Sitting at Barry’s Bar and Grill, Bonnie brought Bruce an ice-cold Coke in a 16oz glass bottle. Condensation formed on the outside, which is why Bonnie had a paper napkin wrapped around the base of the glass. That and Bonnie didn’t feel like getting reprimanded by Bruce. Before that, Bonnie and Bruce rode the bus to high school together, elementary and junior high school. Nowadays, Bruce, having recently retired from the tire factory over in Trident, spent his early afternoon hours occupying a table outside the bar and grill. Barry, his best friend and the grill owner, didn’t mind him hanging out as long as he vacated if the grill got busy, which was a rarity. Most of the time, the locals, a few farmers and a rancher or two, came in for lunch, but even that was rare.

Bruce eyed the Coke. “And just what in the hell is that, Bon-Bon?”

Scowling, Bonnie walked away. She and Bruce rarely saw eye-to-eye, especially after he hurt her best friend, Judy Rathenburg. He asked Bonnie to the prom, instead of the girl he was dating at the time, Judy. Twenty years passed, and Judy died a few years ago from leukemia. Bonnie wasn’t about to let it go, especially since he never apologized to Judy. And now? Now, he couldn’t.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Mhmm!” She turned around on her heel, ready to tear into him.

“That?” She looked back to the small window where Bruce or Ken would leave food for her to deliver to her respective tables. She eyed the Coke, squinting, making a big deal about the napkin wrapped around the bottle. “That, sir, is a Coca-Cola, the Coke you ordered.” Bonnie huffed away, knowing that if Bruce had seen that, or Ken for that matter, she would’ve gotten an earful.

“But I wanted a Pepsi!”

Bonnie yelled, “We’re all out. At least ‘till we get our next truck. Should be sometime next week, give or take a day.”

“I hate,” he tilted the bottles slightly to read the word COKE on the side of the bottle, “Coke. Got anything else?” Bonnie didn’t hear him because she was now inside the kitchen, talking to Ken. “You hear me, Bon-Bon?”

“I said don’t call me that!” she shouted from the kitchen. Directing her attention to Ken, she shook her head and pointed to the dining room. “Make him stop calling me that!” she yelled at Ken. “He’s your friend. Talk to him.”

Smiling, Ken threw up his hands. “Ain’t my problem. You got a beef with the man, you settle it. Count me out.” He picked up the spatula, flipped over Bruce’s burger, and checked on the French Fries, soaking in the frier directly behind the grill. “His food’s gonna be ready anytime.”

“Good! You can take it to him,” Bonnie said, storming out the back of the kitchen. Outside, she lit a cigarette, staining the filter with red lipstick. “Oooh, that man.” Through her clenched teeth, she took another long drag.

“Bee in your bonnet, Bonnie?” Barry asked, carrying the kitchen’s empty trash can. Barry knew the history between Bonnie and Bruce and did his best to stay out of their business. “Lemmie, guess. Bruce?”

“You best talk to the man,” Bonnie fumed, taking three fast puffs. “I’m liable to beat his . . .”

Barry interrupted her, “I’ll go talk to him.” Bonnie nodded. She did her best to not let customers get to her. But Bruce? She was over it. Her tears came, oozing down her face without a sound. Wiping them away, she flicked the unfinished cigarette as far as she could from the building. Taking a tissue out of her apron, she dabbed at the moisture on her face, keeping her makeup from smearing. “Oh, that man!” Bonnie stomped her foot on the gravel parking lot, kicking up a minute amount of dust.

Walking back to the kitchen, Ken looked right at her as he put another batch of fries into the hot grease. “Sorry, Bonnie.” He shook the fry basket several times, the sizzling grease adding to the loud exhaust fan. “Didn’t mean nothing by it. We good?” Bonnie looked at Ken, a thin film of sweat beading across his forehead. Ken had a paper-thin layer of hair. A buzzcut, some would call it. He looked the exact same way in high school. Bonnie didn’t care for football players or any guy who spent his time chasing after a ball, be it football, basketball, or baseball. At six-foot-six-and-a-half, he was a monster of a guy, especially for their small town. After high school, Ken tried college, but it wasn’t for him. After his third year playing college football, he got slammed as a defensive tackle, breaking his leg in three places. After healing from that injury, it was his fourth year, and he gave up and quit school, came home, and helped Bruce open the bar and grill. He and Judy were married for two years before her death. That was almost eighteen years ago.

Walking back into the dining room, Bonnie saw Bruce and Barry talking, all buddy-buddy-like.

“I mean it, Bruce. Come on already. It’s been twenty. . . no, hold on. It’s been twenty-two years! And you still haven’t apologized to Bonnie? Come on, man. Put an end to this.”

Shock crossed Bruce’s face right before he burst into laughter. “Me? Apologize to her? For what? Something that happened twenty-two years ago?” He looked over Barry’s shoulder, right at Bonnie. “You aren’t gonna let it go, huh, Bonnie?” He stood up and threw a twenty on the table. “Me too!”

“Your food is comin’, Bruce. Why don’t you take it to go?” But the question fell on deaf ears, the ringing bell of the door clinging as it shut behind Bruce.

“Good riddance.” Bonnie sneered.

“And you, Bonnie? A grown-ass woman like you actin’ all high and mighty? Your mama’d be rollin’ over in her grave if she saw you treatin’ him like that.”

“Whatcha gonna do with his food,” she asked. Bruce shook his head, shooing her into the kitchen.

“You can have it, I guess.”