“Smoke signal?”
“No, a real live conversation.”
He tosses the cleaning rag behind the bar. “Blue Gil is full of rumors.”
I recall Hank asking if Becky had mentioned Marty. “When you hear it from more than one person, it sounds like it could have merit.”
Theo bends at the waist, elbows again on the bar, face close to mine, and voice low. “Think of how we were at that age.” He pauses. “Now put that on steroids.”
“Steroids?”
“More likely meth, ecstasy, or oxy.” He looks around the bar. “It’s not that we didn’t have access back then; it was that at least for me, booze was enough. It seems that nowadays, nothing is ever enough. Bigger and more. Everyone is going for one better.”
It reminds me of what I was thinking with the Reba song. Her mother wanted a better life for Fancy. She accomplished it, despite how she did.
Theo shakes his head. “If you ask me, it’s the influence from the outsiders. Six years ago, they weren’t as big a presence. Now, it’s not enough to be a teenager from Blue Gil, not when you see who the summer brings.”
The whisky is muting Theo’s words, making them the lyrics to the new song playing from the hidden speakers, yet I try to focus. “You’re saying that the kids,like my sister, see the summer outsiders and want more.” I blink to clear the vision of his blue eyes. “Didn’t we want more too?”
“It’s different. I’m not sure if they want or think they deserve... It’s all about expectations. Why should Blue Gil teenagers have weekend jobs when the kids from Chicago come here and play all day on the water in fancy boats and jet skis? Why work on the farms when the rich kids from up north are sporting the newest and best?”
“And the drugs?”
“We both know it’s not new, but the outsiders influence that too.”
I shake my head. “We can’t blame outsiders. They’re not here yet.”
“Some are,” he says as he stands straight.
My eyes widen. “You mean me.”
“I mean that Coach Gilbert’s death brought in people who don’t belong?—”
“Belong?” I scoff, before picking up my glass and swallowing the remainder of the contents.
“Jillian, that’s not what I meant.” Theo lifts his chin toward a booth along the wall. “I mean, like him.”
I turn to see Keith Gilbert. “Does he come in here a lot?”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Yeah, Craig—Coach’s brother. He’s staying out at Stark Lake in one of the old Iverson cottages. So am I.”
“You’re not staying with your folks?” Theo asks, concern in his tone.
Instead of answering, I lift my glass, silently asking for one more.
“Are you sure?”
I’m sure the numbing effect is working. I’m sure the memory of the way my father spoke to me is dimming. Once my glass is refilled, I push my nearly empty plate back. “I’m going to go say hi to my neighbor.”
“I’d stay away from him,” Theo warns.
I’m already on my feet.
As I stand, the room wobbles around me. Maybe it’s me who is wobbling. Just to be sure, I reach for the back of the barstool and wait as the walls and floor settle, like the liquid in my glass. It only takes a few seconds.
Making my way across the room, avoiding tables as I zig and zag, I eventually come to my destination. Keith is sitting alone with a plate of food and a mug of beer. With a grin, I set my glass on his table. “Would you like some company?”
