Graveminder

Then he turned and got back in his car as quickly as he could. He didn’t run from fights or anything like that, but he didn’t want to know what he didn’t need to know. Anyone who paid attention understood that there were plenty of times that avoiding questions was the best way for things to work out.

Chapter 7

AFTER TAKING CARE OF ERRANDS AND GOING FOR A LONG RIDE TO CLEAR his head, Byron settled in at Gallagher’s, his regular evening hideaway. Gallagher’s was the best sort of tavern: wooden floor and wooden bar, pool tables and dartboards, cold beer and good liquor. Here, he could believe he was in one of any number of neighborhood bars in any town or city, and usually he could relax—both during open hours and after the bar was closed.

Not tonight.

He did all right at first, but as the night stretched on, his nerves became increasingly jangled. He looked at the clock for the third time in as many minutes; he considered going to the airport. Hell, he’d started driving there earlier, only to pull over and turn around again. Twice. As much as he wanted to see Rebekkah, he wasn’t sure that being there was going to help, so he sat at the bar and told himself that being met by an undertaker— especially me —wasn’t liable to help her mood.

“Are you drinking or just taking up a stool, Byron?” Amity smiled to ease the bite in her words. She’d been a welcome diversion since he’d been home, never demanding, never asking for more than he could offer.

“Byron?” she prompted, her tone a little less sure this time.

“Drinking.” He tapped his empty glass.

After an assessing look, Amity took his glass and scooped ice into it. She was pretty, with plenty of attitude. Skeleton-hand barrettes held back pale blond hair; thick-rimmed red glasses framed dark eyes heavily made up in purples and grays. Her curves were accented by a tight black shirt decorated with a picture of a cartoon monster and the words GOT STAKES? on the front and GOT SILVER? on the back. She was four years younger than he was, so she wasn’t old enough to notice when he was in high school, but in the few months he’d been home, he’d definitely been noticing her. Amity was uncomplicated, and he was able to give her exactly what Rebekkah had asked for from him: no strings, no hang-ups, no future talk.

Maybe I’ve changed.

Amity darted a glance at him, but didn’t speak as she tipped the bottle over the glass, pouring a triple shot of Scotch.

He held out a credit card.

She set the glass on a new coaster in front of him with one hand and took his card with the other. “It’ll be okay.”

“What?”

She shrugged and turned to the cash register. “Things.”

“Things,” he repeated slowly.

She nodded but didn’t look up. “Yeah. Things will be okay. You have to believe that ... it’s what we’re all doing since she died.”

Byron froze. Amity’s words emphasized how little they actually talked. He knew very little about her life, her interests, her. “Maylene?”

“Yeah.” She swiped his card and while it was printing slid the Scotch into the empty space on the shelf. “Maylene was good people.”

Byron paused, took a drink, and then asked, “Did she come in here? I didn’t see her around.”

“She came in, but not much.” Amity leaned on the counter for a moment and leveled her gaze on him. “I mostly know her through my sister. Maylene went to council meetings, and Bonnie Jean took a seat on the council last year. So ...”

Byron looked at the clock again. Rebekkah’s flight should’ve landed.

“Hey.” A soft touch drew his attention: Amity covered his hand with hers. He glanced at it, and then his gaze flickered between her hand and her eyes.

“Things will be okay. You need to believe that,” Amity assured him.

“Why does it seem like you know something I don’t?”

“Most folks don’t get to leave like you did. Sometimes a person who stays around here knows things ... different things than those who were able to go.” She squeezed his hand. “But I’m guessing you know things I don’t.”

Byron didn’t pull away, but he did pause. Amity usually kept the conversation light—if they even talked at all. He took a long drink to stall.

“Relax.” She laughed. “No strings, right? You think I’m changing the rules on you or something?”

He felt his tension drain away as she laughed.

“No,” he lied.

“So ... after I close ...” She let the offer hang in the air.

Most nights he stayed until closing only if he intended to accept that offer. Tonight he couldn’t. It was foolish to feel guilty, but he did. He couldn’t be with Amity when Rebekkah was in town. He also couldn’t say that to Amity. Instead he smiled and said, “Rain check?”

“Maybe.” Amity leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Go see her.”

He gripped his glass tightly, but tried to keep his expression neutral. “Who?”

Amity shook her head. “Rebekkah.”

“Rebek—”

“You’ll feel better if you make sure she’s home safe.” Amity slid the credit-card slip and a pen over to him.

“How did you—”

“People talk, Byron, especially about you two.” Amity’s expression was unchanged. “Just so you know, though, she doesn’t talk about you ever. When you were away and she visited, Maylene introduced us and we got to know each other, but she’s never once mentioned you.”

Byron stared at the credit-card slip for a moment. He wanted to ask if Amity still talked to Rebekkah, to ask if Rebekkah knew that he and Amity ... Not that it matters. He shook his head. Rebekkah had made herself perfectly clear years ago, and they hadn’t spoken since that night. Byron signed the slip and shoved his copy of the receipt into his pocket.

He looked at Amity. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“You and I don’t exactly talk much, Byron.” She grinned.

“I’m s—”

“No, you’re not ,” she said firmly. “I don’t want words, Byron, especially empty ones. I want the same things you usually offer. Don’t stop coming to see me just ’cause Rebekkah’s home.”

“Rebekkah and I ... We’re not—”

“Come see me,” Amity interrupted. “But not tonight. I already told Bonnie Jean I might need a ride. Go on.”

Byron stepped up to the bar, reached out, and pulled her close. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Your aim’s off.” Amity tapped her lips.

He leaned in and kissed her. “Better?”

She tilted her head and gave him a look that, most nights, would’ve meant that they didn’t make it to her place after they locked the door. “Closer. Definitely closer to better.”

“Next time, Ms. Blue.” He picked up his helmet.

He was at the door when she answered, “I hope so, Byron.”