Anyway, I really do tell myself that I’m going to call my sister, Holly, and ask her about Dad. Maybe moving off to St. Louis isn’t so realistic, but the idea of locating my father has started to grow on me. I’ll bet I could really talk to him about things. It would be the Keely men, bonding at last. I can even see us going out to a baseball game together again. This time I’d have a tall, cold beer of my very own.
It’s not hard to come up with excuses for not calling Holly, though—especially since she never really forgave me for the suit-burning incident—but today I have a really legitimate one. Bob, my manager at the clothing store, asked me to come to work a couple of hours early. I mean, I can’t start some big, long-lost-dad conversation and then say, “Look, Holly, I’ll call you back later. I have to go to work.”
At Mr. Leon’s, I bring up the subject with Bob, but he seems distracted and doesn’t come across with his usual wisdom. Later, at the end of the shift, I find out why. He calls me into his office and tells me to have a seat.
“Sutter,” he says, tenting his fingers on the desk in front of him. “Do you know why I asked you to come in early today?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before going on. “Obviously we weren’t extra busy. In fact, we’re never busy anymore. That’s the problem. The front office knows it, and they told me I have to cut hours starting the week after next. So I wanted you to get some extra time in before we have to do that.”
“How many hours do you have to cut?” I ask. “I’m only working three days a week as it is, and not even eight-hour shifts. I was hoping to maybe get five days a week this summer.”
I guess that shows where my mind is. I’m still thinking in terms of living here and not St. Louis.
Bob looks down and rubs his thumb along the edge of the desk. “And I’d like to give you those five days, Sutter. I really would. But the thing is, the way the front office wants it, I can only keep one clerk on. Now, we both know I like you and the customers like you—most of them anyway—so if I had my way, you’d be the one to keep.”
“That’s excellent, Bob. You won’t regret it.”
“Hold on for a second, Sutter. That’s not all. I’ve given this some hard thought, and the only way I can let you stay is if you promise me—one hundred percent—that you won’t ever come in with even a light buzz on. And I mean not even once. Otherwise, I don’t have any choice but to give you your two weeks’ notice.”
Bob looks me right in the eye now. He’s got this heavy sadness about him, like whether I lie or tell the truth, he’s bound to be disappointed. And of course, I can’t lie to him. He’s Bob Lewis. He’s too good a guy.
“Well, Bob,” I say. “You’ve got me there. You know I can’t promise you that. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
He continues looking me in the eye for a long moment, then nods. “I appreciate your honesty, Sutter. I guess if I was your dad I’d try to give you a lecture or something about what you’re doing to yourself, but that’s not really my place.”
I reach out and shake his hand. “Bob, if you were my dad, you probably wouldn’t have to lecture me about that. It’s been great working with you.”
“We still have two more weeks to work together.” I swear he looks like he’s about to cry. “And after that, if you ever decide to get things on track, you come back by here, and we’ll see if there’s an opening.”
“You can count on it.”
It’s pretty awkward around there after that, so I leave early instead of hanging around and talking to Bob while he counts out the till. Sure, I feel bad about getting fired, but I would’ve felt a lot worse if I’d lied. In fact, I’m pretty proud of myself, and as I walk out of the store, the air actually tastes a little sweet. Until I see Marcus’s car parked next to mine.
Chapter 56
My first thought is, Great, what now? I just got my ass canned and somehow Marcus has gone jealous again?
But as I approach the car, he’s not the one that steps out. It’s Cassidy. I ask her what’s up, and she says, “We just want to talk to you for a minute.” I’m like, “Who’s we?” and she goes, “Marcus and Ricky and I.”
She has her serious face working, so I have to wonder what I’ve done now. Thumbing back through recent memories, I can’t come up with anything. In fact, it seems like, except for getting fired, I’ve been a real upstanding citizen.
I sit next to Ricky in the backseat while Cassidy and Marcus sit up front. Everybody’s staring at me, so I’m like, “What’s going on? What’d I do now?”
They trade glances, and then Ricky starts off. “It’s nothing you did,” he says. “It’s more like something we want you to consider doing.”
I look from face to face. They’re all dead serious, so I’m like, “Oh Jesus, this isn’t one of those ‘We’re so worried about your drinking’ intervention things, is it?”
“No, dude,” says Ricky. “It’s more like an Aimee Finecky intervention thing.”
That’s a little bit of a relief. I’d hate to see a couple of people I’ve partied with on such a monumental level go all school counselor on me. “Look,” I say. “I already said I’d pay for that patio table.”
“Dude, it’s not the patio table we’re worried about. It’s Aimee herself.”