me. Can you honestly say the same when it comes to your pal Mickey?”
Just then a cheer went up at the other end of the bar. “Jesus,” somebody said, “I gotta see that again.”
“I get it, Lincoln,” Coffin went on. “Loyalty. Faith. You think I didn’t want to believe my son when he told me how his wife kept getting those bruises? And her always backing him up? Explaining how she’d been born a klutz?”
“I’m sorry—”
“There’s no reason for you to be sorry, Lincoln. Like I said, I’m glad your life has worked out. I’m glad you never staked out your own kid’s house because deep down you suspected he was a lying sack of shit. Suspected it because you’d seen how other women came by injuries like hers, and I’m really glad you weren’t peering in the window the night a son of yours grabbed his wife by the throat and flung her clear across the room. Because that’s where I was, Lincoln. Outside their house, looking in the window. I could’ve prevented the concussion she got when the back of her head hit the wall, because I saw what was coming plain as day, but until he actually did it I didn’t know. Until that moment? Until I fucking cuffed him? I could still believe.”
If Lincoln hadn’t been expecting her, he wouldn’t have recognized the woman who entered Rockers then as Beverly. At the Vineyard Gazette, nicely dressed and made-up, she’d been attractive enough to make Lincoln feel guilty for noticing. Now, sans makeup and wearing baggy shorts and a threadbare sweatshirt, she looked every one of her years and then some. Given what he’d just been told, it was hard not to see her as a woman who’d once been thrown across the room by an abusive husband. Only when she placed a hand on Coffin’s shoulder did he look up from the dregs of his beer and locate his daughter-in-law in the backbar’s mirror, his expression inexpressibly sad, as if their speaking of her had conjured the woman up in her current, diminished state. Then, all too quickly, his expression darkened. “Kevin,” he called, the dark malice that Lincoln had glimpsed earlier back in force.
Lincoln took a deep breath. If things were going to go really, really bad, it would happen right now. “I was the one who called her, Mr. Coffin, not him.”
If Coffin heard this, he gave no sign. Having put a twenty on the bar earlier, he now pushed it toward the approaching bartender. Kevin nodded hello at Beverly, then pushed it back. “On me, Joey. Be real good, though, if you didn’t come in here anymore.”
Coffin, leaving the bill right where it was, turned to Lincoln. “You know what happens to bodybuilders who eat steroids?” he said. “And don’t say they get stupid, because they’re already that or they wouldn’t be bodybuilders.”
“Joe,” Beverly implored him. He still hadn’t acknowledged her presence. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“They get this bright red rash up their spine. Looks like a strawberry patch.”
“Mr. Coffin—” Lincoln began.
“Am I right, Kevin? You got a rash like that up your back? This twenty says you do.”
Kevin shook his head. “You really want me to come around this bar, Joey?”
“No, I just want you to show my new friend Lincoln your rash. He’s never seen one, and he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t believe what you tell him unless he sees it with his own two eyes.”
“Because if I do come around there, Joey, I’m not going to be gentle with you. I know you used to be a tough guy, but you’re old now and those days are gone.”
“Please?” Beverly pleaded. “Joe?”
“This isn’t necessary, Mr. Coffin,” Lincoln assured him. “I believe you, okay?” He was trying to diffuse the situation, of course, but when he said the words they didn’t feel like a lie.
“You’re not just blowin’ smoke, Lincoln? I wouldn’t want you to say that just to save Kevin a beating.”
“That’s hilarious,” Kevin told him.
“No. I believe you,” Lincoln repeated, and it didn’t feel like a lie this time, either.
Coffin studied him drunkenly, deciding. Finally, he said, “All righty then. I guess we can all go home.” Again he pushed the twenty toward the bartender. “Put this in your tip jar. Use it to buy some medicated cream for that rash.”
Sliding off his stool, Coffin lost his balance and probably would’ve fallen if Beverly hadn’t been there to steady him. Something about how