Finally, Claire took firm hold of Karen and led her outside. As they walked down the long, winding driveway, Karen paused and looked back every few feet. “Are you sure?” she said each time.
“We’re sure. The responsibility will be good for him.”
Karen frowned. “I keep thinking about those poor little goldfish, floating belly-up in the dirty water.”
“Just keep walking.” Gina leaned close to Claire and said, “She’s like a car in the ice. If she stops, we’ll never get her going again.”
They were standing across the street from Cowboy Bob’s when it hit them.
Claire was the first to speak. “It’s not even dark out.”
“As party animals, we’ve lost our touch,” Charlotte said.
“Shit.” This from Gina.
Claire refused to be thwarted. So what if they looked like sorority girls amid the professional drinkers that populated a place like this in the early evening? They were here to have a good time and Cowboy Bob’s was their only choice.
“Come on, ladies,” she said, storming forward.
Her friends fell into line behind her. Heads held high, they marched into Cowboy Bob’s as if they owned the place. A thick gray haze hung along the ceiling, drifting in thin strands between the overhead lights. There were several regulars along the bar, their hunched bodies planted like soggy mushrooms on the black bar stools. Several multicolored neon beer signs flickered in the gloomy darkness.
Claire led the way to a round, battered table near the empty dance floor. From here they had an unobstructed view of the band—which was now noticeably absent. A whiny Western song played on the jukebox.
They had barely made it to their seats when a tall, thin waitress with leathery cheeks appeared beside them. “What c’n I get for y’all?” she asked, wiping down the table with a gray rag.
Gina ordered a round of margaritas and onion rings, which were promptly served.
“God it feels good to get out,” Karen said, reaching for her drink. “I can’t remember the last time I went out without having to do enough preplanning to launch an air strike.”
“Amen to that,” Gina agreed. “Rex could never handle getting a sitter. Not even to surprise me with a dinner date. The surprise was always: We’re going out to dinner. Could you plan it? Like it takes ovaries to pick up the phone.” At that, her smile slipped. “It always bugged the hell out of me. But it’s a pretty small grievance, isn’t it? Why didn’t I notice that before?”
Claire knew that Gina was thinking about the changes that were coming in her new, single life. The bed that would be half empty night after night. She wanted to say something, offer a comfort of some kind, but Claire knew nothing of marriage. She’d dated plenty in the last twenty years, and she’d fallen into pseudo-love a few times. But never the real thing.
She’d figured she was missing out, but just now, as she saw the heartbreak in Gina’s eyes, she wondered if maybe she’d been lucky.
Claire raised her glass. “To us,” she said in a firm voice. “To the Bluesers. We made it through junior high with Mr. Kruetzer, high school with Miss Bass the Wide Ass, through labors and surgeries, weddings and divorces. Two of us have lost our marriages, one hasn’t been able to get pregnant, one of us has never been in love, and a few years ago, one of us died. But we’re still here. We’ll always be here for one another. That makes us lucky women.”
They clinked their glasses together.
Karen turned to Gina. “I know it feels like you’re cracking apart. But it gets better. Life goes on. That’s all I can say.”
Charlotte pressed a hand on Gina’s but said nothing. She was the one of them who knew best that sometimes there were no words to offer.
Gina managed a smile. “Enough. I can mope at home. Let’s talk about something else.”
Claire changed the subject. At first, it was awkward, a conversation on a one-way road trying to change directions, but gradually, they found their rhythm. They returned to the old days and everything made them laugh. At some point, they ordered a plate of nachos. By the time the second order of food came, the band had started. The first song was a bone-jarringly loud rendition of “Friends in Low Places.”
“It sounds like Garth Brooks got caught in a barbed-wire fence,” Claire said, laughing.
By the time the band got around to Alan Jackson’s “Here in the Real World,” the place was wall-to-wall people. Almost everyone was dressed in fake leather Western wear. A group was line-dancing in a thigh-slappin’ way.
“Did you hear that?” Claire leaned forward and put her hands on the table. “It’s ‘Guitars and Cadillacs.’ We gotta dance.”
“Dance?” Gina laughed. “The last time I danced with you two, my butt hit an old man and sent him flying. Give me another drink or two.”
Karen shook her head. “Sorry, Charlie. I danced until I hit a size sixteen. Now I consider it wise to keep my ass as still as possible.”