All the Ugly and Wonderful Things(34)

He didn’t get it, and Lisa was too drunk to explain how John had narrated her whole childhood and most of her adulthood so far. No matter where she went, John had gone with her, even to this horrible little town. Now he was dead and she was alone.

“I’m sorry,” Kellen said.

To his left, a guy in a cowboy hat laid a hand on Kellen’s shoulder and said, “Can I squeeze in here for a sec, Cochise?”

Kellen knocked back the rest of his drink, set the glass on the bar, and said, “You know what? Seeing as how you don’t know me, why don’t you just call me sir?”

Until then, Lisa had only considered him a curiosity: some previously undiscovered species of redneck biker Indian. At that moment, there was a menacing quality to the way he said sir, with the whiskey still wet on his lower lip, that also made her consider him a possible solution to one night of loneliness.

The cowboy tipped his hat with a smirk. “Whatever you say, Chief.”

Kellen swung so fast that his fist whiffled the air beside Lisa’s ear. When the blow landed on the cowboy’s face, it was like a bomb going off. People jumped into the fight from all sides. Lisa was too stunned to do anything but put her head down over her drink and cover the back of her head with her hands.

“Goddamn it! Knock it off, you *s!” somebody yelled, and then from that same corner of the bar came the sound of a pump shotgun being racked. The scuffle came to an immediate halt. When Lisa looked up, she saw half a dozen men clustered around Kellen. They were all bloodied and at their feet lay the cowboy, his hat trampled underfoot. Kellen’s hair was mussed and someone had torn his shirt and popped open half the snaps down the front, revealing a solid-looking gut and a giant tattoo on his chest.

The man with the shotgun waded through the crowd.

“Goddamnit. Junior, what’d I tell you? You gonna get yourself banned again.”

“Sorry, Glen. I was just trying to teach him some manners,” Kellen said, snapping his shirt up.

“Manners, my ass. Get outta here before I call the sheriff.”

“Will do.” Kellen pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and tossed a hundred dollar bill on the bar. He glanced at Lisa and said, “You ready to go?”

“I think so.”

She had never witnessed a bar fight, and she walked out on Kellen’s arm unsure whether she had yet. She hadn’t seen anything beyond the first punch, but she felt sure that was permanently imprinted on her brain. Powell in a snapshot: drunk hillbillies beating the crap out of each other.

When they pulled up in front of Lisa’s house, Kellen turned off the engine. Panic engulfed her. She had not in fact invited him to spend the night, but there he was getting off the motorcycle and reaching to help her down.

“I’m fine from here,” she said.

“Coulda fooled me. You couldn’t walk yourself outta the bar. You’re welcome to try, though.”

She leaned on him all the way to the front porch and, once the door was unlocked, she remembered how empty the house was.

“Do you want to come in? I could make you some coffee.”

“If you don’t mind,” he said, right before she kissed him. With all the whiskey, it was hard to tell where her mouth ended and his began. He pulled back after just a few seconds and said, “We should go inside.”

Of course, he was right. No sense advertising her shame and desperation to the whole town. She stepped backward into the dark entry and he followed.

“Let me go put some coffee on.” Turning toward the kitchen, she nearly wiped out, the floor going crooked under her. He caught her under the arms and brought her upright.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll put the coffee on.”

It was ridiculous, but she nodded. He steered her to the couch, and then went into the kitchen. She slumped there, listening to him rattle around in drawers and cupboards. A few minutes later, the smell of coffee wafted out to the living room. He came in from the kitchen, carrying two mugs and handed her one of them. Then he stood there, sipping his coffee, and looked around at the dirty wineglasses, empty bottles, and record albums spread all over the rug. Having him witness the messiness of her grief embarrassed Lisa, and it seemed to bother him, too. He seemed to be thinking about cleaning it up until she set her coffee mug aside and patted the spot on the sofa next to her.

“So, where are you from?” he said as he sat down.

“Connecticut. I went to school there, too. I’d never been west of the Mississippi until I took this job. How long have you lived in Powell?”

“Forever. I was born six blocks north of here. Just across from the grain elevators.”

“No offense, but I hate this town.”

His only answer was a shrug.

“There’s nothing to do. Nobody I have anything in common with. Stacy, the girl I came to the party with, we’re only friends because everybody else our age is already married with kids. And everybody knows everybody’s business. I can’t even go on a date without everybody knowing about it.”

Kellen leaned forward to set his mug on the coffee table. Lisa scooted closer, so that when he sat back, their arms brushed together. She turned her head up to him as a hint, but he didn’t kiss her.

“Would you take some advice if I give it to you?” he said. Now that she knew how old he was, his tone of voice rankled. More paternal than he had any right to act. “You need to figure out how to live here or you need to get the hell out. I was you, I’d leave. Go on back to Connecticut.”