I shuddered at the memory and rubbed my arms. Bruce had installed the mirror in the corner, and we were all on alert to be more careful, but I didn't like to think about what happened.
My voice soft as a whisper, I said, “Defending yourself is okay.”
“It certainly is. You have to fight, or you won't believe you're worth fighting for. Now tell me more about this husband of yours.”
I looked around the bar for some reprieve, but there was nothing to save me on the giant TV screens or in the neon beer brand advertisements.
“He hasn't been around much lately,” I said.
A thunderous crack startled me, and I whipped my head to see some of the old-timer regulars starting a game of pool. Looking at the green felt lit up under the low-hanging lamp made my blood feel chilled, like ice water.
“Let me help you,” he said. “We can be friends. You help me with this giant albatross of an art project, and we can play a few games of pool. Low pressure.” He took a sip of beer, never moving his eyes off me. “Let's be friends.”
“I don't know.”
“Is it because I talk too much? I could try to talk less, but it helps me let off steam. It's good to use your words instead of your fists to communicate. I think real men talk.”
Some new patrons took a seat nearby, so I began to back away.
“You do have a nice voice,” I said, then I turned and quickly walked away.
For the rest of the afternoon, we talked a little more each time I came by to check on Sawyer Jones. He kept working on ideas for the mural, doing quick sketches in his book. As he'd done the previous visits, he drank only two pints of beer, sipped very slowly as he worked. After the second one, he requested a water. As I set the water glass down, he said, “I'm just off to the boy's room. Would you keep an eye on my laptop?”
I was confused for a moment, then realized he'd sketched the image of an open laptop inside two pages of the book. Both the drawing and his joke were cute.
He clapped his hands together and hooted. “Did it! Made you smile.”
I covered my mouth with my hand, embarrassed. Everyone in the area had turned to stare.
He was still chuckling as he disappeared around the corner to the washrooms.
I stood there for a moment, “guarding” the drawing of the laptop until I realized what I was doing. Shaking my head, still smiling, I walked away from the sketched laptop.
Lana had just shown up to start her shift, and I went to greet her over by the cupboard where we stowed away our purses.
“You look great today,” she said.
“You too.”
She smoothed down her brightly-dyed purple hair. “No I don't. I look like shit. I barely put on half my face, because Curtis wanted to make love.” She rolled her eyes.
“Oh.”
She poured two shots of something—vodka—and nodded down at the second one as she picked up the first.
“It's Wednesday, so happy humpday,” she said.
I picked up my shot and held it up to clink with hers.
Grinning, she said, “Shit it!” and tossed back her drink.
Shit it was a Lana-ism I'd recently learned about. She had no problem the F-word, so it was an odd substitute, but it suited her.
“Shit it,” I said, tossing back my shot of vodka.
We chased these shots with another set for good measure. It was Wednesday, after all.
With the drinks in my system, plus no more pain from my tooth, I was light-headed and free. Giddy.
I wasn't watching where I was going. On one pass back to the sink, Lana and I bumped into each other spectacularly, and she folded over in a fit of giggles.
“Don't you love that feeling?” she said between gasps.
“What feeling? Bruising? Not really.” I was rubbing my hip, where I already had a bruise from the ice machine's unforgiving corner.
“When your arms get heavy,” she said.
“I'm not that drunk, just buzzed.”
She laughed hard and flopped forward like a rag doll. “No, I mean when you laugh so hard your shoulders slump, like you can't bear the weight of your own arms. And then you get that sharp pain behind your ears.”
“From laughing?”
She stood up and grabbed me by the shoulders. I was getting used to the constant body contact from Lana, so I didn't pull away.
She leaned in until the top of her forehead was touching mine and we were eye to eye. “You need to get laid,” she said.
I humored her with a nod as I pulled my forehead off hers. “Yep.”
She shook me by the shoulders like I was her play toy. We were standing just inside the room I thought of as a kitchen, but was actually just a dishwashing station and storage for some of the mixes that didn't fit behind the bar.
She said, “You take off that pretend ring and get yourself a real man. You tell him to put his head between your legs and don't come up 'til you're howling his name loud enough to get all the dogs in the neighborhood barking.”
“Nice.”
She released me from her grip. “You're in the good part of your life right now. Don't you feel it? I bet you get wet just thinkin' about kissing a guy. I bet you come in five minutes flat. What do you think about Mr. Tattoos out there. He's always makin' googly eyes at ya.”
“Sawyer? He's interesting, and I guess he's cute, but I've got Bell to take care of. I can't have a relationship.”
She snorted. “Who said anything about a relationship? Listen, there's nobody home at my place right now. My son's staying at a friend's tonight, and Curtis is working a double shift. Why don't you use my spare key and take that big hunk of man back to my place? Just one night, to shake you loose.”
As I demurred, politely, I couldn't remember how much Lana knew, and what lies I'd told to whom. She knew I wasn't married, but did she know Bell was my sister, not my daughter? I wished I'd made some notes, or at least told everyone the same thing.
“Look at ya! You're quivering with anticipation,” she said, shaking me some more.
“Lana! You're gonna make me barf.”
She stopped shaking me and just gave me a stare so ridiculous and serious, I had to laugh.
“I see a smile,” she said. “Smilin' gets a lot easier when you're getting some.”
I thanked her as graciously as I could, then backed out through the swinging door, into the dim environment of the bar, where I wasn't so visible.
The place was filling up with the post-supper crowd, and the music had gotten louder.
Sawyer wasn't at his table, but leaning with one elbow on the bar. His back was to me, and he was talking to Bruce. I drank in the full length of him, from his muscular calves, to his butt, and his broad, solid shoulders. He wasn't a huge, bulky guy, but he looked strong, and solid.