Third Door to Your Left
Sixty-five years old and graying, Nick stood at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the rooms above Harry's saloon. "Why do you need to go there tonight? Heath will be home soon; he'll want to know where ye are." Nick could see his sister-in-law standing in the living room, the disapproval she felt showing in her eyes. As far as Sharon was concerned, no man his age belonged in a saloon after nine o'clock at night. When it came to Heath, Nick wasn't worried. Out of all the family, Heath was the only member of their family who knew just why the hot tempered brother was the only one who had remained unmarried after everyone else had found mates-including Jarrod who had remarried five years after Beth's murder.
Nick looked over at Mike, a tall blonde haired gentleman in his thirties who was Harry's nephew. The gentleman had taken over as bartender when Harry had had a stroke and could no longer do the job.
"Third door to your left," Mike, thinking Nick wasn't sure of where to go, spoke up; his eyes conveying his sympathies.
Nick sighed; he didn't need directions... he wanted to stop what was coming. Third door to your left, those five small words brought back a flood of memories as he took a hold of the handrailing. While he wished to hold off the inevitable, he knew it was impossible. He began the climb up the stairs. None of the faithful patrons said a word. While they did not have the exact facts as Heath did, they still knew more than the rest of the Barkleys did.
Nick sighed as he took another step upwards. Funny, years ago, even a few months ago, it hadn't been that hard to walk up to the second floor. Now, it seemed as if someone had put sand in his boots. Every step he took was a chore. Once he was on the second floor's landing, Nick painstakingly walked to the third door on his left. His mind turned back through time as he did so.
Nick set at a table playing cards with a couple of men when a stranger walked in and began making trouble for one of the new waitress, a young brunette woman by the name of Amanda. While she wasn't the prettiest waitress in the saloon, Nick wasn't going to just stand aside and watch her be harassed either. Before he knew it, the stranger doing the harassing found himself having to deal with Nick's fists. When all was said and done, Harry had his bouncer throw the stranger out, and Nick was accepting a free beer from the waitress as thanks. "If you ever need anything, cowboy, come and see me, third door on the left. I owe you one."
Nick stood in front of the door, unable to move for a moment. When he'd left the saloon after defending Amanda, he'd never thought of going back to see her. Well, he'd never intended to knock on her door that is. Slowly, he reached out, took a hold of the doorknob and turned it. Moments later he was closing the door and walking towards the bed.
Silver haired Fifty-five year old Amanda, who had opened her eyes when she'd heard the door open. For a split second, she could see herself, one very surprised waitress, looking at Nick- a tall, twenty-nine year old upset cowboy knocking on her door. When Nick sat on the side of her bed and took a hold of her hand, she smiled, her eyes sparkling, and spoke the exact same words she'd said thirty-seven years before. "Hello there, cowboy. What brings you here tonight?"
"I wanted some answers." Nick replied with the same words he'd spoken the first time he'd knocked on her door. He sighed and lifted her left hand up to his chest. "Still say it could have been different, could have given you my name and a proper home."
Amanda took a deep breath, as a single tear ran down her cheek. "At what cost? My presence, in your family's home, would have been a thorn in your family's side. No," she placed her right hand on top of his clasped hands, "I'm not my brother, nothing like him, but the moment they heard my last name…" Amanda began coughing and Nick hurried to lift her up and rearrange the pillows she lay on. "Thanks," she said once she was resting against the pillows once more. "My profession what it was, having 'that man'," Amanda's voice filled with disgust, "as a brother and being barren thanks to a riding accident when I was sixteen? No, no one but Heath would have accepted me, and we both know it." She closed her eyes, only opening them when Nick called her name. "You didn't have to remain single. You could have found a good woman, married her and had children. You'd have been a wonderful father. Now go, don't want your family and others talking do we?"
Nick went to reply only to realize the woman who had held him in her arms on many nights, and his heart, had closed her eyes again and slipped away. Tears ran down his face as he pulled her blanket over her face and then stood up. Days later, not caring what his family and others thought-Nick was one of only a few who attended the funeral of the town's saloon matron-Amanda C Hyatt.