Chapter 11: Say It Out Loud

"How long were you there?" I whispered.

"From the first shout," Chan said.

"You could have gone up."

"He asked for you."

He stood, slowly, with a hand on his ribs, and crossed the dark floor until he was a step away from me.

I could smell soap on him, and woodsmoke.

"I saw you in the pool room yesterday," he said. "I want you to know I wasn't angry."

"Your face said otherwise."

"My face was surprised." He rubbed his jaw.

"I'm not angry that you're close to him. I've watched him all week, and he's lighter. He laughs."

"Then what was it?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"I didn't know where to stand," he said. "That's all. I've always known where to stand."

I had a hundred answers, and none of them was safe.

"Go to sleep, Chan," I said instead.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mara."

He went back to the daybed.

I went to my room and lay on top of the covers with my eyes open until dawn.

On Tuesday night, the Rusty Buoy was nearly empty.

Rory had a rule about Tuesdays, which was that nobody was allowed to enjoy them.

There were six regulars in the main room and a hockey game on the television with the sound off.

The jukebox was playing something slow and Irish.

I went in with the two of them behind me, and the whole bar looked up and then looked back at its beer.

My town had decided what it thought.

Nobody said a word, and nobody had to.

"Table," Rory said, pointing his chin at the pool table. "It's free. Don't scratch the felt."

We took the pool table at the end of the room.

It stood under a yellow light with a clear view of the bar and the door.

The six regulars were within hearing, if they cared to hear.

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