“Come on,” I cajole. “It’s me you’re talking to. I can keep a secret. YouknowI can.”
A wordless acknowledgment passes between us as our shared past makes another unwelcome appearance in the conversation.
“Suicide bomber infiltrated our ranks,” he finally says. “Cash was one of the lucky ones. He was far enough outside the blast radius that he lived, but close enough that he was thrown back about ten yards. His head smacked the concrete corner of a building. He was in a coma for three days with a hole drilled in his skull to let the blood drain off his brain.”
My hand flies up to cover my mouth.Oh, Cash.The thought of him lying broken and bloody cuts at all the tender places inside me. “He said he got a disability discharge, so that must mean he’s still suffering side effects. What’s his prognosis?”
“Might be right as rain someday,” Luc says, and relief rushes through me. It’s short-lived, however, when he adds, “And he might not.”
“Lord have mercy,” I breathe.
Luc’s face is wreathed in worry. “It’s the pain that’s dogging him. It’s like living with a migraine twenty-four seven. He self-medicates with the whiskey.”
“Doesn’t he have a prescription or something?”
“I reckon he does both, the pillsandthe hooch.”
A fist tightens in my belly. “He shouldn’t. It’s dangerous.”
Luc laughs, but it’s devoid of humor. “You think I haven’t said that exact thing a million times? I hate to tell you, Maggie May, but he hasn’t changed much. He still does exactly what he wants and damn the consequences.”
Again, we fall into silence. Again, Luc doesn’t seem eager to fill it.
The music on the jukebox changes. Someone’s put on a song about lost love, and the melody even more than the words sounds sad. The singer goes on in a minor key, and the chords move slowly and morosely.
It all hits too close to home, so I clear my throat and ask, “What will y’all do with yourselves now that you’re civilians?”
He picks at the label on his beer with the edge of his thumbnail. “The nice thing about army life is that room and board are taken care of. Most of our paychecks have gone straight into the bank. I reckon I’ll take some time off. Help Cash get his house fixed up because right now it’s barely livable. Then…who knows?” He shrugs. “We’ve talked some about opening a security firm.”
“I expect y’all would be good at that given your backgrounds.”
He shrugs again.
“You could always open a bar together,” I venture.
“You already got the perfect place here.” He gestures around. “Besides, I think the last thing Cash needs is to be surrounded by an endless supply of booze.”
A hard kernel of sadness lodges under my heart and pricks the organ until it begins to bleed. “Isn’t there anything the doctors can do to help him? I mean, maybe there’s something—” I’m interrupted by a rowdy bachelorette party. They stumble into the place and instantly besiege my poor barback with drink orders.
“I better go help Charlie,” I tell Luc.
Before I know it, an hour and a half has come and gone and I’ve barely managed two more minutes of conversation with him. The noisy, dancing bachelorette party attracted the attention of strolling tourists. And now, with the band setting up, the locals have begun to pour in and the place is packed to the gills.
While I’m pulling drafts of Dixie Beer, I glance down the bar to see the leggy blonde has left Earl’s side to sidle up to Luc. If the look on her face is anything to go by, she’s in love. Or, at the very least, inlust.
Luc curls the ends of her hair around his finger, and I’m shocked to feel a stab of… What the heck is that? Jealousy?
Nah. Can’t be. I’ve never wanted that sort of thing from him. Or…almostnever.
There was the time before Cash when I thought maybe. And then there was that dance under the moonlight when I was tempted for just a minute… But no. Nothing ever came of either situation because all Luc and I have ever been are friends.
Whatever this weird emotion is, it’s definitely not jealousy.
In fact, when Luc pushes back from the bar and slings his arm around the blonde’s shoulders, I tell myself I’m happy for him. I’ve always thought he deserves a good woman. Not that I’m saying the blonde is a good one. It’s hard to tell good from bad in a bar. But still… I’m glad he’s on the lookout.
“What d’ya say to meeting me and Cash for coffee at Café Du Monde on Sunday morning? Ten hundred for old times’ sake?” he shouts above the din of tonight’s lead singer doing a mic check.
“Is that like ten o’clock?” I yell back.
