So Much Pretty by Cara Hoffman Read Free Book Online Page B

She would read over the specs he got for projects and try to picture what the houses he was working on would look like when they were finished.
    She loved hanging out with her dad. When she was little, she used to sit in the shop and eat saltines and draw houses. He taught her how to plot out the interiors. She was pretty great at drawing houses inside and out, and at doing the finances.
    They also gossiped. Talked about how people lived, how folks knew everybody’s business and still liked each other, pretended they didn’t know all about each other’s private lives, or forgot about them, or gave them the benefit of the doubt. Slow days were a mixed blessing. She worried about her dad’s business, but she liked having him around.
    Eventually, he had enough time to do all his own invoicing, and she took a waitressing job at the Alibi on Main Street, a block from the dollar store, half a block from the Rooster, to earn more money. She got an apartment a few miles from her parents’ house on Town Line Road, near the little woods and the Savers Club. And over break, when her friends were home from college, they helped her move in, had a housewarming. The place was beautiful.
    The Alibi was busy during happy hour. When the men got off work from the Home Depot and the contractors and painters came in to eat dinner, they sat at the polished wooden bar on redstools, drinking PBRs and looking up at the TV, or they crowded into booths. On Thursdays a band of three skinny guys in Carhart pants and flannel shirts played old-time music. Banjo and bass and fiddle. They sang “Cotton Eyed Joe” in unison, sitting in a circle with their heads raised toward heaven and their eyes squinting. People gave her their orders and chatted. She knew nearly everyone by name. And they all knew her.
    The men in their late twenties and thirties talked to her about old teachers they had in common, and whether they could buy her a drink, asked if her brother was ever going to buy that land. They were responsible, like her dad, and didn’t yet have a wife and kid like her brother. There were one or two of them she would think about later, like Dale Haytes, who graduated when she was a sophomore. She wondered what he was doing. Dale was twenty-two now and came into the bar quite a lot. Dale and his uncle, who was actually just a little older than him, and a bunch of men from the dairy. He always had his little brother with him, too, which Wendy thought was sweet. Bruce was a stocky quiet boy who played JV football and had really clear skin. He reminded Wendy of herself sometimes, like he was thinking a lot but happy to watch instead of talk. Dale would be the kind of boyfriend her parents would love. They had a lot in common even though he was older and his family had money. They both made the best of what was around them, respected their families. They both had been so dedicated to their teams in school. And there was something about the way people could almost dismiss Dale, kind of overlook him, the way Wendy had been overlooked. She remembered him from when she was a sophomore and he was playing ball. Didn’t remember if he’d had a girlfriend. She could imagine someone calling him plain. Could see there were things he was thinking about but didn’t say.
    In the slow time after prepping and before she had to serve, Wendy smoked menthols with the cook and the dishwasher, sitting on the rail of the back deck overlooking a narrow creek.They talked about movies, and Chad, the cook, talked about other places he’d worked and how busy things were or what kind of food they had. The dishwasher, Bill, talked about using the whipped cream to do whip-its.
    “Nah, man. That shit is no good for you, and it wears off way too soon,” Chad told him.
    “It’s fucking great!” Bill said. “I saw a flock of birds, like those bluebirds from Snow White, flying right at me and straight through my head, I could feel their wings, and then it was over like right