“Look over there,” Justin said, pointing to a table by the door. “Those are our girls. Too much self- esteem to dry hump their best friends, but not so much that they’ll turn down a drink from us.”

Justin was already walking, so Lincoln followed him. They stopped at a table where two women were sitting and nodding with the music. Lincoln couldn’t tell how old they were in this light. He could hardly tell them apart. They were both youngish, mostly blond, wearing the same Saturday-night costume—tank tops, candy-colored bra straps, shaggy shoulder-length hair and pale beige lips.

“Hey there,” Justin was saying, “do you mind if we join you? My friend Lincoln here is buying.”

The girls smiled and moved their black backpack purses out of the way. Lincoln sat in the seat Justin didn’t take and smiled at the nearest girl. Strangely, he wasn’t nervous. This place and this girl were so far outside his everyday life, they didn’t seem quite real. Definitely less real than the women he felt avoiding him on sidewalks and in hallways. Plus, he had Justin there taking the lead, breaking the ice and ordering the drinks. What was Justin’s thing with Jägermeister? And how many shots had Lincoln had so far? Two? Three? At least three.

“I’m Lisa,” the girl said, holding out a small manicured hand.

“Lincoln,” he said, smiling. “Can I get you something?”

“Your friend just ordered for us.”

“Oh, right, sorry, yeah …”

“I’ll take a cigarette if you have one.”

“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t smoke.”

“That’s okay. Me neither. I mean, I do, but only when I’m at a bar or a party or whatever. I hate the smell. But if I’m going to smell like smoke anyway, I figure I might as well have one.”

“My friend has cigarettes …” Lincoln turned to Justin, who was already leading his girl to the dance floor. Damn. Lincoln really didn’t want to dance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lisa said.

“Do you want to dance?” Lincoln asked.

“Sort of. Do you?”

“I really don’t. Is that okay?”

“Totally,” she said. “You can’t talk out there anyway.”

Now Lincoln was nervous. Justin had taken all the night’s momentum with him to the dance floor.

“So,” he asked the girl, “what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a dental hygienist. What about you?”

“Computers.”

She smiled and nodded. “Computers,” she said, “that’s great.” Her eyes started to drift away from him. They finished their drinks, and Lincoln ordered another round, just to have something to do. He should have eaten dinner. It’s too bad this wasn’t still a country bar, didn’t country bars always have peanuts? Or was that only in the movies, to give the actors something to do with their hands …

Lisa was tearing her coaster into tiny pieces and whisper-rapping along with the music. He thought about getting up, so that she’d have a chance to meet somebody else. She could definitely meet somebody else. She was pretty …probably. In this green and black light, she looked like a week-old bruise. Everyone did.

“This is a terrible place to meet people,” Lincoln said.

“What?” Lisa leaned forward.

“This is a terrible place to meet people,” he said, louder.

Lisa was sipping her drink through a tiny straw. She stopped, the straw still in her mouth, and looked at him like she was trying to decide whether to leave the table right then or to wait for her friend. It might be a long wait. Justin and the girl had moved off the dance floor into a corner. When the spotlight whipped around, Lincoln could see them kissing. Justin was still holding a lit cigarette and a bottle of beer.

“Sorry,” Lincoln said. “I didn’t mean that you’re a terrible person to meet. I meant that this is a terrible place to meet anyone.” Lisa’s eyes were still narrow. “Do you like this place?” he asked her.

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s like every other bar.”

“Exactly. They’re all terrible.”

“How much have you had to drink?” she asked. “Are you one of those sad drunks?”

“I don’t know, I don’t get drunk that often. How can you help but be sad in here?”

“I’m not sad,” she said.

“Then you’re not paying attention.” He was shouting to be heard over the noise, but the shouting made his words come out angry. “I mean, look at this place. Listen to this music.”

“Don’t you like rap? They do country on Thursdays.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head broadly. “It’s not the music,” he said. “It’s that, well, you came here to meet somebody, right? To meet a guy?”

“Right.”

“To maybe meet the guy, right?”

She looked down at her drink. “Right.”

“Well, when you think about that guy—who, by the way, we both know isn’t me—when you think about meeting him, do you think about meeting him in a place like this? In a place this ugly? This loud? Do you want him to smell like Jägermeister and cigarettes? Do you want your first dance to be to a song about strippers?”

She looked around the bar and shrugged again. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? No, of course you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Lisa said, digging in her friend’s purse for a cigarette.

“You’re right,” Lincoln said. “I’m sorry.”

She found a cigarette and put it in her mouth. It hung there, unlit. “Where else am I supposed to meet a guy?” she asked, watching the dancers. “Like, in a garden?”

“A garden would be nice,” he said. “I’d pay a cover charge at a singles garden.”

“That sounds like something they’d have at my mom’s church.” She went back to digging in her friend’s purse. “I think if I met a guy, you know, that guy, I wouldn’t care where I was or what he smelled like. I’d just be, like, happy …

“Look,” she said, standing up, “it was nice to meet you. I’m going to try to find a light.”

“Oh …um, right …” He started to stand, knocked his head against a neon Bud Light sign and sat back down. “It was nice to meet you, too,” he said.

He felt like apologizing again, but didn’t.

And he didn’t watch her walk away.

LINCOLN WAS STILL sitting at the table an hour later when Justin came back. “Dude, I need a favor. I’m too fucked-up to drive. Can you take my truck home?”

“Um, I’m not sure if …”

“Linc, for real”—Justin set his keys on the table—“I’m going home with Dena.”

“But what about those other guys, your brother …”

“I think they’re gone.”

“What?”

“I’ll pick up the truck tomorrow. Leave the keys under the mat and lock the doors.”

“I really don’t think …” Lincoln picked up the keys and tried to hand them back to Justin. But Justin was already gone.

EVE WAS SITTING at the kitchen table when Lincoln came downstairs the next afternoon. He’d spent the night in one of Justin’s backseats, then driven home sometime after dawn. His neck still felt like it was folded over an armrest, and his mouth tasted like licorice and sour meat. “What are you doing here?” he asked his sister.

“Well, good morning, sunshine. I brought the boys over to play with Mom.”

He looked around the kitchen, then settled heavily into the chair next to his sister.

“They’re in the backyard, building a fort,” she said. “There are egg rolls on the stove. And fried rice, are you hungry?”

Lincoln nodded, but didn’t move. He was already thinking about all the things he was going to do when he had the energy to stand up again. Like, go back to bed. That was the first thing.

“Geez,” his sister said, getting up to make him a plate. “You must have had some night.”

Standing at the stove, stirring the rice, Eve looked like a younger version of their mother—an older younger version. At thirty-six, Eve looked like their mother at forty-five. “Being responsible gives you wrinkles,” his sister would say when their mother wasn’t around. “Doesn’t Eve look tired?” his mother would say, whether Eve was around or not.

“Mom says you didn’t come home until seven,” Eve said, handing him a plate. “She’s livid, by the way.”

“Why is she livid?”

“Because you didn’t call. Because she stayed up half the night waiting for you.”

Lincoln took a bite and waited to see whether his stomach had forgiven him yet. “What’s in these egg rolls?” he asked.

“Goat cheese, I think, and maybe salmon.”

“They’re really good.”

“I know,” she said, “I ate four. Now, stop stalling, and tell me where you were all night.”

“I went to a bar with Justin.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“Strictly speaking?” he said with his mouth full. “Yes.”

“Were you with a girl last night?”

“No. I was asleep and drunk in the back of Justin’s truck. Is there still a yellow SUV in the driveway?”

“No.” Eve looked disappointed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lincoln was feeling better already. Maybe he’d even take a shower before he went back to bed. “Would you really rather hear that I’d spent the night having premarital sex with a girl I’d just met at The Steel Guitar?”

“You went to a country bar?”

“It’s only country on Thursday nights.”

“Oh. Well.” Eve took one of his egg rolls. “You could have stayed up all night talking to a girl you’d met at The Steel Guitar. I would love to hear that.”

“Okay,” he said, getting up for more, “next time, that’s what I’ll tell you.”

CHAPTER 13

From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder

To: Beth Fremont

Sent: Mon, 09/06/1999 10:14 AM

Subject: ALL HAIL THE GOLDEN VIKINGS!

I know how you devour the Sports section, so you’ve probably already read how the North High Vikings trounced the Southeast Bunnies Friday night. The only thing missing from our coverage was the way the Viking defense rallied when the band played “Whoomp! (There it is).” You missed quite a night.

<<Beth to Jennifer>>

1. Why is every school in this city named after a direction? Would it kill them to name something after John F. Kennedy or Abraham Lincoln or Boutros Boutros-Ghali?

2. Mitch has them playing Jock Jams? Has he no shame?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Well, it is a football game. Besides, the kids love that song. It’s really cute, the tubas do the “Whoomp” part. How was your weekend? Did you go see Chris? Did his band play any Jock Jams?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Yeah, you should hear his guitar solo on “Tootsee Roll.” My weekend was good. I did stop at the Sacajawea show Friday night and ended up catching their whole set. There were a few songs I hadn’t heard before.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Was Chris surprised to see you at the show?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Nyah.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Nyah? You’re so coy. I’ve been thinking about why you won’t tell me how you met. I think it must be scandalous. Was he married? Are you related?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Yes and yes.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> There you go again. Coy.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Sorry. It’s just …

I know how you feel about Chris. (I know how everybody feels about Chris.) And it feels weird telling gushy romantic stories about him. I can sense your disdain.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> How do I feel? And who’s everybody?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> You don’t like him.

And everybody is everybody. My parents. My siblings. You, did I mention you?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> That’s not fair. I like Chris.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> But you think I can do better.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> That’s not quite true.

I love you. And I want you to be happy. And you’re not happy. So I look for what in your life is making you unhappy. And I think Chris sometimes makes you unhappy.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Mitch sometimes makes you unhappy.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> That’s true.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> You’re thinking, “But …”

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things about Chris, gushy and romantic or otherwise. I tell you everything, and it’s such an enormous comfort to have someone to tell.

Also, maybe if you told me all the gushy, romantic things about Chris, I would understand why you put up with the other things, the things that do make me roll my eyes.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> That’s a good point.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> So …

<<Beth to Jennifer>> So?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> So, tell me something gushy and romantic. Tell me how you met.

Once upon a time, at a family reunion, I met a married man …