even had copper mugs for Moscow mules and pewter ones for mint juleps. It was a bar for the gods.
A tossed coaster arrived at my fingertips. “What can I get you?”
She had a warm smile, flawless skin, straight teeth, and auburn curls tumbling down her pressed shirt.
“What’s your specialty?” I asked, rationalizing the question as curiosity and not a request.
“We have a few signature champagne cocktails.” A drink menu arrived next to the coaster. “What are you in the mood for?”
The salivating began. I was Pavlov’s dog. Before I responded—and I planned to with more harmless inquiries that would only lead to a tasting—a warmth grew near my shoulder. It spread until it became a presence, then more than this: a girl.
Josie leaned into the bar like me, so close our arms touched. The bartender had a second coaster in place before I’d drawn a breath. My heart leaped, for all the wrong reasons. Who liked drinking alone anyway?
Josie took the coaster and set it on its narrow edge.
“Can you imagine the sort of damage we could do here?” I asked.
“Totally.”
I gestured to all that shone. “Look at it.” The bully inside of me had leaked out. Stay. See. Partake with me.
I could feel my push working too, but the truth was I didn’t actually have to do much convincing. Alcoholics usually convince themselves.
She set her coaster down, like she might actually order, and said, “I thought you said there were better ways to die than this.”
This flipped the switch, hearing my own words. “Josie,” I stammered, shamed.
She looked up with these pleading green eyes. “Who’s on duty watching me if it’s not you?”
“I . . . It’s me. I’m on duty. I’m here.”
She stood very still, then abruptly stacked our coasters and pushed them off to the side. “Okay.” She placed my walker and shifted me around by the arm. “Tomorrow, I’ll try doing it all by myself.”
“Me too.”
We took a few steps, and Anderson skidded around the corner and stopped. One look at the backdrop and he had us pegged. “You two didn’t have a—”
“Give me a break,” I said.
Josie added, quieter and meeker, “No.”
“Thank God. That would have been . . .” He put his hands on his hips and looked away, grimacing and shaking his head. When he turned back to us, he looked decided about something. “Josie, I need you to know I slipped you Antabuse this morning. I’m sorry. I just . . . It’s just . . . I knew today would be hard.” He looked away again. “Shit. I feel like an asshole.”
Josie let go of me and walked toward Anderson, stopping shy of passing him by. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions.
He studied her profile, practically begging for her to return his look. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you.”
In response, she reached out with her pinky and linked it with his. Anderson glanced down at the small gesture before she slipped her hand away and walked on in a puff of red fabric.
He turned to me. “Shit. What did she mean by that?”
“She meant . . . thanks for being on duty. We’re both glad, actually. But don’t forget: You can’t win her fight for her, so don’t try.” I sidled up to him, poked his foot with the walker. “What are you going to do when I’m not around to translate women for you?”
A tiny corner of a rueful smile. “I’ll get a Ouija board.”
“I’ll be on call,” I said. “Now help me back to the table, would you? I want some dessert.”
* * *
* * *
We exited into a premature night—an afternoon sky tinted a deep purple by low, dense clouds. The older women shrieked with surprise at the temperature. They clutched their cardigans and huddled while waiting for the bus to be pulled around.
For me, the chill was good. It knocked out my contentment and reset my worry. I checked my pocket and gave my sweater