move to the side, toward Mal, while Atlas fixes the drawing. Fletcher keeps his eyes on mine, as if he’s holding onto a secret he doesn’t want me to know. I look for similarities. Could it be that Fletcher is Lincoln’s dad? Had I known his family and hadn’t realized it?
“Hardy?” Mal’s eyes are on mine. “Do you think he has a kid?”
“I don’t know,” I add, warmth creeping into my cheeks, my head feels dazed and disoriented. “We don’t talk much.”
“Hey, J?” Fletcher calls out. I twist around to look back at him. “Can we order some food?”
Nodding, I reach for a menu and slide it in his direction without saying anything. I’m almost afraid if I do, I’m going to start asking questions. Questions I’m almost certain he doesn’t want me asking in front of the kid.
They order two baskets of fish and chips, and an hour later, they’re still sitting at the end of the bar. Same place Lincoln resides when he’s here. Mal begins to get nervous when Avie surfaces and heads straight into his office. Thankfully, he doesn’t look in the bar, and if he does, Atlas is on the end, tucked in the corner next to the rose petal jar and hidden from the view of almost everyone. Aside from me.
It’s like I’m gravitating toward him, unable to keep my eyes off him. He stares at the rose petal jar for a long time and the photograph of my parents on it. “Who are they?” he asks, working on his second root beer I fear might be too much for a child. He can’t be older than six.
My hips meet the edge of the counter, and nervously, I pick at the skin on my thumb. “My parents.”
Atlas sighs. “Where are they now?”
I wink at him, forcing a smile. “In heaven.”
Fletcher’s head is bent forward, a mask of indifference hidden behind thick shaggy hair. I notice his jaw working back and forth, but he doesn’t say anything.
Somewhere between Atlas playing pool with a few of the regulars and hustling twenty bucks from Everett, the door to the office opens, and Avie emerges from the dark room. At first, he’s more concerned with why Dylan is taking shots with the lonely wife I talked about earlier. He has a strict “no drinking” policy while working. Naturally, and I’m sure you can guess, it’s not always followed. “It’s water, Avie,” Dylan mumbles, pouring another shot for the woman. “And her tab is pushing two hundred, so don’t worry yourself with it.”
Avie grumbles his distaste and pushes his hand through his mess of hair. That’s when his bloodshot eyes land on mine. He doesn’t say anything to me, but he makes a sweep over the bar and restaurant.
Right there. There’s the usual angry brother I see daily.
“He can’t be in here,” he tells Fletcher, seeming to know who the kid is. I’m not surprised he does because if he hadn’t told me Fletcher bailed the bar out of trouble, he probably didn’t see it fit to tell me about this kid.
Anger rushes through me. Not at the fact that he’s looking at me like I let a minor in the bar, but that he has all these secrets. “It’s fine,” I snap. “He’s drinking root beer.”
“I don’t give a shit what he’s drinking. He’s a minor and needs to leave.” His livid expression shifts to Fletcher. “Do you realize the kind of trouble I could get into if the Liquor Control Board came in here? This place would be shut down.”
“They’re not going to do anything to a small-town bar,” Fletcher says, rolling his eyes.
They exchange a look, Avie’s stare passing from his to the boy. “Probably not, but he needs to leave.”
Atlas climbs up on the stool. “I won’t tell. I’m really good at keeping secrets.”
I bet you are. His dad, if in fact my theory is right, is the king secret keeper. I stare at the child again. I can’t get over how much he looks like Lincoln. Same nose, same eye shape, smirk… he has to be his kid. Flipping his drawing over, he begins to draw, ignoring Avie and his demand that Fletcher takes him home.
Reaching for the empty baskets of food, I take them around back to the kitchen. Fried food, heat, and cursing drift through the galley kitchen. Everett’s standing next to the fryer, a newly bubbling burn scalding his wrist as he tries to remove battered halibut.
“Goddamn it,” he curses, jumping