Games We Play (19 page)

“It’s a major undertaking. How much does this cost?”

Myra waved Kendall’s question away, as if swatting at a fly. “This town’s one big family, or I would like for it to be. Everyone needs help sometimes and it would be nice to be able to turn to each other for that help. I don’t worry so much about the cost.”

“It’s really cool what you’re doing here. There aren’t enough people like you in the world, but how much are you spending?” Kendall asked.

“There are more people like me than you know, but thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re not going to answer my question, are you?” Kendall asked.

“I can handle the cost.”

“Along with Destiny’s expenses?”

“Yes, and we’d better get going or we’ll be late for bingo.”

“Okay,” Kendall said, scanning Stony’s home again while mentally tallying the renovations that were almost complete. She pulled away front the curb, impressed by the scope and size of her aunt’s aid, and concerned by it too.

They had lunch at home, arriving at bingo just in time for the start of the 2:00 p.m. game.
It’s just as crowded as it was on Tuesday
, Kendall thought, following her aunt to the window to purchase their bingo paraphernalia. She and Myra found seats next to her aunt’s friends, aka the bingo gals.

The bingo hall, she’d leaned, raised money for three separate charities. The sign on the wall listed the charities as the Coopersville Catholic Church, the Veterans Hall #24, and the Boys and Girls Club of Central Texas. She’d had no idea that bingo was such a big industry, but she done some research since learning of her aunt’s interest in it.

In 2010 alone, bingo had raised about $33 million for charities in Texas. It was the oldest form of legalized gambling in the state. Who would have thought that money collected from the wages of sin, as some considered gambling to be, could be used to pay for things that the state needed for its citizenry—a sin put to good use. She admired the pragmatism.

She looked over at an older couple that she’d seen every day since arriving in town. The Simpsons, both African American, the wife in a wheelchair, quiet, the result of a stroke. Her husband did the talking for them both, played for them both as well.
That’s what commitment looks like
, she thought. How did one find that in another human, and how did they make it last? Her mother certainly wouldn’t have stuck around in that situation with any of the men she’d married. It had always been on to greener pastures for Vivian.

“Hey,” Luis said, interrupting her thoughts. He was doing his normal walk around, speaking to the older ladies, kissing their hands. He loved the customers, and they loved him. He would spend a few minutes talking to each of them, and he seemed genuinely glad to see them. Another type of family, she guessed.

“Hi, Kendall,” he said, reaching for her hand.

“Hi, Luis.”

“How’s it going?” he asked, continuing to hold her hand between his two.

“Fine. My aunt’s been keeping me busy.”

“She’s taken you with her on her errands?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think about what she does?”

“I think it’s pretty cool. I’m a little concerned about her, though. It’s expensive what she does,” she said, hoping he’d share what he might know with her.

“It is, but we make it work.”

“Who is ‘we’?” she asked.

“Her friends,” he said with a smile. “Where have you’ve been so far?”

“Let’s see, the first day I met Destiny, Donna’s little sister, preparing for college. Wednesday, it was the state park, and today we went by Stony Johnson’s home,” she said, allowing him to not so subtly change the subject.

Luis smiled. “I know Stony’s older brother. He was behind me in school. I was like Destiny,” he said, serious now. “I couldn’t have afforded school on my own, even with the financial aid I’d qualified for. Mr. and Mrs. George filled in the gap. Myra’s pretty special to me, and to so many others in this town,” Luis said, shaking his head, his eyes on Myra now. “She and George were two of the few people in town who had the nerve to stand up to Cooper Two.”

Why did he need standing up to?
Kendall wondered. “Barnabus’s father?”

He nodded, and chuckled. “Yes. We guard Myra with our lives,” he said.

“Is there a message in there for me?” she asked, smiling. Subtle he was not.

“Cooper was looking out for your aunt. It’s the reason for what he did.”

“So in other words, Barnabus is not usually a jerk, but he can be one when called upon?” she asked, still smiling at him. She liked Luis. She had the impression that he was a funny, handsome, kind man—one who was very loyal to his friend. “You’re a good friend, but while I understand and appreciate his commitment to my aunt, I’m not sure I’m sold on his methods.”

“He’s interested in you,” Luis said, laughing at Kendall’s expression of disbelief. “You play golf. You’re easy on the eyes and smart. You don’t find that combination every day.”

“And you’re such a flatterer,” Kendall said, laughing now.

“If he knew I was speaking to you on his behalf, he’d kill me,” Luis said.

“Then why are you?”

“He’s a good guy, one of the best, and I think you might be good for him,” Luis said.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said, those serious eyes holding hers again.

“You think I should what?”

“Forgive him, try to be his friend. Get to know him. Like I said, he’s a good guy. Think about it,” he said, glancing around the room. “We only have another ten minutes before we start, so I’d better get going,” he said.

“Okay then. Thanks for sharing with me,” she said.

“No problem. We all look out of each other around here,” he said, and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts about Barnabus again. So she should try to get to know Barnabus better? Did yesterday in the truck count?

She was learning that there were so many sides to him. Barnabus-the-good-guy, who loved and looked after her aunt. Barnabus-the-golfer. Barnabus-the-sexy-man, a man who knew what to do with a woman in the backseat of a truck or bent over a sofa. Barnabus-the-friend…hmm, maybe that could work too. Barnabus-the-friend-with-benefits, now that could work even better, and why the hell not, it was what she’d hoped for from the start.

Talk about a memorable summer. It had potential. Her mornings would be given to her aunt and all her many causes and helping those that needed help, not for any grand reason beyond that Aunt Myra was in a position to do so. It would be food for Kendall’s soul, and her nights would be spent with Barnabus, getting another type of sustenance. She’d bet he’d make it fun too. Was it possible to enjoy a man without any hopes or expectations that it would lead to something long term?

The thought of that appealed to the woman who was growing a little tired of looking, of wondering whether every man she encountered had the makings of the
one
. She wanted yesterday, she wanted more experiences like the one in the backseat of his truck. She yearned for spontaneous, unscripted fun and an entire summer of that was almost too exciting to contemplate. Okay, so maybe she would try out Barnabus-the-friend-with-benefits, but she wouldn’t rush into it. It was entertaining watching him try to lure her back. Which, if she was honest, had worked.

Thursday morning

Brew day at the pub was an early-to-rise proposition, which was usually not a problem for Cooper. However, he’d arrived late this morning and was in a hurry to get things started. He was more than a little off his game and not as focused as he usually was.
Preoccupied
was the word—he had a case of Kendall-on-the-brain. She was in his dreams too; and speaking of dreams, he’d awakened this morning in the midst of a very wet one, an encore performance of their time in the backseat of his truck. The professor was the source of all his dreams lately, wet or otherwise.

“Hey, Cooper,” Celeste said from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. She was early too, way earlier than was needed for her first shift. They only had two shifts for full-time workers, morning or afternoons. It was either the 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. shift or the 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. shift.

“Hey,” he said, looking up as she made her way over to him with two coffee cups in hand, a bright and sunny smile on her face. Who was that shiny at this time of morning?

“I stopped by your favorite coffee place, that bistro across the street is really good. Who knew that there’d be such fine food and drink in Coopersville, Texas,” she said.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that,” he said, setting his cargo down, taking the cup from her hand.

“No biggie. I was going there anyway. Just my way of saying I appreciate you and my job,” she said.

“Just do your job and that will be payment enough for me,” he said. Had that come out a little too harsh? Her smile dipped, so maybe it had.

“Sure,” she said, and turned away.

“But hey, thanks again for thinking of me,” he said, smiling.

“Sure, you’re welcome,” she said, returning his smile before leaving him alone.

“The usual today, folks?” Cooper said, running his eyes around the table. Myra and the Colonel were sitting with his favorite professor for Myra’s late-afternoon beer and early dinner.

“Yes.” Myra and the Colonel nodded in the affirmative.

“For you, Professor?” he said. He smiled and winked at her.

“Tea for me, please.”

“Still fighting the good fight?” he asked, looking down at her.

“And what fight would that be?” she asked.

“The I-will-not-have-that-man’s-beer fight,” he said.

She smiled her over-the-top fake smile, of course. “I don’t care for beer, sorry. It’s nothing against you,” she said.

“You haven’t tried mine,” he said.

“Sure I have. It’s way too strong, with nothing that speaks of finesse or of hidden depths that can be found in a good wine.”

“You think?” he asked, and then started to laugh. “Kendall, Kendall, Kendall,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes shining. He started in with his laughter again.

“Could I have a few lemons on the side to go along with my tea?” she asked.

“I tell you what, Professor. I’ll bring over your tea, but I’ll also bring over a beer, a new one each time you’re in here. We’ll keep it up until we find one that you like.”

“Is that a challenge, Barnabus?” she asked. The world around her had shrunken to just the two of them.

“It’s Cooper, and no, not like when I beat you that one time in golf. Consider this the beginning of your beer tutorial, an exposure to something you haven’t experienced before.”

“Sure, Barnabus. You didn’t beat me, but whatever—I’ll test out your little beers. Show me what you’ve got, and don’t forget the tea.”

He returned a few minutes later with a tray holding three glasses of beer and no tea. He handed one each to Myra and the Colonel before setting a dark-colored one in front of Kendall. Myra and the Colonel looked on, staying silent as they watched the two of them.

Kendall picked up her glass, examining it for signs of who knows what. She looked at it first from the right side, then the left, raising it up so she could see underneath the bottom of it. She sniffed at the foam, imitating Myra.

She pulled it forward and took a few tentative sips, eyes turned down, as if she was seriously considering this beer. Cooper laughed, amused by her antics.

“You sure this wasn’t poured straight from a Guinness bottle behind the bar and you’re trying to pass it off as your own?”

He laughed outright and shook his head. “Well, look who knows something about beer. Sorry, but no, it’s our own recipe. It’s a chocolate stout. I’d tell you how we brew it, but it would be lost on you,” he said.

“You know, it’s not too bad as far as beer goes. Thank you for this nice little taste test, but I’m really not a Guinness fan. I don’t like dark beers—or any kind of beer for that matter. So I’ll be having that tea, please,” she said, pushing the beer back over to him. “And would you hurry it along, Barnabus? I’m really thirsty now. All that beer left this yucky taste in mouth.”

He laughed. She smiled behind his back as he walked away. So did Myra and the Colonel, but she was aware only of him.

“What is this place?” Kendall asked, standing on the porch of Knit One, Purl Two later on that evening. It was a small house, really small, located off the main street, closer to the residential part of the town. It was three rooms, maybe.

“It’s where I meet to knit and gab with the girls,” Myra said.

“Oh,” Kendall said.

“Do you know how to knit?”

“No.”

“Well, this is a chance for you to learn,” Myra said.

They stepped through the door, and Kendall scanned the room.
What a charming place
, she thought. It was one of those old homes that had been converted into a business. A few walls had been sacrificed to create this open space that was painted a light shade of pink and filled with a couple of old tables made of dark wood, large and tall, and sofas one could fall into and get lost. There were plenty of shelves made of the same dark wood as the tables, filled with baskets overflowing with yarn, and who knew there were so many colors and types of yarn?

Women were perched on barstools around the tables, chatting. The sofas were filled with women too, knitting needles and yarn resting in their laps, mouths moving along with their hands.

“Myra, is this the niece I’ve heard so much about?” asked an older woman who was approaching them. She was close to her aunt’s age. Picture Carol Channing with an all-black wardrobe and a blond bob, and you had this woman.

“Yes. Kendall, this is Sheryl, the co-owner of this charming place and one of my dear, dear friends,” Myra said, looking around the room. “Everyone’s here I see. Excuse me for a moment. There is someone I need to speak to.” She left Kendall alone with Sheryl.

“I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to Myra to have you here. I also hear that she’s not the only one who’s pleased to have you in town. I couldn’t be happier about that either. He is such a fine young man,” Sheryl said, smiling.