leaning over me so Pete could hear him. “It just takes time.”
Pete leaned back and groaned, keeping his eyes shut tight. Then he started shaking his head some more.
Or maybe Daniel was indulging Pete Burgess out of respect. Pete had been on the Christmas River city council for eight years now, but had recently lost his seat during the election this November to a bright and perky thirty-something gal who worked at the community college. Rumor had it that the election result had been quite devastating to the councilman. A couple of days after the election, his wife left him for another man on the other side of the mountains, and ever since, town gossip had it that Pete had been spending most of his waking hours down here at the Pine Needle Tavern. When he did show up to the city council meetings, he was hardly coherent, going on about how much he’d given to the people of Christmas River, and how little he was appreciated by everyone. Blaming everybody else but himself for his wife leaving him. One of his rants made front page news in the Redmond Register, the big paper a few towns over. The article had been written by Erik Andersen, a reporter I’d come to know this past summer.
“But what does Daisy have to do with fish?” Pete mumbled incoherently, taking a pull on the rum and coke in front of him.
I furrowed my brow.
I’d always thought his wife’s name was Barbara.
Daniel appeared to be as confused as I was.
“I’m afraid I’m not following you, Pete,” Daniel said, leaning back.
The councilman started chuckling.
“Get in line, buddy boy,” he said. “More than half the town already came to that conclusion in November.”
He took another sloppy swig of his rum and coke. I nudged Daniel’s arm, and started putting my coat and scarf on.
It was best to get out of these kinds of things before they turned uglier than they already were.
Pete looked over at me, his eyelids swollen with the liquor. He pushed his hand through the air, as if swatting an imaginary fly.
“I’m not that drunk,” he said. “I’m just talking about my Shih Tzu, issall .”
“Your dog?” Daniel asked.
Pete nodded.
“Lost her a week ago,” he said. “She wanted out in the middle of the night. Had to use the ladies’ room. So I let her out. But we don’t have a fence. It’s never been a problem before. ‘Cept this time, Daisy didn’t come back.”
He rubbed his face.
“That dog was all I had left,” he said. “A man’s best friend, my Daisy.”
He sighed, large drunk tears welling up in his eyes.
“Now I’ve got not a soul.”
The man crumbled faster than a brittle gingerbread house hit by a snowstorm of frosting.
Daniel puckered his lips as Pete Burgess started convulsing with sobs. A few folks around us hushed, their eyes wandering in our general direction. Watching as the train derailed and crashed head-first into a ditch of self-pity.
Daniel placed a hand on the councilman’s back
“C’mon, Pete,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Chapter 17
We stood outside the bar, watching the cab pull Pete Burgess away into the lonely frosty night.
“Poor guy,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “The man’s whole life fell apart inside of a month. I wasn’t ever exactly a fan of his, but I tell you, I don’t like seeing him end up like this.”
“Well, at least we got him out of the bar,” I said. “Saved him a few more regrets maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, tilting his head back, looking up at the stars above that twinkled like a thousand tambourines in the black night.
He breathed in deeply. The pine-scented air was so crisp and clean this time of year, it was almost surreal.
“You feel like leaving the car here overnight and walking home, Mrs. Brightman?” he said.
It was cold out, but nothing like it could be up here in the mountains this time of year. Home was only about a mile and a half away – hardly any distance really. The whiskey had
Pete leaned back and groaned, keeping his eyes shut tight. Then he started shaking his head some more.
Or maybe Daniel was indulging Pete Burgess out of respect. Pete had been on the Christmas River city council for eight years now, but had recently lost his seat during the election this November to a bright and perky thirty-something gal who worked at the community college. Rumor had it that the election result had been quite devastating to the councilman. A couple of days after the election, his wife left him for another man on the other side of the mountains, and ever since, town gossip had it that Pete had been spending most of his waking hours down here at the Pine Needle Tavern. When he did show up to the city council meetings, he was hardly coherent, going on about how much he’d given to the people of Christmas River, and how little he was appreciated by everyone. Blaming everybody else but himself for his wife leaving him. One of his rants made front page news in the Redmond Register, the big paper a few towns over. The article had been written by Erik Andersen, a reporter I’d come to know this past summer.
“But what does Daisy have to do with fish?” Pete mumbled incoherently, taking a pull on the rum and coke in front of him.
I furrowed my brow.
I’d always thought his wife’s name was Barbara.
Daniel appeared to be as confused as I was.
“I’m afraid I’m not following you, Pete,” Daniel said, leaning back.
The councilman started chuckling.
“Get in line, buddy boy,” he said. “More than half the town already came to that conclusion in November.”
He took another sloppy swig of his rum and coke. I nudged Daniel’s arm, and started putting my coat and scarf on.
It was best to get out of these kinds of things before they turned uglier than they already were.
Pete looked over at me, his eyelids swollen with the liquor. He pushed his hand through the air, as if swatting an imaginary fly.
“I’m not that drunk,” he said. “I’m just talking about my Shih Tzu, issall .”
“Your dog?” Daniel asked.
Pete nodded.
“Lost her a week ago,” he said. “She wanted out in the middle of the night. Had to use the ladies’ room. So I let her out. But we don’t have a fence. It’s never been a problem before. ‘Cept this time, Daisy didn’t come back.”
He rubbed his face.
“That dog was all I had left,” he said. “A man’s best friend, my Daisy.”
He sighed, large drunk tears welling up in his eyes.
“Now I’ve got not a soul.”
The man crumbled faster than a brittle gingerbread house hit by a snowstorm of frosting.
Daniel puckered his lips as Pete Burgess started convulsing with sobs. A few folks around us hushed, their eyes wandering in our general direction. Watching as the train derailed and crashed head-first into a ditch of self-pity.
Daniel placed a hand on the councilman’s back
“C’mon, Pete,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Chapter 17
We stood outside the bar, watching the cab pull Pete Burgess away into the lonely frosty night.
“Poor guy,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “The man’s whole life fell apart inside of a month. I wasn’t ever exactly a fan of his, but I tell you, I don’t like seeing him end up like this.”
“Well, at least we got him out of the bar,” I said. “Saved him a few more regrets maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, tilting his head back, looking up at the stars above that twinkled like a thousand tambourines in the black night.
He breathed in deeply. The pine-scented air was so crisp and clean this time of year, it was almost surreal.
“You feel like leaving the car here overnight and walking home, Mrs. Brightman?” he said.
It was cold out, but nothing like it could be up here in the mountains this time of year. Home was only about a mile and a half away – hardly any distance really. The whiskey had
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