Robert tends bar. The liquor shelf lights change from blue to purple and back to blue, chiseling his face into sharp lines as he moves from one side of the bar to the other. A woman with big boobs corralled in a leather vest leans over as she orders, showing off her wares. He gives her enough attention to keep her buying drinks and leaving wadded bills on the bar.
He brings me a beer. I tuck it under my stool and take it with me to the bathroom on the break. I don’t want to be rude, but after Ivan and his breath in my face, the smell of alcohol makes me sick. I pour my beer down the sink and leave the empty on the end of the bar.
When everyone’s left and Robert is slopping out the spill mats, I slip behind the bar to help him.
“Whatcha doing, cowgirl?” Robert kicks my boots lightly with his toe.
“Helping.”
It’s weird to be with him out in the world. We’ve spent so many nights at Ethan’s together. He’s different here. He has his hair down, tucked behind his ears. He’s beautiful.
“Thank you,” he says. “April.” And the way he says my name is like he also knows something is different.
“Robert,” I say back. I feel my face flush. I take the rag that’s hanging from his back pocket and spray club soda on it.
I wipe down the bar. He refills the napkin holders.
“Why aren’t you Rob?”
“I don’t know,” he says, honestly, like it’s just occurred to him that he could be Rob if he wanted to be.
“Well, think about it and get back to me,” I say, smiling. Just to say something. I’m not sure if it’s okay to feel the way I’m feeling. We’ve been through something together. I don’t know where that leaves us.
After I’m done wiping down the bar I hop up on it, swinging my legs over the edge while Robert finishes counting out the drawer. His eyebrows furrow, lips moving ever so slightly as he stacks bills on top of each other.
When he’s done, he pours himself a drink and climbs on the bar with me. “Thanks for helping,” he says. He leans in and kisses me, and it goes from being a friendly kind of kiss to a ravenous one, like every moment spent sitting together on Ethan’s staircase or brushing past each other in the kitchen has added up to this.
Some drunks bang on the window. They can see us because the neon beer signs are still lit up. “Hold on,” Robert says. He runs around pulling the chains on the signs to turn them off so no one else will know what we’re about to do. He climbs back on the bar.
— Chapter 49 —
On the nights I don’t play, Ethan and I curl up on the couch with popcorn and ice cream watching old black and white movies. Tonight, it’s Top Hat and too much mint chocolate chip. When it’s over, Ethan hits the remote on the stereo, drags me to my feet, and tries to twirl me around like Ginger Rogers.
“You’re too stiff,” he says, shaking my arm to loosen me up.
“Trying to dance like Fred Astaire to R.E.M.,” I say, shaking his arm back, “is your first problem. Second is that I’m a terrible dancer. Terrible.” I head back to the couch to sit down.
“It’s just what was in there,” Ethan says. He’s smiling, and it’s good to see him smile. His bruises are yellowed ghosts. You can only see them from certain angles. “Come on. Try. I’ll find something that fits better.”
He thumbs through his CDs, puts on Ella Fitzgerald, and offers his hand to me. I take it. He tries to teach me the foxtrot and I step all over his toes. He lets me stand on his feet until I get the steps, singing Cheek to Cheek in his best Fred Astaire voice, even though Ella is singing something completely different. He spins me out and back in and my feet start doing the right things.
“Look at you, Ginger.” He presses his cheek to mine. “You, here, makes my whole life better.”
I cry. Big fat tears rolling down my face, splashing on Ethan’s cheek. “Jerk,” I say, sniffing and laughing and wiping my face. “Why did you have to say that?”
“Because”—he sops tears from my cheeks with his sleeve—“it’s true. And I get the feeling not enough people have told you how much you matter. How amazing you are.”
“You’re the only one crazy enough to think it.”
“Possibly,” he says, but shakes his head.
“You know what?” I tell him, taking the lead, twirling him around. “Being here makes my whole life better.”
“Look at us lucky ducks,” he says.
We dance and talk and get more ice cream from the freezer. He tells me about Rodney and the little girl who never got to be theirs. I don’t tell him I already know. I’m not sure if Robert would want me to. He shows me pictures from the adoption agency. She had the sweetest apple cheeks. Her name is Luz, and Ethan says that means light. The agency promised him they found her a good home. He says it’s amazing how much you can miss someone you’ve never even met.