Dewey’s – By Anne Barwell
DEWEY’S
BY ANNE BARWELL
Daniel Lawrence dumped his bag on his bed and surveyed the cozy-looking room that would be his home for the next few days.
Since leaving Los Angeles several months ago, he’d lost track of the number of beds he’d slept in, or tried to.
Like this one, they were comfortable enough, but the grief that made him flee his and Gus’s home of twenty years followed him, and refused to let go.
He raked his hand through his hair and shuffled over to the small bathroom to splash water on his face. Fuck, he looked like shit, too. His hair was grayer now.
His lips turned up into a smile before he could help himself.
Gus had loved those gray hairs, despite his remaining as dark as the day they’d met.
One blind date, followed by several others, had resulted in a marriage that was supposed to last forever.
At least until they both passed, one shortly after the other.
Tears welled, bittersweet and painful, memories of their life together warring with the last call he received from Gus’s number. Relief had run through him that Gus was okay. He regretted his last words, and didn’t care how much he had to grovel after Gus had left, slamming the door behind him.
The call had been an unfamiliar voice, using Gus’s contacts in a hopeful effort to track down his next of kin. A stupid accident had cut short all their hopes and dreams.
Damn it, Daniel wanted—needed—to remember Gus as the vibrant, caring man he’d been, not a body to identify in the morgue.
He shivered and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image.
Outside, the heavens opened, the sudden downpour matching his mood.
Even the sky is crying with me.
He took a deep breath, wiped his face, and steeled his expression into a flat mask. Grabbing his wallet, he headed downstairs.
“Oh, Mr. Lawrence, there you are.” Mrs. Guidry, who ran the B&B, looked up when he passed the desk. “I wanted to make sure there was nothing else you needed.” She frowned. “Or directions to anywhere. That rain looks like it’s settling in, so maybe…”
“Actually, yes, thanks. I don’t suppose there’s a bar nearby?” That rain wasn’t easing anytime soon. “Close enough so I can make a run for it.”
“Dewey’s is over the street.” She reached behind the desk and handed him a colorful umbrella. “You’re welcome to borrow this. That coat you’re wearing isn’t much protection.”
“Thanks.” He gave her what he hoped was a cheerful nod, although it felt fake.
He was tired of pretending, but had learned quickly it was better not to advertise his problems. That was why he’d hit the road, after all.
Friends and family meant well, but he was over all of it.
Better to focus on day-to-day and a job that gave him the freedom to travel and indulge in a change of scenery.
He and Gus had planned to see the world. They’d put away enough to take a long break from their respective careers, and spend the next year on the road.
In each new town, Daniel found a bar and raised a silent toast to his husband.
He hoped Gus was at least amused by the sentiment. And that he’d forgiven Daniel for their final stupid argument.
The seen-better-days cat and book logo over the bar was obviously a play on the original owner’s name. The décor inside was a mix of old-fashioned and modern, with beautiful timber walls and floors. Daniel caught a hint of jasmine in the air, but couldn’t find the source.
The main area of the bar gave off a light and airy feel, and for some weird reason, Daniel felt some of his load lift. Not all, but enough to think that he might find his way forward, after all.
He sighed and shut the umbrella before he watered the floor, depositing it in the stand by the door. He’d felt hopeful before, but the feeling never lasted. Still, he could dream.
The bartender watched him closely, and then bent to pick something off the floor. When he stood, a blur of black, white, and orange raced from behind the bar and weaved itself around Daniel’s legs.
“She likes you for some reason.” The bartender gestured for Daniel to sit on one of the high stools by the bar. “Hi, I’m Gerry. Welcome to Dewey’s.”
The cat purred loudly. Daniel obediently patted the calico before sitting, and then figured he should introduce himself too. “Daniel. New to town. Just passing through.”
“I figured, as I hadn’t seen you in here before.” Gerry grinned. He was a good-looking guy, with deep brown eyes that crinkled at the sides when he smiled. “Welcome to Laverge. What can I get you?”
“Whiskey, neat.” Daniel always had that as his first drink in a new town. “Thanks.” He gestured around the bar. “That sign outside looks old.” He’d half-expected the inside to reflect that. “Was Dewey the original owner?”
Gerry chuckled. “You’d be surprised how many people ask that.” He set a glass in front of Daniel.
The bar wasn’t very full, with a couple of older ladies chatting in the corner.
Another hour, and that would probably change once everyone finished work, and the rain stopped.
Daniel automatically tapped his fingers on the bar in time with the slow jazz tune coming from the piano he hadn’t seen yet.
Yeah, this place had potential.
“So… Dewey?” he prompted, ignoring the fact that Gerry seemed fascinated by the echoed rhythm. Daniel stopped tapping, the tune already fixed in his mind in typical earworm fashion.
“This building used to be the town library. Library slash community center. Folks used to gather here in the evenings, talk, and listen to music.” Gerry slid a bowl of peanuts over the counter.
“Ah, that’s why there’s still a piano here.” Daniel sipped his drink, nursing it. “And Dewey refers to the library. Clever.”
The cat jumped up onto a neighboring stool and tilted her head sideways as though studying him.
“She approves of you.” Gerry and the cat exchanged a look—or Daniel could have sworn they did. “Her name’s Bib.”
“Short for Bibliotheca?” Daniel guessed. Latin for library.
Gerry nodded. “Most people don’t get that.
” He pointed to an old photo on the wall of a cat who looked a lot like Bib.
“There’s been a calico cat hanging around here for what seems like forever.
My great-granddaddy told a story of the first librarian coming into work when the place opened, and this cat was sitting on the doorstep, and then followed her inside like it owned the place. ”
Daniel peered up at the photo. “How old is that photo? Must be an ancestor of Bib’s, right? The coloring is identical, but I’m guessing the other cats all looked a little different over the years.”
“Nope, all the same.” Gerry shrugged. “She comes with the place and always looks the same.”
“It can’t be the same cat.” Daniel didn’t bother hiding his disbelief. “That’s impossible.”
“You’d think.” Gerry sounded serious, like he believed the shit he spouted. He leaned in closer. “Folks say the town sits on a ley line, and that’s why the cat is here.”
“Uh, huh.” Daniel finished his whiskey. “Do you serve coffee?” He stifled a yawn, the long drive beginning to catch up.
“Sure.” Gerry handed Daniel a menu and then poured him a cup. “I make a mean gumbo if you want something to eat. It will fill you up real good, so you’ll sleep well tonight.”
“It’s been years since I’ve had gumbo. Thanks.
I’m going to finish this over in the corner, and talk to your pianist. No offence.
” Daniel didn’t want to sound rude, so he elaborated.
“I’m a piano tuner, so I can’t help but check them out everywhere I go.
Yours sounds wonderful, and I need to meet the person who’s brought it to life. ”
Gerry frowned. “The piano’s in the corner, but… you’re sure you’re hearing music? What kind of music?”
“Jazz.” Daniel loved jazz, and could listen to it for hours, but hadn’t for… Not since Gus. “I don’t recognize the tune, though.”
“Follow me.” Gerry walked out from behind the bar, Bib sauntering a few steps ahead of him. He led Daniel to an out of sight alcove.
Built-in shelves filled with old books gave the ambiance of a library.
Daniel smelled another whiff of jasmine, stronger this time.
A piano sat in the corner, lid down. Carved wood, and the indents where candlesticks would have adorned the front showed its age, but despite that, the instrument looked in good condition.
No sign of the pianist, though and Daniel hadn’t seen anyone leave the bar, or seen another way out.
“That’s impossible,” he murmured. “I know what I heard.”
Gerry lifted the lid and played a scale, and then an arpeggio. Daniel flinched. The piano was extremely out of tune. No way what he’d heard would have been played on it.
“Can you hum me the tune?” Gerry asked.
“Sure.” Daniel would be dreaming of the melancholy melody tonight. He hummed the tune, stopping abruptly when Gerry paled.
“Fuck, really?” Gerry sounded shocked. “I haven’t heard that in years. Pepère played it when we opened as a tribute to the pianist who used to entertain folks back in the 1920s. Never did find out what happened to him.”
“A hundred years ago?” Daniel was intrigued. He couldn’t resist a good mystery. “What’s the name of the piece? And the pianist?”
“ Caeruleum was written and performed by only one man, besides my grandfather.” Gerry closed the piano lid, and absently stroked Bib’s fur after she settled on the top of it. “That man was Hal Lebrun.”
“Hal Lebrun.” Daniel repeated the name, the tendrils of its sound wrapping around the melody like they belonged together.
He ran his fingers over the carved pattern of the wood, lingering to get a feel of the piano.
Getting to know an instrument first, before tuning it, was something he often did, but only with the older ones.
They had history, decades of different musicians, their emotions seeping into the wood, waiting patiently for someone to unlock them again.