Chapter 30: The Funny One

Friday night at the clubhouse had always been loud.

With Rory in it, it was a different building.

I came in at seven with Bree.

The first thing I saw was my brother-in-law standing on a chair in the middle of the cannery floor, doing Ginny.

"Kid," he said, in her voice, a smoker's rasp and a hand on his hip. "Eat something. You're a stick. I've buried better-fed sticks."

The room howled.

Ginny sat at the bar with her glasses pushed up and tears running down her face.

She was laughing so hard she had to hold the rail.

"That's not what I sound like!"

"It's exactly what you sound like!" Rory shouted.

"I've never said that in my life!"

"Last Tuesday," said three men at once.

Rory bowed and fell off the chair, and two men caught him.

I stood in the door with my hand on my stomach, which was flat and told no one anything.

"He's something," Bree breathed.

"He is."

I meant it.

That was the trouble.

Over the next hour he fixed the cannery sign, which had hung crooked for a decade.

He used a borrowed stepladder and a hammer he did not need.

He taught the youngest prospect a card trick that was really a cheat.

He told a story about a trawler captain in Astoria who had named his boat after his ex-wife so he could say her name every day in anger.

I laughed until I had to sit down.

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