fox face, while the drummer and the bass player both had pig faces.
The band began, playing a decent version of “Not Fade Away.” The drummer was probably the most talented instrumentalist, but Scott was the dynamic member of the group, even though he sang with an annoying nasal twang. Matthew’s waitress was watching Scott, and the blonde in the short skirt, now holding what looked like a vodka and cranberry, stood and kept time at the edge of the stage, her eyes also on Scott. After “Not Fade Away” the band played two originals, then did a Johnny Cash cover. A few more people came in to hear the music, filling the tables that had been left empty by departing diners. It was obvious right away to Matthew that they were a much better cover band than an original band. His opinion didn’t change as they continued their set. Their own songs were sludgy and unmemorable, and every time they played one, the energy in the room evaporated. But their covers—“Paperback Writer” and Springsteen’s “Atlantic City”—were clearly their most popular songs, some of the fans cheering when they began to play them. By the time they were playing their encore—“Positively 4th Street”—the Owl’s Head was nearly filled, and a number of people, mostly women, were dancing in front of the stage.
It was almost midnight, and Matthew, after paying his bill with cash, exited the bar just as they were finishing up playing. In the four hours he’d been there, the temperature outside had dropped at least fifteen degrees. It was a dark night, clusters of bright stars visible above the tree line. He walked home swiftly, trying to decide if he should go get a sweatshirt before getting into his car, but decided against it. Instead, he immediately got into his Fiat, turned on the heater, and drove back to the Owl’s Head, pulling into a space on the darkest side of the parking lot. He turned the car off, killed the lights, and slid down a little in the bucket seat. He had a good view of the front of the tavern, where a small group of smokers had congregated, including Scott, recognizable from afar by his large reddish beard. Next to him, not surprisingly, was the blonde in the short skirt. Matthew watched her grind out her cigarette under her boot, then wrap her arms around herself, shivering. Scott seemed to be purposefully ignoring her, talking with the skinny bassist, then helping the drummer load pieces of his kit into the back of a beat-up van. The blonde lit another cigarette as more customers departed the bar, getting into their cars and driving away. The parking lot was emptying, and Matthew felt a little bit exposed, even though it was dark where he was. But he had come this far, and he wanted to see if Scott went straight home or if he went somewhere else first.
After the drums were loaded in the van, the drummer drove away. Scott kept talking with the bass player, both of them smoking, and eventually, the blonde, after giving Scott a lingering hug, took off. Her car was parked near where Matthew’s was, and he watched her sit for a moment in the driver’s seat, still gazing toward Scott at the front of the bar, before she drove out of the parking lot. When her car left, Scott watched it go, then said something to the bass player, and they both laughed. Shortly after, they hugged—one of those man hugs that involved smacking each other on the back—and parted ways to go to their separate cars. The bass player drove off right away, but Scott leaned up against his car, a Dodge Dart—“He’s had it since high school,” Michelle told him once—and checked his phone, the light from its screen illuminating his face. Then he got into his car, but instead of immediately taking off, he just sat in the driver’s seat for about five minutes.
Matthew wasn’t surprised when the waitress—the young one from Lowell—came out of the bar and walked briskly to Scott’s car, getting into the passenger side.
The car started loudly and pulled out of the parking lot, its wheels scattering gravel.
Chapter 9
Hen sat in her car across the street from the Owl’s Head Tavern and wondered what Matthew Dolamore, also sitting in his car in the bar’s parking lot, was up to. Who was he watching?
It was Thursday night. She and Lloyd had made fish tacos for dinner, then