The Mackinac Bride: Secrets of Mackinac Island, #5 by Katie Winters

Author:Katie Winters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Katie Winters

Chapter Eleven

That Saturday, Marcy performed the basic rituals of a typical morning. She awoke at five, went for a six-mile run, showered, ate a simple yet nutritional breakfast, took inventory, called her father’s nursing home for an update (he was “just the same as he’d been two days ago,” when Marcy had visited), and prepared herself for a very busy afternoon and evening at the Pink Pony. Life as she knew it had entered a sort of dreamlike state, which allowed her to perform each action for the millionth time without thinking about it. She was fifty-six years old, but she could have been any age. Someday, maybe, she would give up her life at the bar and head somewhere new. Maybe at sixty-two or sixty-five or seventy-three.

Kurt stopped by around noon for a grilled cheese sandwich with ham and a light beer. He was chipper and friendly, talking about a recent book he’d read about Roman history, which Marcy was grateful to hear about, if only because it sounded more important than the typical drivel people told her about at the bar. Kurt always seemed hungry for knowledge, a fact that often made Marcy confused as to why he never ran off and studied something at a university.

By twelve-thirty, a steady stream of customers arrived at the bar for lunch and drinks. Marcy flung into action, taking orders and typing them into the brand-new computer she’d purchased, one that hardly seemed related to the old cash register she and her father had used back in the eighties and nineties. It was remarkable what technology could do for your business. At least, that’s what all these new-fangled computer companies wanted you to think.

When Marcy was busy taking a round of orders at a table of ten, her cell phone began to blare on the countertop. Annoyed, Marcy turned quickly and said to Kurt, “Can you answer that really quickly? I’m expecting a call from the guy who delivers the beer.”

Kurt snapped his fingers and said, “I’m on it.” He then hustled around the counter and grabbed her cell. “Good afternoon. This is Marcy Plymouth’s phone.”

By then, Marcy had already turned back to continue to take orders from the ten people before her, most of whom seemed unwilling or unable to read the menu correctly. Marcy patiently listed the condiments that always came on the burger. Just as she’d reached “mustard and pickle,” a hand came over her shoulder.

“Marcy? Can I speak with you for a moment?” Kurt’s voice was stricken.

Marcy turned around, eyes widening. She didn’t even bother to tell the table she’d be right back. Probably, they would write a bad review of the experience on Google. Right then, Marcy couldn’t care less.

In the back hallway, Marcy pressed her phone against her ear and listened as the same woman she’d just spoken to at her father’s nursing home explained that Elliott Plymouth had suffered a stroke early that afternoon and had been rushed to the Cheboygen hospital.

Marcy stuttered with shock.

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