But there are some things that will never change. I promised myself that when I agreed to this fool’s errand.
I set the burger back on the heavy white plate and pull my phone out. I snap a quick shot of the burger and fries, make a few adjustments for the lighting, and add a caption that says TDF good, a skull emoji, a halo emoji, then hit Post. I stare at it for a moment, counting the seconds until the first heart appears. Twenty-two seconds. I smile. More hearts and comments start appearing, but after reading a couple, I shut it off and set the phone facedown on the table.
I eat. And watch.
I have a unique ability to disappear, be invisible and forgotten. When I was younger, it used to eat me up inside, making me feel unimportant. As I got older, I learned how to put it to good use as a photographer. People don’t notice me, which gives me a sneak peek into their world, their experience in a way I couldn’t get if I were bolder. It took time, but I’ve turned my weakness into a strength.
Once I’ve stuffed as much burger into my belly as I can—okay, maybe more than I should’ve—I gather my courage, stuffing it into every nook and cranny of my soul not filled with ground beef. I lay a ten on the table for Olivia and put my phone in my pocket, wishing I could capture the look on Hank’s face when he sees me.
But I already know I’ll memorize it with my eyes. In that look, I’ll know if this is going to work. My heart races with hope that it will.
I walk up to the bar, between two stools, and wait for his eyes to drag away from the television. “What can I getcha?” he asks in the same run together, one-word way Olivia did. It’s something they both must do dozens of times every day.
I smile even though my lips are shaking and my knees are knocking. “Hi, Uncle Hank.” As I say it, the words sound foreign. I always called him ‘Unc’, but I’m not sure if he’d welcome that familiarity after all these years.
Those blue eyes narrow dangerously before they pop wide open and he grins. “Willow? Well, I’ll be damned!”
I return his smile, that hope blooming quickly and spreading warmth through my body.
“Get over here and give me a hug, girl.” The order is accompanied by a wave of his arm toward the opening in the bar. He comes around quicker than I would’ve thought he could, wrapping me up in a squeezing embrace that lifts me clean off the floor to spin me around.
Hell, he’s unexpectedly spry for an old guy.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, honey. What are you doing here?” He sets me down, petting my hair and scanning my face like he thinks it’s entirely possible that I’m a mirage.
“Needed a change, I guess you could say. And I thought of you . . . and Great Falls.”
That part’s not a lie, at least. I did think of him in a bent old photograph kind of way. The way you remember someone from years ago, when they seemed larger than life because you were just a kid.
Unc, because that’s who he is to me, chuckles, the sound rougher than sandpaper. Smoke. I remember he used to smell like clove cigarettes that brought to mind the Christmas crafts with oranges we did at school as gifts for our mom. I wonder if he still smokes now? I didn’t smell it on his hug, though.
“Well, I reckon Great Falls is a might bit different for a city girl. Have a seat and tell me everything.”
That sounds ominous to my ears. I swallow, knowing I can’t tell him everything, but I can tell him a lot. And I want him to tell me things too, like his version of why I never saw him after I turned fourteen. I’ve heard Mom’s version, and I heard Grandpa’s curse-laden one a time or two, but never Unc’s. Then again, does it even matter now?
He gestures to the end of the bar, following me over. I sit, my legs dangling until I rest my feet on the crossbar. Unc more perches than sits on his stool, but he bends a knee and places his boot on the crossbar too, taking pressure off his leg. Oh, I remember that now. He always had