Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,13
if she’s upset by what I said. I don’t want to cause her any distress, but it seems almost unavoidable. “Well, I won’t get in your way,” I tell her. “I’m only here to help.”
Melody doesn’t respond or turn back to face me. I’ve made her uncomfortable, which is likely from the way I’m staring at the register with what must be a blank expression. I don’t understand, no matter how many years went by, how she could have forgotten about me.
“I have a job for you, Melly,” a voice booms from the back door. I grin at the sight of Mr. Crawley. I haven’t seen him in a few months. The man never changes a bit. He’s a happy old soul with sad eyes.
“Mr. Pearson,” he greets me. “It’s been a while, kid. How have you been?”
“Busy,” I reply. I’ve been working a ton of hours with Pops and juggling Parker every other hour of the day. There isn’t much downtime.
“So, I’ve heard,” Mr. Crawley says. “I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with Melody. It must be years since you two have seen each other, huh?”
Mr. Crawley remembers us being friendly, but Melody doesn’t seem to have the same recollection. I must be forgettable. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s been a long time.” Without a response from Melody on the subject, I think it might be best if I give her some space, so I head toward the back where Mr. Crawley has his hands gripped around each side of the door frame. I receive a look from him, one with his lips twisted to the side and his eyebrows turned into each other. He shakes his head and glances over to the back of Melody’s head.
“Poor thing,” he mouths.
“She isn’t doing well, I assume?” I whisper in response.
“She seems a little scattered, maybe in shock, I suppose.”
Melody turns, finding us muttering beneath our breath, so we stop. “I don’t know the password to the computer,” she says.
“I’ll create one for you,” I respond quickly, hoping she doesn’t speculate about our private conversation.
Her eyes narrow as her head cocks to the side. “Does my dad know you have this kind of access?” By the stiff strain along her jaw, Melody must be irritated by my depth of knowledge for the shop, but I’m not sure how to avoid any of this.
“He does. He walked me through it … ”
Melody slaps her hands down on the counter. “Well, it looks like you have everything under control here, so I’ll—” She points toward the front door and lifts her brows to follow. “Unless there’s something you need help with?”
Mr. Crawley clears his throat and pushes away from the door. “The labels,” he says.
It’s a crappy job. Boring and monotonous. I doubt that’s the kind of help she’s here to offer. I’m sure she’d rather keep her mind busy. “I can do the labels if you’d rather get back to your dad,” I say. The moment the words come out of my mouth, I realize she’s probably here to take a breath from the situation with her dad. I’m guessing the shop would be a second priority if she felt the need to be by his side. Everyone handles grief in different ways. I’m aware some can only tolerate it in small doses.
I should have kept my mouth shut. Melody grabs her bag and coat and races for the front door. She looks mortified. I didn’t mean to make her feel this way, or any way for that matter.
“Don’t take it personally, kid,” Mr. Crawley says. “She’s in for a long road of turmoil and she will need to learn how to navigate it like the rest of us have in life. It’s difficult. You know.”
I do know.
“I can’t just stand here while she’s in pain though. There has to be something I can do to help her.”
Mr. Crawley folds his arms over his chest and runs his hands over his white beard. “I don’t know what you could do to help, but if you think of anything, good on ya. Their family could use a lot of support right now. I’ve been wracking my brain to come up with ideas on how to help them, but there isn’t a lot anyone can do to take away this kind of pain.”
Without thinking too much longer about how I can help, I remember Harold asking for the bottle of Red Apple. I grab one from the top shelf and race out the door.
“Melody!” I shout