Discovering Delilah(9)

I pry those thoughts from my mind and try again to focus on work.

Wyatt bursts through the double doors into the back of the bar. We’re twins, but his hair is thicker, shaggy, and darker than mine, light brown compared to my blond, and while I’m only five foot five, Wyatt’s over six feet tall and broad as a linebacker. The kitchen seems smaller with him in it. He’s been in and out between meetings with accounting firms. We’re hiring an outside company to audit our books because our last accountant—and our dad’s best friend, whom we called Uncle Tim—embezzled money from the bar. I guess gambling and drinking can drive a person over the edge, but add losing your best friend and I guess I can see why he lost it. Wyatt fired him and told him to stay away from us, but Uncle Tim…er…Tim Johnson, has known us since we were born. We spent a lot of time with him and his wife over the years. He even came to our high school and college graduations. Wyatt couldn’t just push him out of our lives completely, even though that was what he tried to do. After firing him, Wyatt got him into a treatment center, and I know Wyatt’s visited him a few times, although he doesn’t really talk about it.

“Hey, sis.” He joins me at the counter, where I’m waiting to pick up a sandwich order from Dutch. “You sure you can hold down the fort?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Dutch slides the order across the stainless-steel counter and winks. His hair has grown a lot in the last month, and it looks like a curly brown Afro. He reminds me of Seth Rogan, only bigger.

“Hey, Rocky. There’s nothing Delilah can’t handle. And she doesn’t have to use her fists.” Dutch’s deep laugh fills the kitchen as my brother gives him a narrow-eyed stare.

“The nickname’s Army, thank you very much.” Wyatt flashes a crooked smile, and Dutch shakes his head. Army has been his nickname since we first went to college. His friends thought that Army was cooler than Wyatt Armstrong. Most girls loved it, but me and Cassidy, whom Wyatt and I have known since we were five years old, have never cared for it. To us he’ll always be Wyatt.

“It’s your own fault for beating up that guy who was coming on to Cassidy. You’ll never live it down in Dutch’s eyes,” I say as we walk back into the bar.

“She’s right!” Dutch yells after us.

Wyatt’s face grows tight. He’s not proud of that fight, and I think the fact that it was the catalyst for my moving out still bothers him. Our parents’ death hit us both equally as hard but in totally different ways. Wyatt seems to have moved past most of his grief, but I’m still knee-deep in quicksand.

“I’m heading out to meet with another accounting firm. Rusty’s coming in to relieve you soon, and Jesse’s coming by later to check over the books and inventory. You know, gotta make sure we’re still on target and all that.”

In addition to helping us with the Taproom, Jesse has taken on the role of watching over us, too. I think my father would be pleased that Jesse has stepped in, even though he’s only about ten years older than us. And he doesn’t act like a father, but more like an older brother. He hangs out with us when we have parties and makes sure no one drinks and drives.

“I’m fine, Wy. How are the interviews going?”

“Eh. You know, it’s a lot of numbers talk, but I really liked one guy, so we’ll see. You’ll have to meet him before we make any decisions, of course.” Wyatt scans the room. The bar runs the full length of the wall across from the door. We have a dance floor toward the back of the bar and a small stage where our friend Brandon Owens’s band plays a few times each week. Two girls are sitting on barstools drinking cocktails and eating sandwiches. One of them runs her eyes over Wyatt. He’s so into Cassidy now that he doesn’t even notice, or he doesn’t seem to. There are two couples sitting at tables in the middle of the room.

“Looks like you have a customer.” Wyatt nods at a booth, where—holy crap—Janessa is sitting. She has one leg stretched across to the other side of the booth as she studies the menu. “A very pretty customer.”

My pulse quickens at the sight of her. “Hey, you have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not for me.” He winks, and I grab his arm and move in really close before he can walk away.

“How can you tell she’s into girls?” I whisper. I really want to know, because to me she looks just like every other girl in the bar, only prettier. Wyatt and Cassidy are the only people who know that I like girls, even though I know our friends here would be supportive. My parents are no longer here watching over every move I make, but I still feel like they are. Yes, my parents have messed me up that badly.