The place is packed, with not asingle stool free at the long wooden bar. We settle in for a longwait, folding our arms and leaning against a wall by the waitressstation. We don’t talk, we just watch the patrons eat and laugh. Irealise that this is the first time in my memory that I’ve stoodquietly with my brother without feeling on edge. Certainly, thefirst time since I’d come out. I glance at him. His face is blank,but relaxed. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. I want tomention it, but I don’t dare. I don’t want to snap the delicatethread that’s only just started forming.
Over the din of too-loud folkmusic and talking there is a loud bang, and I turn to see a womanof about forty standing in the entrance, like a cowboy surveying asaloon. Her blonde hair is piled elegantly on her head—though acouple pieces have fallen out of place—and she’s put on makeup likewarpaint. As she passes us on her way to the waitress station, sheblasts us with the reek of booze. “I’m looking for my assholehusband,” she announces to the waitress, who immediately looksconcerned.
“Great, a pre-dinner show,” Imumble. “All I want is to eat and go home.”
Denny gives me a look, and thenhe nudges me. I look at him, shocked. When was the last time he’dnudged me? “Don’t be such a killjoy, Jade.”
The waitress tries to coax thewoman to the exit, but the woman stands her ground and scans thetables, heavily-lined eyes narrowed. Then, she’s off, marchingunsteadily towards a table with a clean-cut man and a pretty girlwith black hair. I make it a point to avoid other people’s drama,but I can’t take my eyes away.
“Ten bucks says hair is going tobe pulled,” Denny says.
“I don’t bet, and we shouldn’teven be watching,” I say, still fixated on the storming woman.
The woman starts yelling, evenbefore she reaches the table. The couple look at her in horror.When she reaches the table, the woman grabs their pitcher of water,holds it over the head of the woman sitting at the table, and dumpsit.
“No way,” Denny breathes.
People at tables near them standand back up, holding their napkins in their hands. The now soakedwoman stands up, flicks her drenched hair over her shoulder, andlunges at the drunk blonde. The water pitcher cartwheels across thefloor as they fall to the ground, the dark-haired girl on top; weget only a glimpse of her yanking loose the blonde’s elegant hairdobefore the staff closes in. The husband makes weak attempts athelping, and his face flushes as he dances around the pair offighting women and restaurant staff.
“Gee, do you think he wascheating on his wife?” Denny says.
“God, I’m not sure.” I look athim, rolling my eyes.”
“Damn straight he was.”
Finally, one of the brawny cooksemerges from the back, leading both women by the arm toward theexit. As they pass us by, the blonde glances at me. I’m stillgrinning—I try to wipe it away. Her lip twitches and she looks meup and down. “What you laughing at, hunny? What the hell even areyou, a dude or a dyke?”
I know there’s no point ofresponding—arguing with a drunk is a losing battle. Then, I seeDenny straighten next to me. “What did you say, you drunk oldhag?”
“Denny. It’s not worth it.”
Just before the cook gets themthrough the door, the blonde turns around and sneers at me. “Yougot a dick, don’t you?”
“No, no dick,” Denny says. “Butshe has bigger balls than your husband.”
Oh great, now everyone in theplace is staring at us like we’re crazy, too.
The waitress walks by and givesDenny a disapproving look. Denny points to the disheveled table inthe middle of the dining room. “So, I guess there’s a free tablenow, huh?”
A laugh explodes from me, butDenny’s face is still stormy. The cook, who had just returned fromexpelling the two women, stops in front of us. He tells us it’sprobably best we leave. Denny goes to say something but I grab hisarm.
“Let’s just go, okay?” I tellhim. “I come here a lot. I don’t want to leave them with a badimpression.”
I’m scared Denny has reachedthat point he often has in the past—the point where he doesn’tlisten to reason. But then he just nods at me, and we head out. Istare at him as we walk.
We stop at the Pizza Shackbefore heading back to the cottage, then we eat in front of theT.V. with our feet on the coffee table. Stinky sits beside us andbegs for scraps. At one point he blesses us with one of histrademark emissions. I throw the piece of pizza I’m eating in thebox and cover my nose, and Denny turns to me, a look of horror onhis face.
Denny gets up to get us a coupleof drinks from the kitchen. On his way back, he staggers and sticksout his chest, imitating the wasted blonde from earlier. If ourparents could see us now, sitting here, getting along and having agood time together, they’d be blown away.
And yet, no matter how much I’msomehow enjoying my brother’s company, I can’t help but be paranoidabout Annie. Even though there’s not much chance she would becoming back tonight, I’m scared at the thought of her walkingthrough the door and seeing him. She believes that he was somehowinvolved in her being raped, but despite everything, when I look athim now, I just can’t picture it.
He said that he’d left thatnight, that Annie hadn’t needed saving. He looked genuinelyconfused.
Absently, I flip to the news.The anchor is talking about Vancouver headlines. Then he mentions amurder investigation.
Denny and I both sit up and leantoward the TV.
The body of Robbie James wasfound in a bay on Gabriola Island…
Believed to be a homicide…
A person of interest…
Denny stands up fast. “That’sme. The cops are interested in me. They think I did it.” He’sbreathing quickly, arms rigid, and I realise that he’shyperventilating.
I get to my feet and stand infront of him. I grab his arms. “Denny, stop freaking yourself out.You don’t know what
