I’d like to grab a bite to eat and then head to this place called Sanger Overpass?” She tore the pieces until they were too small, then piled them into a tiny, neat hill. “That’s where we . . . where my grandma is. Her ashes. I think Mom would like to be with her. There’s this train; it runs every few hours, and in between one of them, we can . . .” She spread her hands, like letting a butterfly go. She followed this up with a half shrug. “I mean, since I can’t take Mom to Paris, this is the next best thing, right?”
A hush fell across the table. Carl, with a loose fist to his sternum, looked to me. I nodded. He may not have known their birthdays, but knowing of this one hidden gem was worth more than all those sorts of facts and figures combined. There was redemption in it.
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“We can go to a French restaurant,” Alice suggested.
Anderson rested his chin again. Beneath the table, Valencia tapped her feet to the music. It was one of my favorite tunes. Tommy Dorsey played a soft, sad trombone, but still he made you want to dance, preferably slow and all by your lonesome. “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You.” The song belonged here, now, along with all my friends. I closed my eyes and soaked up the vibrato of the brass, the glowing notes, and officially shelved the evening along with the rest.
I don’t know if it was the music or the late hour or what, but we should have seen him coming. We should have sensed him, even. But none of us did. We didn’t hear the car pull up and park, or the door open, or his heavy footfalls across the room. Just like that, I open my eyes and Bates is looming over the table. A giant with a tiny toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
“Evening,” he said.
Josie moved to stand, but Anderson put a hand on her shoulder and stood instead. “Visiting hours are over.”
Bates made an I-don’t-give-a-shit noise in his throat and pulled a chair up next to Alice, who made room for him with manners and fear. He sat with legs splayed and arms thrown over the neighboring chairs, and looked at Josie like she was the only one in the room.
“Hey, babe,” he said flatly.
“What are you doing here? I told you over the phone—”
“I know we spoke, but that wasn’t you talking.” He hitched his head to me. “Grandpa over here has you all messed-up in the head. Why don’t you come home tonight so we can relax and work everything out?”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. He was used to getting his way, by making sure Josie felt wanted and wasted and willed. He’d come here to work her over.
Anderson pushed up his sleeves. “Josie isn’t going anywhere.”
Bates snorted. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
He switched the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Making friends already, Josie?”
“Just leave,” she said. “Don’t start trouble.”
“I’m not here for trouble. I’m here for you . . . babe.” Again, the word was lifeless.
“I’m not your babe.”
“No?”
“You heard her,” Alice said, each word like a wince. She went white when Bates shifted to see her better.
“Okay,” I said, trying to move my chair back and stand. “That’s enough.”
Anderson didn’t help me maneuver, and at first this agitated me, but then I was glad for it. I stood up all on my own, and even though my heart had begun to bite at the inside of my chest, I pulled my shoulders back so that I was nearly as tall as Anderson, who stood beside me.
“Let’s save you the trip tomorrow morning. Do you have Kaiya?” I said.
Bates ignored me and leaned in, elbows on the table. “Josie, you got a shift tomorrow.”
“I quit, Bates. I told you that.”
“Really? You’re just going to leave me like that?”
“You’re a big boy.”