Mrs. Fletcher(31)

“Absolutely,” he said. “That’s the whole point.”

Hobie turned and watched as the elderly couple dismounted their stools, the old woman assisting the old man, who needed a few seconds to get his feet properly connected to the floor.

“You guys okay?” he asked.

The man waved dismissively, as if Hobie did nothing but bother him.

“We’re fine, dear,” the woman said, taking her unsteady partner by the arm. “See you tomorrow.”

After they’d shuffled out, Hobie explained that they lived right around the corner, which was a good thing, since they’d both had their driver’s licenses revoked, with good cause.

“This is their ritual,” he said. “They come here every night and drink whiskey sours. Barely say a word to each other, and then they walk home. Last year was their fiftieth.”

“That’s a long time,” Eve said. “I guess they’re all talked out.”

Hobie shrugged. “Least they have each other.”

Eve nodded, distracted by the realization that they were alone now. There was something undeniably porny about the situation—the handsome bartender, the lonely divorcée. She could see the video in her head, shot a little shakily from the man’s point of view, the MILF looking up, licking her lips in anticipation as she undid his belt. It was an image that would have been unthinkable at any other time in her life, but now seemed weirdly plausible. There was literally nothing stopping her. All she had to do was slip behind the bar and kneel down. Hobie gave her a searching look, almost as if he were reading her mind.

“One more?” he asked hopefully. “On the house.”

*

Later that night, after she’d watched her porn and gone to bed, Eve wondered why she hadn’t taken him up on his offer. It was just a drink, a half hour of her time. He was reasonably good-looking and easy to talk to, and it had been a long time since she’d had a fun flirtation, let alone a fling. If she’d been advising a friend, she would have said, Give it a shot, see where it leads, he doesn’t have to be perfect.

It wasn’t so much the sexual fantasy that had thrown her off—that had come and gone in a flash—as it was the nagging sense of familiarity that had snuck up on her over the course of the night, a feeling that Jim Hobie was more of the same, another helping of a meal she’d already had enough of. He wasn’t as obnoxious as Barry from class, or as charmed by himself as Ted had been, but he was in the same basic ballpark. She could go to bed with him, she could even fall in love, but where would it get her? Nowhere she hadn’t been before, that was for sure. She wanted something else—something different—though what that something was remained to be seen. All she really knew was that it was a big world out there, and she’d only been scratching the surface.

*

Amanda was a wreck the next morning, not because of her sexual exertions—Bobby only lasted a couple of minutes—but because it turned out to be one of those nights when sleep wouldn’t come, when there was nothing to do but lie awake in the darkness and watch the bad thoughts float by, an armada of bleak prospects and unhappy memories. It had been close to five by the time she drifted off, and then she was up at seven, nursing a headache that two ibuprofen and three cups of coffee hadn’t managed to eradicate.

“Are you okay?” Eve Fletcher asked when Amanda arrived at her office for their ten o’clock meeting. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” Amanda insisted, suppressing the usual urge to open up to Eve, to tell her about her rough night, and ask if she had any strategies for dealing with insomnia. “Just cramps.”

Eve gave a sympathetic nod. “I’m almost done with all that. I’m not gonna miss it.”

Amanda would have liked to pursue the subject, to hear Eve’s thoughts about menopause and growing older, but she decided that was out of bounds, too. Eve was her boss, not her friend, no matter how much Amanda wished it were otherwise.

“So you got my email about Garth Heely?”

“I did.” Eve looked upset, but only for a second. “Was it a heart attack?”

“His wife said stroke.”

“You know what? That’s how I want to go.” Eve snapped her fingers. “Quick and painless. In my own bed. That’s one thing you learn, working with old people. You really don’t want to die in a hospital.”

Amanda murmured agreement, trying not to think about her mother. Going fast wasn’t that great, either. She’d been dead for a couple of days before the neighbors even started wondering if she was okay.

“Any ideas for a replacement?” Eve asked. “We need to nail this down sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll email you the short list by the end of the day.”

“Perfect.” Eve nodded briskly. “That it?”

“I think so.”

Amanda rose uncertainly. She felt like she’d forgotten something important, like there was one more thing they needed to discuss, but the only possibilities that occurred to her were Trish’s perky nipples and the puppy-like whimpers Bobby made right before he came, neither of which were appropriate subjects for workplace conversation.

“By the way,” Eve said, “if you still want to get a drink sometime, I’d be totally up for that.”