Alec’s midsection came into my vision and cut off sight of Angie. I lifted my eyes to Alec’s face, which was still hard but now he was directing his hard look at Marty.
“Why’s she out here?” he asked, sounding pissed-off.
“What?” Marty asked back, sounding as usual, confused.
“Jesus, Marty,” Alec muttered, still sounding pissed and his eyes cut to me. “Go inside, Feb.”
I stared at him and didn’t move a muscle.
“Feb, inside,” he repeated.
I still stared at him.
He took a step toward me and said low, “February.”
My body jerked and I nodded. Inside would be good. Inside would be fucking awesome.
I went inside, headed directly to Morrie and my office—Mom and Dad’s old office, the office Morrie and Alec and I practically grew up in—and coffee. I could still taste the vomit in the back of my mouth. I hadn’t actually puked but it had threatened.
I was pouring a cup when Morrie came in.
Alec was big but my brother was enormous. He was also demonstrative.
He walked right up to me, took the coffee cup from my hand, plunked it down, yanked the coffeepot out of my other hand, slid it under the filter and then engulfed me in a hug.
I should have started crying then, I suppose. But I didn’t.
“You okay, Feb?” Morrie asked, and I nodded, my cheek sliding against his big, barrel chest.
I wondered briefly why he was there. It wasn’t his turn to open, it was mine.
My guess, Alec had called him.
“Sis,” he whispered at my nod and I closed my eyes. He didn’t call me “sis” very often anymore. Hadn’t since we were kids. I missed it.
Still, no tears came.
“You want coffee?” I asked.
Morrie pulled away and gave me a look.
He didn’t like what he saw, I knew it but he still said, “Yeah.”
I made him a cup and we were taking sips when Alec filled the doorframe.
In the light I caught sight of the scar under his left eye. It was a little, puckered crescent moon, about the size of your thumbnail. I thought that was weird, it being that small, considering at the time it was made it bled a whole helluva lot.
As it did anytime I saw it, it made flashbacks flood my brain. Flashbacks of Alec, sixteen years old and sitting silent on the toilet seat in my mom and dad’s bathroom and me, fourteen, standing there wiping the blood off his face with one of Mom’s wet washcloths. Morrie coming in, giving me ice, me wrapping it up and holding it to the gaping cut under Alec’s swelling eye. My dad walking in, taking in Alec, his bloodied face, his knuckles torn, bleeding and swollen, the way he held his body like if he moved it would be torture, and saying, “Police are going to your place, Colt, you’re going with me. Jackie and the kids to the hospital.”
That was the first time my father called him Colt. He never addressed him as anything else since.
“Jesus, what the fuck, Colt?” Morrie said upon seeing him. “Mom and Dad’s bar? Seriously? Who the fuck would do that?”
Alec’s gaze flicked to Morrie and he shook his head.
This was a good question, I thought. A dead body behind their bar? Crazy. My mom and dad were beloved in this town. So were their parents. So was Morrie.
Me? I wasn’t sure. Maybe.
Or at least, I once had been.
“You called nine one one,” Alec said, and I looked at him though I didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Yeah.”
“You found her?” Alec asked.
“Yeah.”
“What were you doing in the alley?”
I stared at him not seeing, then said, “Darryl.”
“Fuck. Fuckin’ Darryl,” Morrie muttered, now he sounded pissed.
“Darryl?” Alec asked.
“He never takes out the trash at night. I tell him, every night. Guy’s got nothin’ between his ears,” Morrie explained, telling the God’s honest truth about Darryl and pulling a hand through his thick hank of blond hair. “Leaves it at the back door and forgets. First person in in the morning, usually me or Feb, take it out.”
This wasn’t exactly true. The first person in in the morning was usually me, not Morrie. Though, I had to admit, on occasion, namely my rare days off, it happened.
“You on last night?” Alec asked me, and I shook my head.
“Night off,” I told him.
“I was on,” Morrie put in.
Alec turned to Morrie. “Angie here?”
Morrie nodded. “Dude, she’s always here.”
This was true. Angie was a regular. She also regularly wore slut clothes and regularly got shitfaced and regularly picked up anyone who would fuck away whatever demons tortured her. Though obviously these efforts never lasted long because she was always back again, usually the next night. Angie wasn’t hard on the eyes if you didn’t look too close and see what her lifestyle was doing to her skin. There was no lack of choice for Angie.
“She go home with someone?” Alec asked Morrie.
Morrie moved his neck in that funny way he did when he was uncomfortable, like he was pulling at a too tight collar and tie, even though he was wearing a t-shirt with a zip-up hooded sweatshirt over it and his hand never moved.
Then he said, “Cory.”