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The bar feels warmer. The late sun cuts across the floor near the front windows, catching dust in the air.

“I don’t owe her anything,” I say.

“No.”

“I don’t owe him anything either.”

“Also no.”

“And if I call her, if I open that door... The house. The businesses. This bar. Whatever Renny thought he was leaving me, whatever he thought he was protecting—”

“Whatever you’re protecting,” Don says. “This is your life.”

I stop.

His gaze is too steady.

I look toward Landy at the far end of the bar, leaning close to hear one of the regulars over the music. Renny’s hand on his shoulder in my memory. Renny’s laugh. Renny’s pride in being useful to men who still had whole lives waiting to happen.

“There are people who depend on these places,” I say. “I mean… think about the Riverview apartments. Where would those people go?”

“I know.”

“If this son shows up with a claim—”

“Clint,” Don says.

I look back.

“You know his name. Don’t shrink from it, honey.”

“I don’t know him.” I press my fingers against the bar until the wood bites back. “You’re making this harder.”

“I’m not the one who did that.” He bites his lip, then says what he wants to say. “You’ve been telling me for years that Renny was keeping things from you. About the business, about himself… I guess this is the last hoorah.”

“Don’t.”

Don’s eyebrows lift.

“Renny was my partner.”

“Yes,” Don says, softer. “And you loved each other. I’m not trying to diminish that.”

He taps one fingertip against his glass. “What are you afraid of?”

I give him a look.

“Fine,” he says. “Which fear gets top billing?”

I could say the money. The business situation I only half understand. The possibility that Renny’s son is angry, greedy, wounded, kind, cruel, lost, ordinary. All of that would be true enough.

Instead, I say, “That Renny trusted me to do the right thing because he knew I would.”

Don’s face changes.

“And I hate him for that,” I say.

The words leave me cleanly. No shaking. No tears. Just the simple fact.