Beyond The Ghosts (Legacy Falls Project) Read Online Free PDF

honky-tonk bar with neon lights that spelled out “Craw Dad's Bar” on top of a thatched roof. It looked like a bayou fire hazard. The band blared from within, and Cajun two-step music spilled off the porch and into the parking lot as people danced with their beer bottles in hand.
    “Is this place even legal?”
    “Of course, they have a liquor license and all that. Why?”
    “Just asking.”
    “Don’t be a party pooper. Come on, let’s go get a drink.”
    The music was even louder inside, but the open air frame of the bar made it bearable. Sawdust, straw, and peanut shells riddled the floor of the bar but provided a smooth glide to the dancers on the floor. My sister saw friends and greeted them on the way to the bar that was bustling with customers. We found an opening in the crowd and waited to place our order.
    “What are you having?” my sister leaned over to yell in my ear above the music.
    “Just get me a beer,” I hollered back.
    “Just a beer? What kind of beer?”
    “I don’t know, just get me a beer.”
    “They have like fourteen different beers. What do you want?” My blood began to boil, and I could feel the flush of my skin. I took a few slow breaths to keep the fire under control.
    I ground through my teeth, “Surprise me.” Turning, I took in my surroundings while we waited. I didn’t want to snap on my sister. Why couldn’t she just get me a beer? Any bar overseas you ask for a beer, they give you a beer. Whatever it was, you drank it. I took a few more breaths and pushed the turmoil brewing in my head to the back burner.
    I listened to Zydeco Bayou Band—according to the name painted on the bass drum—play their unique blend of Cajun Bluegrass and direct the crowd in line dances. I could two-step, but it had been years since I had danced. In fact, I think the last time I ever danced was my high school prom. I couldn’t recall a time after that where I had done more than sway in place or tap my foot.
    A finger in the gut caught my breath. “Hey, Mr. Tall, Tan and— Ow, that hurt my finger.”
    I looked down to see Beth’s friend Christina looking up at me with her injured finger in her mouth.
    “Hey, Shorty. What’s up?”
    “You, apparently. And it’s not Shorty, it’s Munchkin if you don’t want to be rude.” She wiggled her injured finger at me.
    “I wouldn’t want to be rude then, Munchkin. Whatever you prefer.”
    "I’d prefer if you would take me for a twirl around the dance floor.”
    “I was waiting for my beer.” I motioned to the bar where Beth was leaned against the cool granite surface watching for the bartender’s return.
    “It will be here when you get back. Beth will guard it.” The bar was still a blur of people . It might be a while , I thought, so I agreed.
    “Okay then. Lead the way.”
    “I better follow you. You make a better battering ram than I do.”
    She got behind me and pushed me forward toward the dance floor.
    On the dance floor, I followed Christina’s lead as she fell into the line of female dancers in one row opposite the males as they two stepped toward each other and back again. Christina obviously knew the pattern, and I just followed along and was thankful to have men on either side of me to mimic. 
    When the next song came on and things took a swirly route, Christina took the lead and twirled herself off of me and back again. Her smile was infectious, and I was happy to be her twirling pole. She reminded me of one of those music boxes where the little ballerina twirled on a string from the lid. My arm acted as her lid and she spun on my finger, ebbing and flowing from me on a grooved path like the tiny dancer.
    Six songs later, my feet were protesting and my throat was parched. I needed a drink. Christina was going to follow me or dance by herself. I started to make my way to the bar whose crowd had thinned out some since I left, and Beth was perched upon a stool talking to some guy.
    “I thought you were getting me a