A swirl of cold disturbed the close air. I looked up. My sister Amy stood framed in the dark doorway, her hair glowing like a candle in the dim light.
“Oh hell.”
Trey turned. Started to get up.
“Hang on,” I said. “I’ll talk to her.”
He sat. Reluctantly, I thought.
Amy had changed back into her skirt and boots and tossed a jacket over the black lace. She looked hot and lost and alone—a recipe for disaster in a dive like Alleygators. But my little sister seemed unawareof her danger. Or maybe she was enjoying it. She strolled forward, her boots clacking on the grimy floor. The regulars swiveled to watch. The pool players nudged one another. One of them said something, and the rest guffawed. In another minute, she’d be swarmed by burly patrons eager to offer her a drink, a joint, or a quickie in the restroom.
I hurried to reach her before they did. “Amy, what are you doing here?”
“You said you were going out for a drink. It’s not like there are a lot of bars open on Christmas Eve.” She looked pleased by her own resourcefulness.
I wanted to shake her. “But how did you get here?”
“Uber.”
“In Bunyan?”
She fluttered her fingers. “Uber is everywhere.”
I didn’t have the heart to send her away. “Listen, Ames, I’m sorry we came out without you. It’s just... Trey and I are trying to talk.”
“Fine. I’ll wait.” She drifted toward the jukebox, a fluffy yellow baby chick surrounded by alligators.
“You’ll be all right?”
She smiled just a little, her eyes unreadable. “Aren’t I always?”
Amy took care of Amy. Always. And she must have developed some street smarts in Paris. “Don’t talk to anybody,” I warned.
“Mm.” She turned her attention back to the jukebox, tiptoeing her fingers through the music selection.
I dashed back to the booth. “Okay, here’s the deal,” I said to Trey, speaking rapidly. “You and I need to get things straight.”
“What?” He was still watching Amy. So was every other man in the place, along with a few disgruntled women.
I cleared my throat, determined to get through my speech and get my sister out of here. “We’re friends. Good friends. But that’s it. You can’t kiss me anymore, Trey.”
I had his attention now. “Youkissedme.”
I winced. “Yeah. My bad.”
“I waited for you, Jo,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I went to work for Granddad while you got this whole New York thing out of your system. When you came home this time, I figured you were finally ready to settle down. And instead—”
“I told you this summer we were through. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?Come on.” He reached across the table, covering my damp hand on the beer bottle. “Jo, Iloveyou.”
My chest hurt. “I love you, too, Trey. Just not... like that.”
“But you could. I know you could,” he insisted. “Maybe you don’t feel the way I do—yet. I can live with that.”
“But I can’t.”
“Things change. People change.”
