I’m not just some guy.”
I grumbled, even though he was right. The boy was altruistic, kindhearted, and reliable. Marriage material, I suppose. But I also thought he was stupid, spending all those boons here, serving us. And evidently, he didn’t know nothing from nothing when it came to his personal life either, which was such a waste.
Yet when I really thought about this misfortunate combination of foolishness and virtuousness, I realized it wasn’t all bad. I’d been sitting there trying to solve all the world’s problems when one of them already had an answer. Josie needed a drink, and here Anderson was, willing and able. For my part, all I had to do was facilitate.
I asked, “What were the terms again for your deal? A saltshaker for a nice review?”
“A glowing review.”
“Done,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
“Good.” He clapped his knees, stood, and grasped me around the elbow. I returned the grip to his forearm and then, with a grunt, rose.
For whatever reason, he held on to me for longer than necessary. Concern flitted across his lopsided brow, or maybe it was affection. Before I decided which, he let me go and offered to get the door, which required him to merely walk ahead of me.
“I wonder . . .” I said, shuffling in behind him, feeling generous of spirit. “I don’t know if Josie ever got that aspirin from Nora, but either way I bet she could use another one for that black eye.”
He paused in the foyer. “Kitchen cabinets are a bitch.”
It took me a second to respond. “Yes, they are.”
“I’ll grab her some ibuprofen.”
Carl waved at me from our table, where Josie was sitting in my seat. My seat. This impropriety suddenly blotted out all the progress I’d made outside, as well as everything else around me, because the next thing I knew Anderson was tapping me on the shoulder.
“Hello? Does she need anything else?”
“Forget it,” I said, then marched forward to reclaim what was mine. When I arrived at the table, it took a moment to regain my composure.
Carl pushed away his soup bowl and motioned to the empty chair—the one facing the back side of the dining hall, the one looking at the wall with a dime-store watercolor painting hanging crooked in the middle of it. I took the seat but made sure to cause extra ruckus while getting situated.
Carl said, “Look at what I gave Josie. It’s one of my old pharmacy lapel pins. You like it?”
I glanced to where she’d stuck it on her T-shirt and nodded. Carl had gifted different versions of those to just about everybody here; I was actually surprised to see he hadn’t run out. Before I could say as much, Anderson strode over with my soup and Josie’s medicine.
“Hey,” he said to her, his voice more low and liquid than when he spoke to us. “Medication time.”
God, the way she looked up at him. He might as well have been offering her the moon or, at the very least, something on the rocks. But on second glance, it became apparent she wasn’t looking at him at all but at the tiny paper cup in his hand. Aspirin was a hallowed thing to a drunk; it took the edge off. But this got me worried, because who knew what we were taking the edge off of. What kept her motor running? Couple drinks a day? A dozen? More?
I thought of Sal, an old friend of mine . . . well, not really a friend, more of a bar buddy, which is distinctly different, but anyhow, he convulsed when he tried to go cold turkey. Bit a hole through his tongue. Came to the bar a few days later to show it to me while he disinfected it with his usual scotch and water. I imagined what Josie would look like if her eyes suddenly rolled into the back of her head.
With this in mind, I had a moment of inspiration and blurted, “Happy birthday, Josie!”
She had thrown her head back to swallow her pills as I said this, so the announcement hung in the