“Maybe you could call JoBeth, ask her to stay a little later. Then we could get a drink, talk.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Has your opinion of me changed that much? We can’t even have a friendly drink anymore?”
“You look like hell, Billy. And you shouldn’t be here anyway.”
“Did Danny like the dinosaur model?”
“He did.”
“Just one drink, Sara. I just want to talk. Can’t you give me that?”
She looked at her watch, then back at him.
“Twenty minutes. That’s all.”
“Good enough.” He gestured to his truck.
“I’ll follow you,” she said.
“Don’t want to drive with me?”
“You want to talk or not?”
“Sorry. Whatever you want,” he said.
“If I lose you, I’ll see you there.”
“Not Tiger’s. Not tonight.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere else. I’ll find a place.”
“Not far.”
He nodded, moved toward his truck.
She got behind the wheel, set the tac bag on the passenger seat. She watched him pull out of the lot, the truck bouncing as a tire went over the curb.
She followed him, opened the bag, took out the leather Cordura waistpack she sometimes wore. She pulled the Velcro breakaway tab that opened the front pocket. Steering with one hand, she took the Glock from the tac bag, tugged it free of its holster. She slid it into the waistpack, closed the Velcro.
As they got farther from town, heading west, she noticed the gray Toyota about three car lengths back, moving at a steady speed, not closing the distance. Something about it jogged her memory, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen it before.
Or maybe you’re just getting paranoid.
In the half-light of dusk, with the Toyota’s headlights on, the figure behind the wheel was only a shadow. Four miles later, the car was still there. She slowed, but it didn’t try to pass.
Ahead, Billy had moved into the far right lane, was signaling to turn. She put her blinker on, followed. The Toyota pulled into the left lane, sped up. As it passed, she caught a glimpse of a black man at the wheel. Then just the glow of the Toyota’s taillights, down the road and gone.
SEVENTEEN
They ended up in a bar on the far edge of the county, one she’d never been to before. Mostly Indians in here, up from the Seminole Reservation in Immokalee, all men. Sara felt self-conscious as their eyes lingered on her. The jukebox was playing Tammy Wynette, and the ceiling fans were doing nothing to reduce the hanging haze of cigarette smoke.
When she came in, Billy was already at a booth in the back, a cypress table marked with cigarette burns. He looked at her, at the waistpack she wore.
“I won’t ask what’s in there,” he said.
She slipped into the booth. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
He got up. “No waitresses here.”
He went to the bar. Sara looked around. A middle-aged Indian in a western shirt, hair slicked back, turned on his stool to look at her, smiling drunkenly. Christ, she thought. What am I doing here?
Billy came back to the table with a pitcher and two mugs.
“PBR,” he said. “All they had on tap.”
He sat down, poured.
“I would have asked for Guinness,” he said, “but I don’t think they have much call for it out here.”
“I’m not here to drink.”
“I know.” He slid a filled mug in front of her, looked at his own. “Like I said, I feel bad about the way we left things.”
She looked away, her patience fading. The Indian was still watching her. She stared at him, didn’t look away, and he shrugged finally, turned back to the bar.
“You feel differently about me now,” Billy said. “I know that. It can’t ever be what it used to be.”
“We don’t need to go into all this, Billy. There’s no reason.”
“When you’re a kid, sometimes you let things get away from you, you know? You’re twenty-five, thirty, it’s easy to say, ‘Yeah, it didn’t work out.’ Like there’s always another opportunity, someone else coming down the line. Get to be my age and you realize you’re running out of options. And sometimes the things you let get away from you are the things you should have held on to with both hands.”
She met his eyes.
“My age, you let something go and you end up wondering if that was the one,” he said. “That you let it go and you’re never going to get it back.”
“I wasn’t the one, Billy. Get that out of your head. If I was, we wouldn’t be in this situation. You made your own decisions. You can’t blame them on anyone else.”
“I know that. It’s just that with you…” He looked away. “I just got scared, I guess. You, Danny. The way he is. I tried to be there, you know? Be strong. But sometimes I just couldn’t handle it.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Roy left, right after Danny got sick. That’s one of the things he told me. He loved Danny so much, he couldn’t stay around and watch him die. You know what that meant? That meant he was a fucking coward. And Danny’s still here. He’s not dying, and he’s going to get better, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to make that happen. Roy couldn’t handle Danny? That was his excuse. He couldn’t handle anything.”
He looked at his beer.
“You were his friend, Billy. You knew him. You know what I’m talking about.”
He nodded without looking up.
“Go ahead and drink that if you want,” she said. “I don’t care.”
“You’ve got a right to be mad, I understand that.”
“Do you?”
“And you’re right, some of the choices I made weren’t the best.”
“I’m not your therapist, Billy.”
“I know. But sometimes I think you were the only real chance I had to be happy, to have a normal life. And I let it slip away.”
“You’ve had lots of opportunities to be happy,” she said, “and they’ve got nothing to do with me. That’s your own responsibility. You can’t put it on other people.”
“You’re right. But lately things have gotten… complicated. Sometimes it seems like everything’s so fucked I’ll never get out from under.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. She sensed him pulling back. Give him space, let him talk.
She sat back, lifted the mug, and sipped beer. It was thin, harsh. She frowned, put it down. Johnny Paycheck on the jukebox now, “Take This Job and Shove It.”
“They’re telling me I’m clear,” he said. “That it was all in policy.”
“That’s right.”
“They look at me differently now, though. You do, too.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Elwood came out to the house the other day.” He looked at her. “To talk to Lee-Anne, when I wasn’t there. She had nothing to tell him, but still… I mean, if it’s open and shut, it’s open and shut, right?”
“Maybe they want to make sure all the Ts are crossed. For your sake.”
“Or maybe it’s just that nigger woman stirring up trouble.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”
“Dammit, Sara, I just-”
“I have to go, Billy. Thanks for the beer.” She started to get up.
“I know you still care about me, Sara.” He looked at her. “Everything we’ve had between us. The other night, too. I know you get angry with me sometimes, but you’re still on my side, even though things didn’t work out. I know that. I can feel it.”
She squeezed out of the booth. “I have to go home. You should, too.”
“I think I’m going to stay here a little bit. Drink some of this beer. Enjoy the change of scenery. At least out here I don’t have to worry about anyone spying on me, do I?”
“Good night, Billy.”
“Good night, Sara. I don’t blame you. I really don’t.”