Chapter 8: Dance Night

Odette's last words rode home in my chest on Thursday and stayed there for two days.

Chan had asked what she said at the car, and I told him she would keep quiet.

I left out the rest.

Every time I turned from the stove, one of them was already looking at me, and I found something to stir.

On Saturday night, Hyunjin asked if he could go to the bar.

He asked it at the kitchen sink with his back to us, drying a mug that was already dry.

"No," Chan said.

"It's one night."

"It's the same bar where she filmed you."

"It's the one place in the world where someone picked up a phone and Mara turned out the lights," Hyunjin said.

"I'd like to be there when nobody does."

I put my fork down.

Rory ran a dance night on the third Saturday of every month.

He hired a fiddler from two towns over, and the jukebox only played songs from before 1995.

I'd gone to every one for nine years.

It was the one night I never felt alone in a crowd.

"I'll take them," I said.

"Mara," Chan said.

"Hoods, caps, flannel, the back table. We leave if a single person looks twice."

"You can't promise that."

"I can promise you a long walk home, and cheap beer."

He rubbed his face with both hands, and Hyunjin turned around with the mug held to his chest.

"Please, Hyung," Hyunjin said.

It was the first time I'd heard him say it, and it came out soft and young.

Chan breathed out, and Hyunjin grinned.

I lent Hyunjin my brother's old flannel, a red and black one from the back of the closet.

It was too short in the sleeves, and he looked ridiculous and happy.

The Rusty Buoy was packed.

There were fishermen in clean shirts and women in their good boots.

The fiddler was halfway through "The Maid Behind the Bar," and somebody's grandmother was already dancing on a chair.

Rory saw us come in and lifted his chin at the table in the back, the one by the pool room.

It had a RESERVED sign on it that I knew for a fact he had stolen from a restaurant.

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