The Color of Heaven - 09 - the Color of Time
“my best friend and co-worker, Cassie, said to me as she moved behind the bar, slid the cash tray into the register drawer and pushed it closed. “Although maybe it’s not. I’m sure lots of women dream about their ex-husbands dying in some sort of freak accident. And his father, too. Wasn’t he a real piece of work?”
“He wasn’t the warmest of men,” I replied as I lifted one last upturned chair off a tabletop and set it down on the plank wood floor, then straightened the red and white tablecloth.
Though Cassie and I had only known each other for a few years since I started working at the pub—it felt as if we’d known each other forever because our connection had been instantaneous.
Looking around the pub to make sure everything was in order, I moved to the door and flipped the sign to “Open.”
It was only 11:00 a.m., but the lunch crowd would soon trickle in.
“It was probably one of those stress dreams,” Cassie suggested as she slid the drawer closed on the antique register.
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