Page 25
The beer went down faster than I wanted it to. By the time I flagged the bartender for a second, the tension in my shoulders had loosened enough to breathe.
Around the third, the jukebox had cycled through three more sad country songs, and I’d started tapping my foot along to the beat, hoping the dog was returned.
By the fourth, I was feeling… good. Warm. Floaty around the edges. The bar had gotten a little blurrier, the lights a little softer, and the knot of fear that had lived in my chest for years had temporarily untied itself.
Somewhere near my left elbow, a spider appeared on the bar.
It was tiny, black, and deeply brave, navigating the sticky wood as if it had a job to get to. I leaned down until my nose was too close to the counter and squinted at it.
“Sir,” I whispered. “This establishment is not safe for your many knees.”
The spider paused.
I pointed toward the door with one finger, moving slowly because my hand was doing the same. “You need to evacuate. Politely. I am not your enemy, you handsome little bastard.”
From the other end of the bar, the denim-jacketed woman snorted into her beer.
The bartender glanced over. “You talking to my counter?”
“There is a customer without a tab.” I cupped my hand behind the spider, not touching it, just persuading it with what I hoped was gentle confidence. “I am escorting Aleister from the premises before he gets drunk and spins everyone a cozy blanket.”
The bartender leaned closer, saw the spider, and gave me an amused look. “You want a napkin?”
“No, thank you,” I said, very seriously. “I do not believe in unlawful spider kidnapping.”
The spider skittered toward the edge of the bar then down the side. I slid from my stool with great care, keeping one hand on the counter so I didn’t sway the other way.
The floor tilted a little, which was impolite of it, but I chose not to make a scene. Bending at the waist, I followed the spider’s tiny journey across the floorboards.
“Keep going,” I encouraged. “You are doing amazing, you leggy queen.”
A laugh came from the couple in the corner booth. Heat crawled up my face, but it wasn’t awful. I wasn’t embarrassed for helping my buddy escape.
The spider reached the baseboard near the door. I crouched, swaying a little, and used a coaster to guide it away from a boot traffic zone. “Left, sweetheart. No, your other left. You beautiful moron.”
The door opened, letting in cool evening air, and a man stepped inside, nearly stepping on my eight-legged client.
“Stop.” I held up one hand with tragic seriousness.
The man froze, one boot suspended midair. “Uh.”
“Tiny pedestrian.” I pointed at the floor.
He looked down, blinked, then stepped carefully over the spider. “Sorry.”
“Thank you for your service,” I told him.
When the spider finally disappeared into a dark corner near the threshold, I straightened too quickly. The room bobbed. I caught the nearest stool and offered it an appreciative nod.
“You are a reliable piece of furniture.” I patted the side of it.
The denim-jacketed woman had her fist over her mouth now, shoulders shaking as she tried not to laugh.
“I’m very good in emergencies,” I explained to no one in particular then slid back onto my own stool with only minimal wobbling. “Nobody died. Not even Aleister Crawly.”
The bartender set a glass in front of me.
I stared at it. “I did not order this. Looks an awful lot like water.”
