how to party.”
“You know what they say,” Jake cut in, before Sally could answer, even assuming she could come up with anything plausible after having just been exposed as a blatant liar. “Three’s a crowd.”
The server’s face split in a grin. He had a scar running down one side of his massive neck and was missing three front teeth. Probably got the first from a knife wound, and lost the rest in a brawl. “Little old Penny-wise wouldn’t horn in on your date for long, dude. Plenty of guys around here’d be only too willing to take her off your hands.”
“I think,” Sally said, in a small, despairing voice, as the oaf lumbered off to collect their nachos, “I’m going to be sick.”
Unmoved, Jake knocked back half his beer. “That tends to happen when a person’s attempt to hide the truth blows up in her face. I’d bet my last dollar you’d feel a whole lot better if you’d spit out the load of rubbish you’ve been feeding me.”
“It would serve you right if I did!” she cried with surprising passion. “But since truth’s so all-fired important to you, try this on for size—I don’t know what happened to turn the boy I used to know into such a hard-nosed bully, but I do know I don’t like the man you’ve become.”
He didn’t much like it himself. Browbeating a woman—any woman—wasn’t his style. Traumatizing Sally to the point that she looked as bewildered as an innocent victim caught in enemy crossfire filled him with self-loathing. He hadn’t come home to continue the inhumane practices of war. He’d come looking for a little peace.
Trouble was, he was no closer to finding it here than he had been on the other side of the world, and it was eating him alive, though not for the reasons Sally might suppose.
Hardening his heart against her obvious distress, he said, “I’m not especially enamored of you, either. I’d hoped by now that you’d outgrown the habit of taking the easy way out of whatever tight spot you happen to find yourself in.”
She picked up her tankard of beer and, for a second, he thought she might fling it in his face. But at the last minute, she shoved it away and spat, “I resent that, and I refuse to sink to the level of the company in which I find myself. I might be all kinds of things, but I’ve never lied to you in the past.”
“Never, Sally? Not once? Not even to spare my feelings?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but at the last minute appeared to think better of it. Her eyes grew huge and haunted, and filled with tears.
He wanted to wipe them away. Wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he was sorry; that raking up the distant past wasn’t his intent because it didn’t matter—not any of it. He wanted to tell her that he could forgive her anything, if only she’d free him to live in the present and be able to face the future without guilt weighing him down and souring each new day. And the depth of his wanting staggered him.
His wife was barely cold in her grave, for Pete’s sake, and all his suspicions aside, common decency demanded he at least observe a token period of mourning.
Slamming the door on thoughts he couldn’t afford to entertain, he drained his beer. “I don’t know who it is you think you’re protecting, Sally,” he said, “but to prove I’m not completely heartless, I’ll make a deal with you. Instead of badgering you to betray secrets you obviously hold sacred, I’ll spell out what I believe happened, the night Penelope died. All I ask of you is that you tell me honestly whether or not I’m on the right track. Agree to those terms and, after tonight, I’ll never bring the subject up again.”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and stared stubbornly at her hands, but he could see she was wavering.
“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” he offered, levering himself away from the table and grabbing his cane, “but don’t take too long. I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”
He wove his way through the couples squirming up against each other on the dance floor, knowing she was watching him the entire time. The men’s room lay at the end of a long, badly lit corridor toward the rear of the building. A boy no more than eighteen swayed in the doorway, vacant-eyed and decidedly green about the gills. The squalor in the area beyond defied description.
Cripes! Jake had known his share of dives, but this one took some beating!
“Hey, pal,” he said, catching the kid just in time to stop him doing a face plant on the filthy floor, and propelling him toward the back exit. “How about a breath of fresh air?”
The snow had tapered off, and a few stars pricked the sky. A clump of pines bordering the parking lot glowed ghostly white in the dark. Somewhere across the open fields to the west, a pack of coyotes on the hunt howled in unison. Under different circumstances, it would have been a magical night, peaceful and quiet, except for nature’s music.
Propping the boy against the wall, Jake rubbed a handful of snow in his face. The poor guy gasped and shuddered. Doubled over. Recognizing the inevitable was about to occur, Jake stood well to one side.
“Feel better?” he asked, when the kid finally stopped retching.
“I guess.”
“What’s your name?”
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Eric.”
“You of legal age to be hanging around bars, Eric?”
“No,” he moaned miserably, sagging against the wall.
“Didn’t think so. You live far from here?”
“Down the road some.” He swallowed and grimaced. “A mile, maybe.”
Jake weighed the options. He had problems enough of his own, without taking on someone else’s. And a mile was no distance at all. The kid was young and strong; he could walk it in a quarter of an hour. Less, if he put his mind to it and didn’t get sidetracked by the next bar he passed along the way.
But the temperature had dropped well below freezing, and he wasn’t in the best shape. Jake’s playing Good Samaritan would take all of five minutes. He could be back before Sally had the chance to miss him.
More important, he’d be able to sleep that night with a clear conscience. He’d been young and stupid himself, at one time, and felt for the poor kid whose troubles had only just begun. By morning, he’d be nursing one mother of a hangover!
He zipped up his jacket and fished the car keys out of his pocket. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you.”
“That’s okay. I can walk.”
“You can barely stand, you damn fool!”
The kid started to cry. “I don’t want my mom to see me fallin’-down drunk. She’s not gonna like it.”
“If you were my son, I wouldn’t like it, either.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the building behind. “But I’ll bet money she’d rather have you passing out at home, than winding up as roadkill when that lot in there decide to hit the highway.”
If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might have noticed the man sooner. But by the time she realized she’d
