There were a lot of rumors about Jo. Some said she was a former child star with money to burn. She’d certainly had plenty to sink into the remodel. Others said she was running from an abusive husband and using an assumed name. A few believed she was a mafia princess determined to make it far away from her east-coast family.
Josh suspected the latter was the most likely story. Jo, a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, seemed to know a little too much about life to have been raised in the ’burbs. He knew she kept a loaded gun behind the bar, and when a fight had broken out last year, she’d looked more than ready to use it. Which also gave credence to the abusive husband story, he thought as he crossed the street and walked into the bar.
The place was well lit without breaking the mood. Baseball played on the small TVs. Giants on one, Oakland on the other. A few die-hard Dodger fans huddled around one of the smaller screens. The larger flat screen showed skinny models walking down a runway. There were several groups of women around round tables and balloons proclaiming it was someone’s birthday. A few guys played pool at the lone table in the back.
Several of the customers greeted him. He waved and made his way to the bar.
“Beer,” he told Jo before turning to watch the Giants. A commercial filled the screen. He looked away, glancing at the women at tables, about to face the bar again, when he saw someone he knew in a corner.
Ethan Hendrix sat with one of his brothers and a third guy. Josh stiffened. This seemed his week for dealing with the past, he thought grimly.
In a perfect world he would walk over to Ethan and they would talk. The past had been over for years. It was time to get over it. He’d phoned Ethan a few times over the past couple of years, but his old friend had never returned the calls. Now he couldn’t seem to move and Ethan never glanced in his direction. Then Jo was putting a beer in front of him.
He took a sip.
“Good,” he said. “Where’s it from?”
“A microbrewery in Oregon. South of Portland. The guy came through with samples. You have to respect that. Apparently he travels up and down the west coast, trying to get places to take his beer.”
“Does that make you a sucker for a sad story?”
She grinned. “Maybe. What of it? You ready to take me on, Golden?”
“And get beaten by a girl? No, thanks.”
“You know it. I’m tough to the bone. Ethan’s here,” she added, speaking low enough that only he could hear.
“I saw that.”
“You could talk to him.”
“I could.”
He didn’t question how Jo, who had only been in town three years, knew about his past with Ethan. Jo had a way of finding out things.
“You’re both idiots,” she said. “In case you were wondering. He’s as bad as you, acting all pouty.”
Josh chuckled. “There’s ten bucks in it for you if you say that to his face.”
“I don’t need the money. You’re wallowing in guilt and he’s playing the martyr. It’s like living in the middle of Hamlet.”
He frowned. “How do you figure?”
“I don’t know. It’s the only Shakespearean play I could think of. Well, there’s always Romeo and Juliet, but that doesn’t fit. You know what I mean. Just go talk to him.”
She was right, he told himself, as he put down his beer. He would walk over and…
He turned on the stool, but Ethan and his friends were gone, the table empty.
“Next time,” Jo said when he faced her again.
“Sure. Next time.”
She moved on to another customer. Josh sipped his beer, thinking about Ethan, wondering how things would have been different if he’d been the one injured instead of his friend. He had a feeling Ethan wouldn’t have lost his nerve. He would still be racing.
The pool game finished up. One of the guys walked toward Josh and sat next to him at the bar.
“Hey, Josh.”
“Mark.”
“You still thinking of heading to France this summer? We could use another win.”
Sure. Because that’s how it happened. A person woke up one morning and thought “I’m going to enter the Tour de France” and that was it.
“Not this year. I’m still retired.”
Mark, a plumber in town, punched him in the arm. “You’re too young to retire, but not too rich. Am I right?”
Josh nodded and smiled, then wondered why he’d bothered to come into the bar.
He wasn’t interested in winning another race. At this point, he simply wanted the ability to compete. To do what he did before. What he took for granted.
“My kid’s pretty good,” Mark said when Jo handed him a beer. “Fast on his bike. He wants to race. You know, like you did. We’re thinking of sending him to one of those schools. He’s begging me every day.”
“There are a couple of good places. How old is he?”
“Fourteen.”
“That’s kind of young.”
“That’s what his mom and I say. He’s too young to be on his own. But he won’t leave it alone. Weren’t you going to open a racing school here, in town?”