Pause (Larsen Bros)

“No,” he drawls. “To the contrary. It’s an exciting new adventure in the life of Anna.”

“Are you saying that to try and make me feel better or just pointing out my general negativity and shitty attitude?”

He grins.

Two ridiculously large and ornate beverages are placed in from of us. I’d guesstimate them to be about a quarter of a gallon of Bloody Mary cocktail topped off with an entire and intact lobster roll balancing on top of the glass.

I stare in wonder. Or horror.

“Aren’t they magnificent?” asks Leif, clearly in awe of our lunch.

“This is your usual?”

“Every Saturday without fail. It’s how I celebrate the upcoming weekend since I get Sunday and Monday off.” His smile is beatific, there is no other word. The man is clearly experiencing his version of nirvana in this battered old booth. “Normally I’m here on my own. Sometimes Ed joins in. His wife Clem now and then too. But she just has the fried oyster bun and a beer, the coward.”

“How do I even . . . what do I do with this?”

Leif laughs. He does that a lot.

Andi returns with a couple of plates and, thank God, the dismantling process can begin. I carefully remove the skewers holding the lobster roll in place and put it on a plate. The wedge of lemon comes down too. I stir up the mixture with the celery stick and skewered olives. Never has a beverage been garnished to such a degree. Now I can actually reach the edge of the glass to take a gulp. And promptly cough a lung up. That’s a lot of vodka. No small amount of cracked pepper in there either.

“Too much Tabasco sauce?” asks Leif, reaching to pat me gently on the back.

“Is that what’s in it?”

“You never had a Bloody Mary before?”

“No.”

He puts a hand to his heart. “Aw. I’m proud to be bringing you this new and wonderful experience.”

“This is hands down the strangest lunch I’ve ever eaten. Drunk. Whatever.”

“Well, you have seven months of living to make up for,” he says. “And I am here to help.”

I honestly don’t know when the last time I laughed was. But I’m laughing now. “You said the conversation regarding you and relationships required alcohol. Seems we’ve met that requirement. Go for it.”

The smile swiftly disappears from his face. “I dated the woman who tried to kill my sister-in-law.”

I have nothing.

“She was the receptionist at the tattoo shop. Obsessed with Ed. So she tried to kill Clem to get her out of the way. Tried twice, actually. The first time she hit her over the head with a bottle and gave her amnesia. The second time she stabbed her. Clem’s lucky to be alive.” His fingers beat out a frantic beat against the table. “I was staying with them and she . . . ah . . . she used me to get close to them.”

Oh no. “Leif.”

“This was about a year ago,” he reports, matter-of-factly. “Live and learn, huh?”

I cover his hand with mine. I’m not really a touchy-feely person, but this is important.

“Yeah. So I have terrible taste in women. It’s why I don’t date anymore.”

“Hey,” I say. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I was sleeping with her, Anna. Of course I should have known.”

“Because you’re a trained psychologist with years of experience sufficient to recognize a psychopath, right?” I give his fingers a squeeze. “Leif, people like that are genius at manipulating and hiding who they are. What they are. They have to be to survive.”

He slips his hand out from beneath mine, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Does Clem blame you?” I ask.

“She’s way too nice for that.”

“How about your brother?”

“No.”

“Just you then.”

“Yes.” His tone is hard. But at least he’s looking at me again.

“I’m so angry that she used you and hurt you.”

He grunts dismissively. As if his pain meant nothing.

“Sounds like we’ve both been screwed over,” I say. “So let’s both be sensible, rational adults and keep the blame where it belongs, on the people who did the wrong damn thing. Because anything else is pure lunacy.”

His lips flatline in displeasure.

I take another sip of the Bloody Mary. “Oh God, this is like gazpacho gone wrong.”

Leif gives me a look.

“If you’re waiting for me to feed into your I’m-the-worst diatribe then you’ll be waiting a long time.”

Nothing from him.

“Is that why you tend to hang out on your own these days?” I ask. “Worried about what people will think?”

He shrugs.

It’s strange. He seems like such an outgoing, friendly guy. The last person you’d expect to hide away from the world.

I carefully pick up the lobster roll and take a bite. Oh my, God. Perfection. It totally makes up for the bizarre drink and over-the-top presentation.

“You know, you look all sweet and polite, but you’re actually kind of a hard-ass,” he says at last.