Page 65 of Wreckage and Rain

I look up.

"Caught me."

"Several weeks of not looking. I was beginning to think I'd made you up."

"Made me up?"

"The man behind the bar who watches over the room without ever looking like he's watching." She taps her glass once. "Lets a woman drink in peace."

"Glad to be of service."

She tilts her head. "Did you build the place?"

"With help. A contractor, an architect, a permit office that took six months of my life. But it's mine."

"You don't talk much."

"No."

"That's not a criticism."

"Mm."

A small smile. Mostly for herself.

She takes a sip. Sets the glass down. Looks at me again. Doesn't look away.

"Are you married, Sam?"

"Was. Not anymore."

"Was it bad?"

"It was bad."

She nods like someone receiving information she already had.

"Mine is bad."

"I noticed."

She holds my eyes a second.

"I'm going to tell you the short version. Because you haven't asked. And something tells me that I can trust you, and I think I want to know you."

"All right."

"He cheated. I left. I'm in Chicago because nobody who knows me would think to look here. I have been sitting in your corner for five weeks because this is the only room where I can sit and not think about my marriage."

"You can keep sitting there."

"Thank you, Sam."

I pour her another. She doesn't order it. She doesn't refuse it.

She picks it up and looks at it. Holds it without drinking.

"I watched you a few weeks back make a guy stop hitting on me without saying a single word."