Chapter 18
Asher
I've been here countless times, and I can honestly say that I've never done this before.
Brought a woman here.
I pull the door open and hold it. Audrey ducks into the warm light of The Quack as if she's slipping into church late.
I follow her in, hat low, hood up. Sunglasses still on, indoors, at ten at night.
I look insane.
I look like a guy who robs gas stations, but I don't care because she's here. In my city. In my bar. Twelve hours ago she was an hour away in that small town of hers, and now she's standing on peanut shells, twisting her fingers together as she looks up at the ceiling.
The neon hums. A pitcher's wind-up glows blue over the back bar. Somewhere a glass clinks into a rack.
"I can't believe Nora never told me about this place," she says.
I hear the awe in her voice, and something in my chest loosens that I didn't know was tight. I was worried she wouldn't like this place, that it wouldn't be sophisticated enough for someone as lovely as her.
"Did you ever go to dive bars much?"
"No."
"That's why, love."
She huffs a laugh, and I want to take the glasses off just to see her do it without the dark lenses in the way. I leave them on.
"I wanna show you something."
I steer her left, toward the wall, my hand finding the small of her back on its own. I feel her go stiff under it for a half-second, then settle.
The Duck Wall takes up the whole north side of the bar. Floor to ceiling, each shelf lit up, hundreds of rubber ducks lined up on little shelves like a tiny screaming army. Plain ducks. Pirate ducks. Cowboy ducks. A duck wearing a tiny graduation cap. Years of them.
Audrey stops in front of it and her mouth comes open.
"There's so many."
"Everybody on the team gets one. The owner lets you pick a duck, sign it, and it stays on the wall until you retire. A lot of us leave them here though."
"Which one's yours?"
"See if you can find it."
She takes a moment to scan the shelves. I don't have to look hard. I know exactly where mine is: third row, second from the end. I deliberately avoid looking at it.
"There," she says, pointing.
I see where she's looking. She found it. Of course she did.
It's bright orange. Tiger-striped, black slashes down the back, a pair of cartoon sunglasses molded onto its face.
"Am I allowed to touch it?"
"Seeing as it's mine, I don't think Lenny will care too much. He's pretty protective of the wall though. Here."
I pluck it off the shelf and hand it to her. It's the loudest thing on the entire wall.
She turns it over. My signature runs across the side of it in black marker. She reads it. Looks at the sunglasses on the duck. Looks at the sunglasses on me.
"That doesn't surprise me," she says.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She just smiles and hands it back.
I wait, but she doesn't elaborate. The corner of her mouth stays tucked up like she's holding the rest of it behind her teeth, and I find myself grinning at a rubber duck like an idiot.
"You're not gonna explain?"
"Nope."
I put him back exactly where I found him. "I think you were gonna say that he's the best-looking duck on this wall."
"I didn't say a word."
Lenny's niece comes around the end of the bar with a rag over her shoulder. She clocks the hat, the hood, the sunglasses. Doesn't even blink. She's seen me do a heck of a lot dumber things.
"Hey, Mae."
"Hey, Ash." She flicks her eyes to Audrey once. Polite, incurious. "Just two?"
"Yeah. Corner booth if you have one."
"You're in luck."
She walks us back past the empty tables to the booth that tucks into the dark angle behind the dartboards, where the light from the bar doesn't quite reach. I let Audrey slide in first, then take the outside seat, putting myself between her and the rest of the bar.
"We’ll start with some waters and the Chicken Flippers.”
"Sure."
Audrey looks around the dim little corner and pulls out one of the laminated menus against the wall.
The smile immediately follows.
"Wow. Oh my." She covers her mouth with one hand, stifling a laugh. "This place is very committed to the theme."
"Right? It's pretty cool. Lenny did good."
She looks over.
"I can't take you seriously right now," she says, eyeing my undercover getup.
"Only now? That's an improvement," I say, grinning.
"I know it was my idea, but..."
I take off the sunglasses, hooking them into the collar of my hoodie. "Better?"
She looks at my face for a second, and something in her own goes soft. She nods like the answer to that question is bigger than the question itself.
"Better."
Footsteps round the corner. A shape comes out from behind the bar, wiping his hands on his apron. Gray mustache. A gut. A Falcons cap older than Mae.
Lenny.
"There he is." He's already grinning, already pointing a finger gun at me across the room. "Six for thirteen on the homestand and a diving stop in the fourth? Good man, good man."
"Hey, Len."
"You robbed that man in front of God and everybody." He plants both hands on our table and beams down at me.
Then the grin slips. "You see they put the new meters in along Dock Street?"
"I saw."
"Two hours, then they tow." Lenny shakes his head. "Whole back half of my Friday crowd parked there. Mae got a ticket on her own dinner break. Forty bucks!"
"I know. I caught the meeting—the one they put online. Half of it was gibberish." I fold my arms. "I’ve got a guy looking into what we can do."
Lenny blinks. "You sat through one of those things?"
"Most of it." I shrug. "Fell asleep around the sewer budget."
He looks at me a beat longer than the moment needs. "You're a good kid, you know that?"
"Don't go soft on me, Len."
Then he notices Audrey, and his whole face resets into something gentler, more curious. "And who is this?"
"Tone it down, Len. You're blowing my cover." I keep my voice low. "We're keeping this on the down-low. For now."
Lenny straightens, his eyebrows climbing. "Ohhh." He nods slowly, like a man being trusted with state secrets. "I see, I see. I know all about the DL with you kids." Then his face creases. "She got a jealous boyfriend? An ex?"
I laugh before I can stop it. "Come on, Len. I wouldn't hide from that." I spread my hands at myself, the whole six-foot-three of me jammed into a booth. "Who's dumb enough to fight this in Falcon territory?"
"Exactly!" He slaps the table. "A dumb, jealous ex!"
I shake my head.
"We're just not ready for everyone to know yet."
"Say no more." He turns his attention fully to Audrey now, leaning in, soft as anything. "How come I've never seen you around, Miss—?"
"Audrey." She sits up a little. "I'm from Millbrook." She takes a small breath, and then, with a sincerity that lands strangely in this dim, beer-soaked corner: "You have a lovely establishment, Lenny."
Lenny puts a hand flat on his chest.
I watch it work on him in real time, the old man going boneless with delight over a woman calling his peanut-shell bar lovely. Like she already fits in here. Like she's always been here.
"Audrey," he repeats, like he's filing it somewhere important. "From Millbrook." He reaches for her hand.
She gives it to him to shake.
He doesn't shake it. He folds both of his around it, holds it a beat, and bends to press a quick kiss to her knuckles.
Color floods up Audrey's throat.
"Nice try, Lenny." I loop my arm along the back of the booth, behind her shoulders. "She's taken."
Lenny straightens, unbothered, pleased with himself. "Drink's on the house, Miss Audrey."
"Oh—thank you," she says, still pink, and he's already shuffling back toward the bar, humming.
Audrey turns to me. Her hand is back in her lap. She flexes it like she's not sure what just happened to it.
"He's very—" she searches for it "—friendly."
"That's one word."
"Do you think he'll tell anyone?"
"Lenny?" I shake my head. "Nah. Man probably knows every secret in this city and takes 'em to the grave." I let my eyes move over her face, the flush still fading at her cheekbones. "I think he's got a soft spot for you, hun. He can get in line."
Mae comes back before Audrey can answer. She puts a platter of Chicken Flippers between us, then a glass of water in front of me and something tall and ridiculous in front of her, layered orange to red with a paper umbrella and a wedge of pineapple bigger than the umbrella.
Audrey stares at it.
"What is this?"
"That," Mae says, deadpan, "is a Mighty Mallard. Uncle Lenny's latest concoction. Just flag me down if you don't like it."
"Oh no, it's great," Audrey says.
Mae nods once and leaves.
I lift my water and tip it toward the bar where Lenny's watching, and he tips his head in response. I drink.
Audrey pulls the umbrella out and sets it on a napkin like it's something she'll want to keep. She takes a small sip through the straw, and her eyebrows go up.
"That's very strong."
"Go slow."
She does, both hands around the glass, watching the room over the rim of it—the dartboards, the blue glow of the back bar, two old guys arguing over a game on the TV with the sound low.
"How long has this place been here?" she asks.
"Forever. Before they built the stadium, even. It's been in Lenny's family for a while." I push the plate of food closer to her. "It's sort of become our spot. We come here after games, after practice—win, lose, doesn't matter."
"That sounds really nice," she says, and she means it too. I'm learning the difference between the things she says to be polite and the things she actually feels, and the second kind always comes out quieter.
I watch her eat the chicken tenders, the umbrella drying on its napkin, the wary look she wore in the tunnel replaced by something quieter.
I clear my throat. "I never thanked you," I say. "For coming tonight."
"You don't need to."
"I do though."
"I wanted to surprise you." She glances over. "Did I?"
"Doll." I shake my head once. "I looked up from my phone during Coach's speech in the locker room, and he thought I had a concussion."
That gets her. The laugh comes out of her, real and unguarded, and I'd run through a wall to keep that laugh going.