A Mother Would Know (26)

“Good, right?” Suzanne sidles up next to me, head nodding toward my drink.

“Hmmm,” I murmur, my mouth full.

“He’s been making ’em all summer, and we’ve been selling ’em like hotcakes,” she says.

“That’s great.” I attempt to take another sip, but only ice hits my lips. “Oops. All gone.” When did that happen? My body is warm and tingly, like I’m submerged in a warm bath. Catching Jerry’s attention, I ask for another.

“I know you can’t tell tonight,” Suzanne says, “but business has been really picking up lately.”

“That’s great,” I say.

“Yeah.” She glances around. “Sunday nights are usually pretty dead, but you should come back for trivia on Tuesday. This place’ll be packed then.”

“Trivia night?” I look at my friend, surprised. It doesn’t seem like something she’d think of.

“It was Tony’s idea. He’s the new manager I hired. Young guy. He’s been livening things up.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve told me about him.” Suzanne doesn’t bring up the bar often when we hang out or talk on the phone. She knows it can be a touchy subject with me. But since it’s such a huge part of her life, it usually comes up in conversation at some point. Scanning the room, I notice the subtle changes I’d overlooked before. On the surface it all appears the same—Suzanne’s eclectic aesthetic. But the light fixtures are new and modern. Even the bar stool I sit on is sleek and shiny, not chipped and antique like it used to be. The stage has been refinished. And on the far wall is a bulletin board behind glass, listing upcoming events and bands.

That must’ve been the new manager’s doing. It’s clear now more than ever that this place has outgrown me, moved on to bigger and better things. Not that I’d ever planned to perform again. Here or anywhere, but it still makes me sad.

Sullenly, I suck down more of my drink.

I’m starting to feel it, my head fuzzy. I clutch the edge of the bar to keep from toppling over.

There is a catch at my thumb as if a splinter has embedded itself in my flesh. I lift my hand. Underneath, initials are carved in the wood. Childlike block letters. I smile, remembering Hudson as a child, hunched over this bar, pencil on paper, math book opened near his elbow. Sounds spin around me: the guys setting up their instruments, bantering loudly to be heard above the racket of amps being turned on, cords plugged in.

I finish off my drink. A couple makes out in the corner, and my eyes linger a beat too long. The woman notices. Scowls. Cheeks warming, I look away. A man by the door saunters toward me. My heart stops.

Mac.

He grins, waves.

For a moment, I’m frozen. Paralyzed with shock.

What is he doing here?

It’s been so many years.

But then I snap out of it. Regaining composure, I wave back. “Mac,” I call out.

“What, honey?” Suzanne’s fingers are warm on my arm.

“Mac,” I say, continuing to wave.

But he looks over my shoulder as if I’m invisible. How does he not see me?

Desperation blooming in my chest, I scramble off the bar stool. But my foot gets caught and I lose my balance, my body teetering.

“Mom!” Hudson lunges forward, his arms coming around me. His hold is strong as he rights me, and for a second I lose my breath. Blinking, I catch sight of Mac again. Only this time it’s clear that it isn’t him.

His hair is slightly darker. His eyes not quite right—too almond-shaped and lighter in color. His jawline too sharp.

But the biggest difference is that he’s alive, and Mac is not.

I wriggle out of Hudson’s grasp, feeling stupid. “I’m okay. Just lost my balance.” With my palm, I smooth down my hair. Inhale and exhale through my nose. I’ve read that’s supposed to slow down your heart rate. It’s not doing the trick right now. Mine is clanging in my chest, a full-blown drum solo.

Suzanne claps me on the back. “I told you those sangrias were good.”

“Yeah.” I force a wobbly smile, but my voice is shaky, and I can tell by Hudson’s pensive expression that he notices it.

When Suzanne leaves, Hudson says, “Hey, Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” I sit taller.

“Why haven’t you seen a doctor about your memory issues?”

I shrug. “’Cause it won’t make a difference.”

“But what if it does?”

Narrowing my eyes, I take another pull from my drink. “Did Kendra put you up to this?”

He shakes his head.

“I know you guys are worried about me. I felt the same way when my mom was sick, and I pushed her to see a doctor. But it didn’t help.”

“Yeah, I get that. But if it were me, I’d want to see a doctor.” He lifts his beer, bringing it to his lips and taking a large gulp.

My head feels like a balloon, full of helium, released and floating up in the rafters.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom,” I mutter and quickly scurry away from Hudson’s prying eyes. I can still feel the heat of his stare on the back of my scalp, though.

In the bathroom, I run cold water over my hands and press my palms to my cheeks. As I study my reflection, I see Mac behind me, his dark eyes roving my body. Coming closer, he nuzzles my neck, the warmth of his breath skating over my skin. His hands slide up my back, fumbling with my bra clasps. I suck in a breath and squeeze my eyes shut.