Joe Harrington’s Wake by JD Clapp

Darla pulled into the alley behind the bar and parked under the streetlight. Before she undid her seatbelt she sat in silence for a moment. She adjusted her rearview mirror and looked at her bloodshot eyes, the rims rubbed red from blotting tears. Over the two weeks since Joe Harrington dropped dead, Darla struggled as much with the prospect of her own future as much as her loss. The same thoughts ran over and over thumping her mind like a shoe in a dryer. I’m 64, I have no retirement savings, no real family. I need to keep working but my knees hurt all the time. How long can I keep this up? Her tiny self-chosen family had just lost their most stable member; she had lost her best friend and former lover. She took a make-up bag from her purse and went to work on her eyes.

Not ready to see anyone just yet, Darla entered the Crow’s Nest through the backdoor to avoid Johnny and Big Mike who stood under the awning out front waiting for her to open the front door. I’m surprised Jonesy and Sam aren’t here yet, she thought. A year ago, all the old coots came early, now age or illness seemed to derail someone each week. She knew Big Mike’s last call wasn’t far off. After him, she guessed Jonesy would down his last beer for the eternal road. Besides a few nurses who came in after their night shift, there wasn’t anyone waiting in the wings to join the Eyeopener Club.

She clicked on the back-bar and well lights above the bottles and ice bin. She clicked on the neon Coors signs, the Christmas lights and tree, giving her enough illumination to start the coffee.

As the coffee brewed, she set out all “their coffee mugs” at “their places” at the bar. Big Mike always sat on the middle stool, his girth acting like the prow of a cruise ship pushing his drinking buddies off to the sides like a wake. He insisted on using the U.S. Marine Corp mug with a chip in the lip, Johnny sat next to him drank his coffee from the Bass Pro Shops mug with a big buck on it, and so on.  

 She set a large cocktail glass on the bar above the corner stool that, until a couple days ago, “belonged” to Joe Harrington. From her purse, she retrieved the small, framed photo of Joe and placed it by the empty glass. Hold it together. Don’t let them see you cry, she thought, feeling the lump in her throat build.

Her watch read 5:56 a.m. She set a big pink box of donuts on the bar next to a roll of paper towels, then walked over to click on the main light which hung above the pool table.

When Darla unlocked the door, Sam and Jonesy had crammed under the awning with the others. They look like ancient delinquent schoolboys waiting for detention, she thought. Tiny frozen raindrops now falling, she let them in. Just then, Norm, the owner of the bar pulled up in the rusty1998 Econoline he bought when he still had big plans for the bar.

“Jesus Darla, about time! My sack is in my throat,” Johnny said as he walked in.

“Morning beautiful,” Big Mike said as if shuffled by, stopping to kiss her cheek.

“My hip hurts. It’s gonna snow at least five inches,” Jonesy noted.

“I hope you got some of those cronuts. They were Joe’s favorite” Sam said as he walked by.

They’re your favorite, Joe liked cake donuts with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, she thought.

As the old boys made their way to the donut box, Norm stopped on the sidewalk and looked up at the neon sign above the door reading, rows Nest, and shook his head.

“Thanks for opening this morning, hun. Remind me to get the C in that damn sign fixed after Christmas,” he said to Darla.

Darla rolled her eyes.

“I will.”

##

Darla set a shot glass in front of each of them, then topped them with Jameson. Norm took the bottle from her and filled Joe Harrington’s larger glass. The group stopped chatting about the coming storm and the various body pains that predicted it’s magnitude, shifting their attention to Norm. He cleared his throat.

“All right let’s get on with this. Gents…and Darla, it’s a sad day for our little Eyeopener Club. I know we all think of each other as family and this place as our second home. We lost our brother Joe Harrington. I’d say he’s in a better place, but what could be better than starting each day with you boys…and Darla?”

Norm raised his glass. The others followed suit. Darla scrambled to pour herself a shot, while the others waited.

“Joe, you could be a stubborn son of bitch. And you were dumb enough to be a Steelers fan living in Cleveland. But if any of us ever were short on rent money, or needed a ride, or an ear to hear an old stale story, you had our back. You could tell a joke and you had an iron liver. And, you always paid your tab on Fridays. So, until we meet again in that dive bar in the sky, we will miss you. Cheers!”

They drained their glasses. Then, in turn, each of them said something about Joe. When the short speeches ended, Norm solemnly passed Joe Harrington’s drink around, and each of them took a swig. Darla placed the empty glass next to Joe’s photo.

With the formalities of the wake over, Darla began her morning routine. She grabbed Jonesy and Sam their morning Coors, poured Big Mike his vodka cranberry double with a splash of OJ, the way he liked it, then made Johnny’s “endless” Irish coffee. While Darla fixed the drinks, she listened to the boys tell their favorite Joe Harrington stories. She thought, God, I miss him.

##

By 9:00 am the little gathering had grown to about 15 people. Several regulars who typically drank in the afternoon or evening came to pay their respects. Joe would have liked this party, Darla thought, as she hustled to keep up with the drink orders.

Around 1:30 p.m. Janet, the afternoon bartender, walked in.

“Slippery as hell,” she said, as she stamped snow from her boots.

“I’ll shovel and spread salt before I head home,” Darla said.

As she tossed a cup of salt on the sidewalk, a Fed-Ex truck pulled up.

“Can I help you,” Darla asked.

“I have an express delivery for a Darla Rose Kennedy. Do you know her?”

She signed for the letter. Thinking the IRS had finally caught up with her for not reporting cash tips, she decided bad news could wait, and didn’t open the letter until that night.

When she finally did, she was floored. Darla stared at the letter. She numbly read it over and over in disbelief. Joe Harrington had left her his paid off duplex, 1977 Trans Am, and $47,000.

##

“Were you even his girlfriend?” Big Mike asked?

“We dated for a while a few years ago but for the past few years we’ve just been close friends. On Saturday nights we watched movies, and I made us dinner on Sundays,” Darla explained.

“Why the secrecy?” Norm asked.

“Joe was private. Did you know he liked to paint?” Darla said.

The conversation went on about the things they knew and didn’t know about Joe Harrington. Finally, Sam joked, “He could have left me the money!”

“Darla has a better tush than you!” Jonesy quipped.

“Sam, you never cooked for him either!” Johnny added.

“Well, Joe left you all something too,” Darla said. They all waited in anticipation.

“He instructed me to pre-pay your tabs for the next year.”

Johnny started a slow-motion version of the wave, cheering Joe! Joe! Joe! Big Mike cried. Norm hugged her, then went to grab a bottle of Jameo and the little spiral notebook he kept everyone’s tab in.

##

On December 24^th at 6:00 a.m. Darla walked through the front door of the Crow’s Nest, the neon C now proudly lit, fresh Christmas lights strung on the awning. Big Mike, Johnny, and Sam shuffled in behind her. Even though there was no traffic, Jonesy stood across waited for the High Street waiting for the light to change before he crossed. Norm greeted them.

Big Mike made a beeline for the box of Christmas donuts on the table. They took their places at the bar. Darla sat where Joe Harrington once sat. With her shirt sleeve, she polished the small brass placard screwed into the bar above his stool that read “In memory of our brother, Joe Harrington.”

Norm passed out shot glasses, took down the Jameson, and poured.

“Gents let’s raise our glasses to our dear friend and newest member of the Eyeopener Club. Darla, I’ll miss you as bartender, but I’m honored to have you sit in Joe’s place. Happy retirement!”

As they drank to Darla, a group of nurses came in after their shift.

“Come join us for a toast!” Darla said.

They drank to Joe Harrington. They drank to each other. Then they made a solemn toast “To the Crow’s Nest.!”

J D Clapp

Image: Pixabay.com – empty bar stool.