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I figured she was lying, particularly when I caught sight of the large handprint on her wrist protruding from the sleeve of her coat.
“I don’t mean to sound nosey, but have you seen a doctor yet? You could have some serious injuries, you know. The way you walked over here, it looks as if you may have a broken rib—or at least cracked—maybe two.”
“I’ll be all right.” She sipped the coffee as she held the ice pack up to her eye and sat in silence. She took her coffee black. I appreciated that. I’d never understood how someone could ruin a great cup of coffee with cream and sugar. She looked around the pub. Her gaze settled on the stage.
“You have live music here?” she asked.
“Yeah, we do. A couple of nights a week, sometimes more. Mostly on Friday and Saturday nights—some local boys and myself. It helps bring in the tourists.”
She smiled and sipped her coffee again, and when she set the cup down, I topped it off.
“Thanks, um ... Where’s the restroom?”
I pointed behind her. “Over there, past the stage.”
She strolled slowly across the room. I considered offering her a hand but decided to hold back. She didn’t seem open to accepting any help, but I detected a lot of fear underneath that tough exterior. My interest piqued as she stopped briefly to look at my guitar on the stage as she passed by.
