New Avalon by Robert Swartwood

Author:Robert Swartwood [Swartwood, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RMS Press

August

It’s almost midnight—or maybe it’s after midnight, you aren’t really sure—and you’re sitting in the rear corner booth, six or seven or eight beers in, when the front door opens and in walks Milton Evans.

He pauses briefly, scanning the bar, nodding hello to a few old-timers who raise their glasses in his direction, until he spots you. He heads over to the bar, grabs a beer from Mike, and then weaves through the tables and chairs in your direction.

You take a long pull of your beer as you watch him, not sure if the fuzziness around his body is natural or just a side effect of all the booze currently running through your veins.

“Jack,” he says. “Care if I join you?”

“John,” you say, defiance in your voice. “My name is John.”

Milton gives a cursory glance around the bar, making sure nobody has heard your declaration, then slides into the booth. He doesn’t speak at first, just sits there with his hand around the mug, watching you.

“Can I help you with something?”

He shrugs, takes a sip of his beer. “It’s been a while. I haven’t seen you for months. How are things?”

You don’t answer. You hold his stare, waiting for him to look away first.

He doesn’t. Instead he says, “How many have you had so far tonight?”

“Is that why you’re here, to babysit me?”

“To be honest, yes. Mike called me a half hour ago, said you were hitting it pretty hard. He’s worried. He’s a friend, you know. Everyone here is a friend.”

It’s true, you suppose. You barely know these people but they seem friendly enough. Even when Mike first plugged in the jukebox earlier tonight and “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” came on, just like it always does, a couple of the guys groaned their irritation, but they were smiling when they did it, joshing with you, letting you know it’s all in fun. Even now the Stones play, though the volume is turned low, Mike and the others watching a baseball game on the TV.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

Again you say nothing.

He finally looks away, focusing on his sweating glass. He rubs his thumb over the condensation, then takes a deep breath.

“I saw her yesterday.”

“Who?”

He ignores this question, probably assuming the answer is obvious. “She stopped by my house. Which, as you can imagine, was surprising, because I didn’t know she knew where I lived. Perhaps Mike told her. Though, now that I think about it, I don’t know if Mike even knows where I live.”

“Milton?”

“Yes.”

“Get to the point.”

“Right. Well, she stopped by yesterday. Knocked on my door with raps so soft I could barely hear them at first. But then I realized someone was there and answered the door and I just … I didn’t know what to do. I was in shock. After a moment I managed to catch my composure and asked her to come in, but she shook her head and said it wasn’t going to take long. She said she just wanted to relay a message. That she had tried many times to contact you, but it was clear you didn’t want to talk to her.

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