December 28, 1973

Flick's Tavern, 8:30 pm

Jack Flickinger, better and preferably known as Flick, smiled at the woman who had just taken a seat at the bar. He hadn't seen her before. Weird. The bar wasn't anywhere near the highway, and so attracted few travelers. Really, it got few anyone except the regulars. Flick was okay with that. Had always worked for his father, and it worked just fine for him. With certain exceptions – mostly one exception, Schwartz - the regulars were willing to spend their money here. Lots of money. Too much, if he thought hard enough about it, and so he tried not to do that very often.

The woman seemed both a stranger and vaguely familiar. Long brown hair done in those fancy feathered waves women on TV had. Big eyes, brown the same as her hair. Pretty skin. Reminded him of the porcelain dolls Schwartz's mother loved so much even though she could no longer see them. "What'll you have?"

She shrugged off her coat and set it on the stool next to her. "Uh, I guess I'll just have an Old Fashioned."

"Coming right up. Whiskey or bourbon?"

"Bourbon."

"I'm afraid I don't have any orange slices."

"Do you have cherries?"

"Yes."

"Give me two of them, then."

He grinned. "Sure thing."

He turned and glanced around for the bottle of bitters. Truth was, he served mostly beer and whiskey straight. On the average, he only mixed between ten and twenty drinks a night, and usually closer to ten. He found the bitters, pulled up a glass, grabbed the high-end whiskey because she seemed a bit city-folk, and he thought he'd better. As he mixed the drink, he felt her eyes on him. Watching him.

Odd.

Did he know her?

"You don't recognize me, do you?"

He turned, dropped the two cherries in the drink, and set it on a napkin in front of her. She smiled, and sounded bemused, so he smiled, too. "I'm sorry, I don't. Should I?"

She shook her head, still smiling. "Wow. After what I did for you in fourth grade." She took a sip. "Mmm." She raised one of her eyebrows. "How's your tongue?"

"My tongue?" Obviously she'd gone to school with him. Fourth grade. He tried to remember all the girls in his fourth-grade class.

"I'm the one who told Miss Shields about your situation with the pole."

And it clicked. He laughed. Patted the bar top. "Esther Jane Alberry," he said. "Wow. What's it been, twenty-five years?"

Esther Jane's smile widened. "About that long."

"You went off to college and never came back."

Her smile disappeared, though she nodded. And suddenly, she seemed very interested in the look of her drink.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I said something wrong, Esther Jane."

"Just Jane." She lifted her chin and put another smile on, but a weak one. "I always hated the Esther. And you didn't say anything wrong. I just…" She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't really like to think about college. Or anything that came after. Which is kind of why I've come back."

Flick nodded. "Want another? That'll help you not think." He winked. "On the house."

Jane nodded. Her smile brightened up again. "I'd love it."

Flick moved to mix another. "Hey, you just missed Ralphie Parker by a couple days. He was in town with his family." He glanced over his shoulder. "You do know he's married, right?" Schoolgirl crushes, so he'd been told by his wife – rest in peace, sweet Alice – and also by Lois, don't ever completely fade away.

She laughed. "Don't worry, Flick. I do. And I got over Ralphie a long time ago."

"How about you? You married?" He brought her the drink.

Again, she looked down. Again, the smile faded. And again, Flick scolded himself for sticking his foot in his mouth.

"I was," she said.

He'd picked up some psychology over the years of tending bar, and he knew enough to know that she didn't want to talk about her marriage. "Schwartz is here. You remember him?"

She nodded, and the smile was back. "Of course. He sat behind me and pulled my hair all the time. Well, not all the time. Sometimes he just brushed his pencil through it and tickled my neck."

Flick grinned and leaned forward. Lowered his voice. "I'll tell you a secret. He had a crush on you. He liked the way your laugh sounded."

"Really?"

It was cute, he thought, the way her cheeks turned just the slightest bit pink. He'd have to tell Schwartz later. Maybe that would cheer the guy up.

A roar of laughter mixed with some groans came from the shuffleboard table, and Flick shook his head. Schwartz and his team had probably lost again, and probably because of Schwartz's failure. He was proven right when Schwartz, looking angry and exhausted, stalked over to the bar. He stood next to Jane but didn't seem to notice her.

"Give me a shot, Flick. Of the good stuff. And don't give me any grief, okay? I'm not in the mood."

Flick noticed that Jane stared up at Schwartz, and that that her hand was tight around her glass. "You remember Esther Jane, Schwartz? From school?"

Schwartz frowned. "Esther Jane Alberry?"

Flick nodded and tilted his head toward Jane. "She's just Jane now, though." He set a shot of whiskey down in front of Schwartz, but Schwartz had turned to look at Jane. Flick was glad to see him smile.

And funny, because Schwartz's cheeks turned just a little bit pink, too.

Flick smiled and turned away. Larry needed another beer.

He'd find a way to mention Schwartz's pink cheeks to Jane later on.

Flick's Tavern, 11:02 pm

Jane had only dropped the "Esther" a few weeks ago. And really, she ought to have picked another name entirely to go by. But Jane had given so much up when she left Minneapolis that she didn't want to give up her entire name. She wanted to take at least part of it with her.

He'd never think to come here to look for her. When they were first married, Ken hadn't wanted to hear anything about her podunk hometown. At first, that grated on her, because she'd been so homesick for it. But as she began planning an escape, she turned it into a tool. She began speaking of it in poisonous terms, and speaking of other places, Chicago, New York, even Los Angeles, as if she'd been in love with them.

If he was going to look for her, he'd go to those places.

And he'd have no luck.

"I love the name Paul," she said, and smiled at Schwartz. "Can I call you that? I mean, don't you miss people calling you your real first name?" She was tipsy. Or maybe full-on drunk. Probably full-on drunk. She swayed on the stool, and as she did, she bumped into him. He kind of blushed, and it was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. "You've grown up really cute, Paul." She frowned. "Oh. Can I call you that?"

He nodded, smiling at her like he didn't hate her guts. Like he might even think she was worth talking to. Like he probably wasn't going to hit her. He smiled at her in a way that Ken hadn't done since the first year of their marriage. And maybe not even then. "Sure you can, Jane," he said.

"You know, no one calls him that. Not even his mother." Flick set down a cup in front of her. A cup? No. Another word. Something else. But she couldn't think of it. It had a handle on it.

"What's that word for a cup? Not a cup, though. For hot stuff? Coffee?"

"A mug?"

"A mug! God, Paul, you're smart."

She noticed that Flick and Paul exchanged glances, but it didn't bother her. Nothing did at this point. She pulled the cup – the mug – to her. Dark brown liquid filled it. "Is this coffee?"

"Yeah. Thought maybe you could use it."

Jane nodded far too hard, and then found she couldn't stop. "Oh, God. I'm really...I'm dizzy."

"Stop nodding, then."

She looked at Paul, who smiled at her again in such a sweet way that her heart skipped about five hundred beats. He put his hands on the sides of her face to cradle her jaw and stopped her movement. And it was better. The world was still a little off-kilter, but not nearly as much now.

"Better?"

"Much better." Still, he kept his hands on her, and she smiled. His eyes were so pretty. "Green eyes. You have green eyes. Did you know that?"

"That's what I've been told." He smiled. "You have brown eyes."

She nodded. "I was born with them." She frowned as he took his hands off her face. Her skin suddenly felt so cold.

Flick leaned over and said something to Paul, too quietly for her to hear. Irritated, she turned to her mug and picked it up. Coffee. Maybe she did need it. But she couldn't pick it up. Exhaustion spread through her like spilled water spreads on a countertop. She pulled her hand away from the mug. If she tried to pick it up, she'd drop it. She'd spill the coffee, and then he'd get mad like he always did. Then he'd hit her like he always did.

Except, wait, he wasn't here, was he?

"Jane? You okay?"

She felt groggy, and just wanted to rest. "Can I borrow your shoulder? I just…my head is so heavy."

She didn't wait for him to answer. She just leaned toward him and lay her head on his shoulder. She prayed that maybe he'd put his arm around her.

He did.

And she smiled.

Flick's Tavern felt so safe. Home felt so safe. And Paul's shoulder felt so safe.