seemed she wasn’t about to be run out of town after all. “I am, for obvious reasons. I suppose you know what’s been going on with her?”

“Yeah, I knew about Billy. I didn’t make it to the funeral because of work, but I did send something. I don’t know if it got to the house.”

“I’m sure it’s there, among the rest of the baskets and flowers around the main floor right now. What was it?”

“It probably didn’t stand out, it was just a basket of mini-muffins,” he said looking rueful.

Jolene soured at the mention, but tried not to let that affect her sudden good mood, or else Simon might happen to think he was to blame. “Every bit helps, and she’s been kept busy writing all those thank-you cards, so look for it in your mail.”

“Will do.” He stepped from one foot to the other, his gaze flitting about them as people passed by in the town center. Anxious and unfocused, he put up a smile that had her pausing. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”

“No, just doing a bit of shopping. Am I holding you up from somewhere?”

“Actually no, I have the afternoon free by rare generosity from my boss. I’m up for some walking if you’re up for some company?”

When she had left Clarette’s, it had been on the assumption that she would be taking a solo day, and that was a pitying thought. Not that she minded her own company, but catching up with an old friend was a more tantalizing offer. “Of course. You can tell me all about that boss of yours, and I can tell you about my run-in with the cable guy.”

“Making waves already?” Simon grinned with a sharpness around his thin mouth that hadn’t been there in senior year. “They’re going to hate you all over again.”

“I’m back at square one I guess.” She shrugged in a casual manner, even as she was flooded with misery. “At least I’ll be comfortable.”

He nodded along with an understanding smile, leading her through Main Street. Upon a closer look, some of what she remembered had changed. Stores had been replaced, others remodeled with bright paint and tinted glass. There was an apothecary with an emerald green door that Jolene was certain had not been there the last time. She was sure she would’ve recalled seeing sales for calendula oil and comfrey leaf.

Wooden plaques with stenciled lettering hung above all the shops in Benton, with some of the businesses keeping their doors opened on the warm day. She could smell sweet sugar from Kohler’s bakery, and French onion soup—the soup of the day—at Bullock’s diner. A chalkboard sign stood on the walkway outside, displaying that day’s specials.

“Are you hungry?” asked Simon, his gazed flicking back and forth from her to the diner.

“I could eat. I didn’t really take time for a big breakfast before I left this morning.”

“C’mon, it’ll be my treat then. They still have the best Monte Cristo, and it will be a quiet place to talk since we’re ahead of the lunch rush. Or if you were wanting something more like fish and chips, we could go down to Kelley’s.”

“Simon,” Jolene interrupted before he could say any more. She remembered this side of him. The pace of his speech would pick up, and the volume would drop to a low mumble.

His hands began to anxiously play with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck, and eye contact was lost. “Sorry.”

“Bullock’s will be fine,” She told him, resting her hand on his forearm to still his nervous tic. “I feel like soup, and I’m not up for a walk to the wharf. I still need to walk back to Clare’s later.”

“Oh, I could drive you,” he piped up it seemed before he could help himself. “If it’s okay with you, it’s no trouble.”

“Alright, but I’ll pay for lunch to make up for gas money. These are hard times after all.”

“Tell me about it. I’m just a bartender,” said Simon, frowning.

Jolene laughed before she could prevent the bubbling feeling from leaving her lips. Of all the things, Simon a bartender? He seemed more likely to be a writer or a librarian. His fascination for all things fantastical—books, artwork, movies, and comics—were what spurred his conversations in school. She thought he would have gravitated more towards the likes of those.

“I’m sorry Simon, I’m not laughing at you, just the absurdity of the image in my mind,” she said, hastily wiping at the tears on her face.

He grinned wryly, “Well, I’m still not a drinker, but I can make a wicked sex on the beach.”

“You flirt,” Jolene teased. She grabbed his arm and increased the pressure of her grip to steer him towards Bullock’s diner with a sudden eagerness for his company. “Now, let’s get a table, and you can tell me all about this new Simon.”

“Oh, well…” His awkward expression disappeared, and he gave an airy laugh as he staggered along behind her.