The words were barely out of my mouth when an absence seizure paralyzed her. She trembled a few moments, then blinked back into focus.
I saw her.
Beneath the confusion, beneath the amnesia, down in the clear blue depths of her eyes, I saw my Thea.
Her head cocked to the side and her smile faltered.
“How long has it been?”
Epilogue I
Jim
Open mic night was crowded at Haven, as if all of Boones Mill had crammed into the small tavern that Saturday.
Maybe they have, I thought from behind the bar. The town’s small enough.
Or maybe it was to keep warm. Winter was brutally cold this year, and weathermen said Christmas—a few weeks away—was going to be white.
I poured beers for a couple of regulars, Stan and Kevin. Two middle-aged guys who wore baseball caps and T-shirts no matter what the weather.
“Big night tonight,” Kevin said. “You gonna play, Jim?”
“He sure as hell is,” Laura said, sidling up to the bar with a tray full of empties. “Gotta give ’em what they want, right, Jim?” She gave me a wink.
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
“Oh, we will,” Laura said. “Guess who’s in charge of the playlist tonight?” She jerked two thumbs at herself. “This gal right here. Now I need two shots of Fireball, two Buds and a glass of water. The water’s for you. Get your pipes ready.”
The guys chuckled as Laura vanished into the crowd.
“Looks like you’re playing,” Stan said.
“Guess so,” I said. “And here I thought this was a bartending gig.”
It started out that way. I needed to work nights, and Haven’s owner had just lost his best bartender and was desperate. I worked my way up from the shit gigs on Sunday thru Wednesday, to the more lucrative shifts on Thursday through Saturday. It was Laura who caught me singing Pearl Jam’s “Black” while taking inventory one day. Despite the poor first impression I’d made on her all those months ago, she demanded I play at the next open mic.
And I’d been playing most open mic nights since.
Laura took the stage. “Heya! How y’all doing tonight? You ready for some music?”
A roll of enthusiastic applause and cheers.
“We’re going to start things off with our own secret weapon, Haven’s own, Jim Whelan!”
The crowd cheered louder, and Laura shot me an I-told-you-so look from across the room.
“You’re up, Jimbo,” Kevin said and leaned into Stan. “He’s going to quit slinging booze to be a YouTube star, just wait.”
“I’m racking up too many student loans to quit,” I said. “I’ll be working here until I’m sixty.”
“Yeah, right.” Stan tossed me a cocktail napkin. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Sign his boobs.” Kevin laughed.
I chuckled and wiped my hands on a rag. I came from behind the bar to more applause. Laura had my guitar ready.
“Knock ’em dead,” she said and left me alone on the stage.