Grace walked into the bar wearing her orange parka and carrying her mat. She looked at me questioningly.
“I thought I was early,” she said, heading toward the table but stopping midway. “Oh my God. We’re in Oz!” She stood there gawking at my chest as if I’d sprouted a third breast.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re finally wearing a color!”
I looked down at my torso. A few hours earlier, while refilling some of the drawers that the police had emptied, I’d come across the cherry-red hoodie that I’d bought myself as a present last year at Massamat Mall’s Valentine’s Day sale. Surprisingly, I felt like wearing it.
“What’s going on?” Grace asked, concerned. She’d seen Kelly, who was curled up on the banquette rubbing her head.
“I don’t feel so good,” Kelly muttered.
Grace furrowed her brow. “There’s a twenty-four-hour virus going around. Otis had it. Two kids in Leon’s kindergarten, too.” She turned to me. “We should get her home.”
“It isn’t a virus,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
Kelly rolled over. “What time is it? I have to set up for class.”
Grace took one look at her tear-streaked face and moved to sit next to her on the side opposite mine.
“What’s got you so upset?”
Was Kelly going to tell her?
“Nothing.” Kelly began searching under the table. “Where’s my mat?”
Should I tell her?
“Forget that. Tell me what’s wrong. And if you’re not feeling well, let’s get you home. We have to take good care of you and the baby. Right, Nora?”
She shouldn’t go home. Stokes might be very angry with Kelly for leaving him. I was afraid for her and the baby, even though he would be taking an enormous risk if he harmed one hair on her head once the police knew about his affair.
“She doesn’t want to go home,” I countered.
Grace examined me curiously and then turned to Kelly. “Kelly?”
“I’m not going home to a liar and a cheat,” Kelly said.
“Stokes was cheating?”
“He was sleeping with Helene,” I blurted.
Grace stared at me, stunned for a moment. Then she pounded her fist on the table, making the salt and pepper shakers jump. “Un-fucking-believable. That woman was a man-eater.”
“I never want to see him again,” Kelly whimpered.
“Of course you don’t. I can respect that,” Grace said, putting her arm around Kelly’s shoulders. “But in these situations, you can’t be the one to give ground.” She shot me a look. “Let him find somewhere else to stay,” she said, firmly. “You’re pregnant. You can’t be living in a bowling alley.”
“But I can’t see Stokes. I’m not ready.”
“You can come to my house,” I said. I instantly pictured the wreckage the police left and regretted the offer.
Kelly nodded a little uncertainly.
“Hold on,” Grace said. “The Coop can get pretty cold, Nor. She needs creature comforts in her condition. We have a guest room and hey, who better to have watching over you than an EMT? I’ll call Mac and tell him you’re coming, Kelly. I’ll be home after my show later.”
“I think Grace is right,” I said. “I’ll make a sign that says class is canceled. You should go to Grace’s and let them baby you.”
“You guys are great. Thanks,” Kelly murmured.
“Think you can drive?” Grace asked her.
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. I’ll help you get cleaned up,” Grace said, taking her hand. “Come on, honey.”
While Grace steered Kelly to the restroom, I went behind the bar to scavenge for sign material. In a moment, the outer door squeaked again.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
“I said who’s there?”
Still no reply. My shoulders tensed. Was it Stokes? Had he come for Kelly? Instinctively, I reached for a bottle and grabbed it by the neck. I relaxed my grip when Sinead’s husky form appeared in the doorway. Dressed in sweats, she was carrying her usual hanger of work clothes to wear to the bank, along with her exercise mat and a small brown-paper bag. Under her blunt-cut bangs, her eyes had bags, too.
“What is everyone doing here at the crack?” she asked.
“I could ask the same of you,” I said, putting the bottle down nonchalantly. “Kelly’s sick. I’m making a sign to say class is canceled.”
Sinead came over and set her burdens on the bar. I thought of Tidy Pool Al and their four jobs, and I regretted raising my voice to her at the Tea Cozy.
“Sinead, I’m sorry about the other night. The way I spoke to you. I was a first-class bitch.”
“Forget it. I handled it arseways. You were in a state. That Detective Roche who interviewed us yesterday? He asked how I thought you were taking it, and that’s what I said. ‘Even if Hugh Walker was a shite bastard, she shared the same bed with the man for years. She’d have to have ice water in her veins not to be devastated by what happened to him.’”
I rocked slightly, holding on to the bar to keep steady. This meant Roche was asking around about my emotional state, building his case. Would he even look into Stokes as a possibility?
“What else did Detective Roche ask?”
“If I’d noticed anything that might help the police, which I had not. What I thought of Helene. There, I gave him a piece.”
I tried to quell my anxiety and concentrate on Sinead.
“I guess things haven’t been easy for you, either. I saw Al leaving here this morning in the Dirt Busters van.”
Sinead lowered her eyes.
“He didn’t want people to know.” She looked up and lifted her chin toward the Jameson bottle. “I’ll take a wee one.”
I picked up a shot glass from the bar, then hesitated and picked up a second one. I poured whiskey into both. We picked up our glasses, clinked them together and took our sips. I saw Sinead’s tears welling up.
“Oh, Sinead. Is it that bad?”
She nodded.
“Cleaning pools and digging irrigation ditches was one thing,” she said. “But toilets . . . He lost so much business this year that he had to take on this night job, and we’re still short. What with the high prices in town and the taxes going up on our house . . .”
“I had no idea.”
“Things went from bad to worse after he lost Pequod Point. It was his biggest account. The owner used to be a Tidy Pools client before he sold to the Walkers. Apparently, they replaced him with some bloody fella from Massamat their realtor recommended.”
“The Walkers fired Al?”
She nodded. “He hates being a janitor. It’s turning him mean. He’s mad all the time. He’s mad as hell. That’s what he’s been saying ever since he started this night shift.”
I stepped back. He’d been saying what?
“He used to be so good-natured. But now it’s: I’m mad as hell that I’m cleaning other people’s piss and shit; I’m mad as hell that your mum’s coming for Thanksgiving; I’m mad as hell it costs half a day’s pay to fill my gas tank. He’s so knackered he barely eats. He’s always running from one job to another.”