Serial

60

Edmundsville, 2008

Beth sat in the 66 Roadhouse and watched Link dance with her friend Annette Brazel. Annette was a small, attractive woman who was about as susceptible to Link’s flirting as a concrete post. She ran a leather-cutting machine at the plant and had a husband who acted in community theater in Edmundsville and had a reputation for meanness. Beth wasn’t jealous.

She never worried about that part of her marriage. Though a measure of passion had long since left her partnership with Link, some remained. And she was secure in the knowledge that Link would never leave her if it meant giving up Eddie. Of course, Eddie was fast becoming a young man. In a few more years he’d be going off to college. Hard to believe now, though; he still looked and acted so much like a green kid.

As Beth sat and sipped her Bud Light and watched the dancers, it struck her as it often did how much Link and Eddie resembled each other. Or maybe that was in her mind.

But no, she was sure… When Link spun around and the light hit his face a certain way, it was almost like looking at an older Eddie. Almost as if…

Jesus! Get that out of your mind!

The contemporary country music ended, and the band began playing an old Hank Williams song. It reminded Beth of when she and Link had met here at the 66, when that same song-might have been, anyway-was playing.

Hank Williams, singing about love gone wrong.

Link and Annette stayed out on the dance floor, Link taking advantage of a slower beat. They were dancing close to each other, but not too close. Annette glanced over at Beth and winked.

As Beth sat watching them she noticed the beer can on the table where Link had been sitting. It was a Wild Colt can, the same brand that was found on Vincent Salas’s motorcycle the night of the-

Oh, God, stop it!

It was a popular brand locally. Half the men in the 66 were drinking it right now. DNA had proven it was a coincidence that Salas had been drinking it-

DNA can prove, or disprove, lots of things.

Beth told herself, as she had so many times lately, that she was torturing herself because of guilt.

But that didn’t mean-

“Annette’s got a sore foot,” Link said, settling down in his chair, behind the opened Colt can.

“That would be because you stepped on it,” Annette said.

Link grinned. “That’d be because you got your feet mixed up between the second and third steps of my grapevine maneuver.”

“Your what? ” Beth asked.

“Mumbo jumbo,” Annette said. “That’s his escape when he knows he’s wrong, talking mumbo jumbo.”

“I’m hurt,” Link said.

“No, I’m the one with the toe.” Annette looked over at Beth. “Wanna go to lunch tomorrow? Might as well. It’s gonna rain all day.”

“Does most Saturdays,” Link said. “The weatherman knows we don’t work weekends.”

“The weatherman’s a son of a bitch,” Annette said.

“We’ll do it,” Beth said. “I’ll call you.”

“I’m not invited?” Link asked.

“Damned right, you’re not,” Annette said.

“He’s going to Kansas City for a coin show, anyway,” Beth said.

Link’s passion for coin collecting had grown. “Gonna be an auction of antebellum silver coins,” he said. “Some rich guy’s estate is selling his whole collection.”

“I don’t know what you see in that old stuff,” Annette said.

Link took a sip of beer. “It’s history. And art. And a pretty good investment.”

“And an obsession,” Beth said.

Link shrugged. “I guess it is, but a harmless one.”

“I’m more interested in new coins,” Annette said. “The kind you can spend.”

The band was swinging into one of Beth’s favorite tunes. Link gulped down some more beer then stood up. He offered his hand to Beth.

“Wanna dance to this one? Give Annette’s toe a rest?”

Beth smiled. “You bet I do.” Trying to get into the mood. To shake her self-destructive suspicions.

Link led her onto the dance floor and they began a twostep with underarm turns. Within seconds the floor was too crowded for turns, and Beth and Link began close dancing.

He held her loosely and confidently, his wife, his lover, his possession. More beloved than his coins in their velvet-lined display folders.

Not more beloved than his stepson.

Annette had her shoe off and was sitting sideways in her chair, rubbing her toe. Beth saw her smile enviously at her and Link. Annette and her husband Mark had no children, and as far as Beth knew didn’t want any. Still, here was Beth with a husband who loved her and a child they both loved. Beth figured that what she needed in life, what she had -man, child, home-addressed an emotional void that most women had attempted to fill since the human race began. She was one of the winners.

That was how it must seem from the outside.

Link held Beth tighter, drawing her closer. But it seemed to Beth that now there was a limit to how close they could be.