Two
2
Salem
One Year Later
I know this isn’t an actual pub by your standards, but they have Guinness. That is all that matters, right?
Twisting the wedding ring set on my finger, I grinned, thinking about the face Eamon would make if he were here. I often talked to him in my head and then imagined his responses. It helped with the loneliness. Eamon would have called this a yuppie bar, then told me to take off the wedding rings, that I was using them as a crutch.
He would have been right. After tonight, I was taking them off and tucking both back into the velvet box the engagement ring had come in. But since I was at a bar in a strange city, I was keeping them on for now.
Paradise Brew, the name on the outside of the building, had caught my attention on my way to the hotel this afternoon. It had a funky vibe to it. Seeing as I had arrived in town hours ago for a job interview tomorrow and I knew little of the city, I’d wanted to find a bar that was close to my hotel and didn’t look sketchy. The bar scene really wasn’t my thing, but today, I had to drink a Guinness. Paradise Brew had seemed like a safe place to do that.
The live band that was performing tonight sounded like a possible distraction for me, but I knew I wouldn’t stay long enough for them to take the stage. I was alone in a new city. That would be stupid. Sure, I’d grown up in Florida, but it had been in a small town north of here. Miami was not small or quaint. It would have been intimidating to the girl who had left Florida eighteen years ago. The thirty-seven-year-old me had lived in Savannah, Rhode Island, and then eventually Boston where I’d stayed the past sixteen years. I could handle it. And I was aware of the dangers of being out alone at night.
I’d been thankful for the job interview coming when it did. This wasn’t a day I wanted to sit inside the house that had been our home…remembering. The tears had dried up, and I was finding my way in the world again without having a partner. I missed Eamon every day, and that would never go away, but I was ready to live a life again. Instead of just going through the motions.
Having a pint of Guinness was more than I could handle. I’d never get it choked down. Instead, I’d ordered a respectable glass of the black stuff, and I did a silent sláinte to Eamon.
To us. What we had. I hope it’s truly beautiful on the other side. Side note: can you believe I’m in Florida? I swore I’d never come back, yet, without you…I’m lost.
New England wasn’t home with Eamon gone. I was tired of walking into our house and being the only one there. It was like living in an echo that went on forever. The same thing every day. I was on autopilot and had been for a year.
Picking up the mug of beer, I scrunched my nose and took another drink. Yuck. I hated this stuff, but if Eamon was watching me from wherever he was now, then this would give him a laugh. We both needed it today. Twelve months since he’d taken his last breath while I held his hand. His last words, weak and a struggle for him to get out, still haunted me. I wanted to forget them. Pretend he’d said something else, yet like all things in life, Eamon had said exactly what he was thinking.
I just wished he hadn’t been thinking that in his last moments on earth. I’d beaten myself up over it so many times this last year that it was my closest friend now. The guilt of not being able to hide all my wounds, yet never sharing them with him had become a weight I carried around my neck. He’d known anyway.
“We have some real nice cocktails that you might enjoy more than that beer you’re trying to drink,” a female voice said, jerking me out of the deep thoughts I’d been letting take my mood down.
I lifted my head to see a blonde woman—with tight jeans, cowboy boots, and a black halter top that had Paradise Brew stretched across the front of her chest—smirking at me. She had one hand on her hip, and although she was gorgeous, she had a badass presence. It was an interesting combination. One of her eyebrows slightly rose in question, and I realized I’d been staring at her.
Feeling slightly embarrassed by that and the fact that someone had noticed me struggling to drink this beer, I gave her a sheepish smile and scrunched my nose.
“I have no doubt. It wouldn’t be difficult to make a cocktail that tasted better than this,” I quipped.
She let out an amused chuckle. “Please tell me this isn’t your first time drinking. If so, let me guide you to other options.”
This time, I laughed and shook my head. “God, no,” I replied. “I love a good cocktail, but this…” I paused, thinking of what I should say.
I’d learned that when people found out your husband was dead, they got weird and awkward. As if I were going to fall apart on them at any moment. But then I doubted I’d ever see this woman again, and she didn’t appear to be the type who didn’t know how to react to something. There was a strength in her gaze I wished I had.
“This was my husband’s favorite drink. He was Irish. Born right outside of Dublin.” I sighed, then smiled and held it up. “I’m drinking it for him. Sláinte , as he would say.” Then I downed some more.
When I set the mug back on the table, the woman looked at it, then back at me. “I’m sure he’s looking at you from the hereafter, laughing his ass off at the face you make every time you take a drink, wishing you’d order a drink that you wanted. Let me bring you something that agrees with your taste buds, and you can sit here and sláinte him for as long as you want. I can keep ’em coming.”
I stared at her. There was no pity in her eyes. When was the last time I’d looked at someone after they found out my husband was dead and not seen that? I hadn’t known how bad I needed it until now. It gave me a feeling of normalcy.
“I’m not planning on staying long. I’m in town for a job interview, and I’m alone. Being out late drinking isn’t the smartest idea. But thank you.”
She tilted her head to the side and gave me a pointed look. “You’ll be safe here. I’ll make sure of it. The Irish like to drink, and I’d bet your husband would have wanted you to enjoy yourself—with something other than Guinness, that is,” she told me. “I’m Pepper Abe. I own this bar. When you’re ready to go, I’ll have my security get you safely to your hotel. Relax. Stay awhile. The band tonight is popular with the locals. They do a bunch of old rock—’80s mostly.”
A brunette with a braid draped over her shoulder, dressed in shorts and a top identical to Pepper’s, walked behind her.
Pepper glanced back over her shoulder. “April, get my friend here…”
She swung her gaze back to me, and I could see the question in her expression.
“Salem,” I told her.
“Get Salem a lemon drop martini and make sure she is taken care of for me tonight.” She turned back to me. “The fried pickles are popular, and we normally sell out, so I’ll send you some over before things get busy.”
Um, okay…well, it sounded like I was staying at least for a lemon drop martini and fried pickles. It would be rude to leave before. Why not? This was better than sitting in a hotel room.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I told her.
She flashed me a crooked grin that made a dimple pop out in her cheek. “Salem. That’s a cool name. I’ll be back around to check on you. Tonight will be a full house for a Thursday. I need to make sure things are stocked at the bar and find out where one of my hostesses is; she can’t seem to get here on time.”
“Thanks, and don’t worry about me.” Because I wasn’t staying late.
A man came walking in, rolling a hand trolley with stacked up boxes, and she turned to see him.
“Greg! Those go in the back!” she called out, sounding annoyed, and headed in his direction.
Sighing, I sank back in the booth and watched her point at a door across the bar as she talked to the younger guy.
A lemon drop martini was one of my favorite cocktails. Odd how she’d chosen that for me. It wouldn’t hurt to have one or two, then maybe listen to a couple of songs by the band before I stepped out. The hotel was less than half a mile away.
Look at me—I’m out on a Thursday night. I know you’re proud.
The third lemon drop martini was even better than the first two had been. I popped a fried pickle into my mouth while watching the band set up onstage. They didn’t start for another fifteen minutes. I considered ordering a cheeseburger to go, but decided I didn’t need it. The pickles were filling me up.
A vibration on the floor began, and I glanced around to see if anyone else had felt that. No one else seemed to be concerned as it grew in strength. A low rumble joined it. What in the world? The noise got louder, and the pictures on the wall near the entrance were shaking. Again, I checked, but not one person in here seemed to notice or care.
“Pepper wanted me to bring you this.” The brunette waitress she’d called April slid a plate with several different appetizers on it toward me.
“Thank you,” I replied, having to talk louder due to the rumble outside. “Um, what is that?” I asked before she could walk away.
She frowned for a moment, not sure what I’d meant, before her eyes lit up. “Oh, the noise. That’s The Judgment. When they all come together, it’s like that,” she replied, then spun around and hurried toward the door.
The Judgment? As in the Lord? What was she talking about?
I dropped my gaze to my glass. Maybe I’d had too many martinis because I was completely confused.
The double doors of the entrance swung open at the same time, and my eyes shot back up as the sound died almost altogether. A large, tattooed man, wearing a black leather vest with his hair in a ponytail and his arm draped over a redheaded woman at his side, came striding inside. Other leather-vest-wearing men with colorful artwork on their bodies followed. A few had women with them. They went to a section to my left but still in my line of vision. I didn’t want to be caught staring at them though so I stopped my inspection.
“Pep! Bring on the pickles, beautiful!” one of the men called out.
Pepper came walking in from the back. “Sit your ass down and be patient!” she shouted at him, then nodded her head at a blonde server to go get something.
I wondered if she was going to call security when she walked right into the thick of them and slapped one on the back and hugged another–who I could admit was gorgeous. As in he could be a model, even with the tattoos. The petite brunette he had tucked at his side smiled sweetly at Pepper, and she said something to her that made her throw her head back and laugh.
When one of them turned around, I could see the back of his vest. It read Judgment above half of a skull that wore a crown with angel wings and lightning bolts surrounding it. I realized now that the noise and vibration had been motorcycles. A lot of them.
This was not a place I’d have thought would be a biker bar, but I was ninety-nine percent sure that those people were bikers. And Pepper was very familiar with them. This wasn’t a random visit. They were regulars.
Are you seeing this? I asked Eamon silently.
You should have looked for a pub , would have been his reply .