She’d had to cut into what she jokingly referred to as her salary to cover costs, and tips weren’t always that great. Last night’s thirty-three dollars had been awesome. She hoped John came back. But only because he was such a good tipper. “You guys want pretzels?”
“Nah, we might order a pepperoni pizza,” Gordon said. “You interested?”
She glanced at the clock...already three-thirty. “I’ll pass. As soon as Tommy gets here, I’m shoving off.”
“You need me to watch the bar?”
Sighing, Cassie shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t know what time he’ll be here.” If he didn’t show up within two hours, she was screwed. Lisa started at five, but she couldn’t handle the after-work crowd by herself, so Cassie would have no choice but to stay.
Gordon gave her his famous raised eyebrow. Which was saying something, because his brows were bushy, pure white and as expressive as a cartoon character’s. “What’s he gonna do without you?”
“Why? Where am I going?”
“Once you get that master’s degree, you won’t be sticking around. You’ve got too many brains to be working here as it is.”
“I don’t know about that.” She pushed her fingers through her tangled hair. “Besides, who’d keep you guys in line?”
Gordon frowned. “Nobody’s gotta worry about me. My hell-raising days are over.”
Joe muttered something about Gordon being too slow to get into trouble. The other old boys hooted with laughter and added their two cents.
Cassie just smiled. All four were retired military, ornery and gruff when they played poker or argued over the superiority of the air force versus the navy. But they were harmless, and ready to step in and help her out when she was in a bind.
“Shut up,” Gordon said. “Let the girl study in peace.” He tossed a take-out menu across the table. “Are we ordering pizza or not?”
She took another look at the clock, knowing only two minutes had passed, and then stared down at her textbook. Studying psychology wasn’t a hardship. She loved observing people and discovering what made them tick. But it was this extra class on neurorehabilitation that was going to kill her. She’d passed cognitive neuroscience with relative ease, but this one was surprisingly more difficult for her. Maybe because she hadn’t had nearly enough sleep and too little study time.
But she wouldn’t beat herself up for being too ambitious. Her only fault had been overestimating Tommy. He knew she’d chosen an aggressive summer schedule, assured her that he was behind her all the way, and then he’d let her down. Was it intentional?
She doubted it. He was a good man at heart, but stubborn. And since he wouldn’t go for counseling, she was left to struggle with his decisions. It wouldn’t be so bad if those decisions didn’t impact her so acutely. On the other hand, he wasn’t actively trying to harm himself anymore, so that was something.
Their parents wouldn’t be here to help him out. They hadn’t believed in him enlisting, much less fighting a war in Iraq and getting his leg blown off. Neither of them were monsters, but they weren’t vying for a parents-of-the-year award, either. They had their own lives, and Cassie appreciated that they didn’t interfere in hers.
The room was quiet enough that she heard a car engine outside. Probably Tommy’s van, which he parked at a reserved spot near the handicap ramp. She stared at the door, and two minutes later, watched him limp over the threshold.
He met her eyes for a second, then swung his gaze toward Gordon and the gang. “Joe, you gotta move your car. It’s taking up two stalls.”
“I did that on purpose,” Joe said, looking up from the menu, his gray-threaded dark hair hanging limply to his shoulders. “I’m saving a space for Spider’s Harley.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling in a couple pizzas. You eat yet?”
Tommy waved him off and kept walking toward Cassie. “I told you we should be serving food here,” he murmured when he passed close enough for her alone to hear.
“Right. Because I don’t have enough responsibility to juggle as it is.” Her blood pressure skyrocketed when she realized he was headed for the back. “Don’t you dare—”
He stopped, slowly turned. “What?”
“You don’t think you might owe me just the tiniest explanation why you’re late?”
“Can I at least take a piss first?”
“No, you can’t.” She gritted her teeth when the others laughed. She hadn’t meant for them to hear. “Where the hell were you?”
“I told you I had bar business.”
Boy, had