Page 67 of Denial
Sutton
“Look who it is.Wasn’t sure if you were going to show.” Lee Powell meets me halfway to the table and claps me on the shoulder. “Quite the place, huh?”
The loud music nearly swallows his shout.
I bounce my gaze around the establishment. Everything looks brand new. The silver chairs shine. The square wooden tables are free of gouges. The lacquer fresh. The art decorating the walls seems more suited to a bar in Texas than to this small town in Minnesota, but I can admit it lends to the country-western vibe. The pictures depict rodeos and horses, none of which I know anything about. There are also ropes and horseshoes adorning the rustic barnwood walls.
“It’s something.”
“Feels like we stepped foot in Nashville.”
“We sure aren’t in Minnesota anymore.”
Lee smiles, something that comes more easily to him in the years since he found his wife. He dedicated his life to running his dog sanctuary, just as I’ve been dedicated to law enforcement.Except he met Juniper one summer, and the rest was history, and I’m solidly alone.
“Come on. We’ve got a table this way.”
The novelty of the place summons a sizable crowd. Can’t say The Rocks, our local spot in Fairview Valley, has ever had this many people in it. He leads me through a maze of tables to one filled with familiar people.
Various greetings are heard above the din. I drop into a seat between Lee and my brother Silas.
“When did you get here?” I ask my youngest sibling.
He passes me over a fresh beer. “Half an hour ago. You didn’t give me a solid answer at work yesterday, so I didn’t want to wait for you to bail.”
His instinct wasn’t wrong. I’ve been a bit of a grizzly since the night I snapped at Alice, and a part of me wanted to sit home tonight and lick my wounds.
A larger part than I care to admit.
But then I remembered she asked for the night off so she could come out this way with her girls, and that was all the shove I needed to get my ass up and drop Nellie off for an impromptu sleepover at my mom’s.
“I’m getting old. It’s harder to get out.” I cover my lie with a bitter mouthful.
“We’re all fucking old,” Spencer quips from across the table.
Chuckles arise from his remark, and I flit my gaze through what amounts to my brothers.
Lee and I are the same age and went through high school together. The mid-forties don’t look too bad on either of us, though I have a bit more gray in my hair. Spencer would be next at forty-two. He’s barely older than the twins, Jack and Jude Powell. Then there’s Corjan sitting on the other side of Silas. Those two are about the same age. Late thirties. The youngest of both families is Aiden. Even in his mid-thirties, he’sstill considered the baby, and we tease him about it relentlessly despite the fact that he now has a wife and a child of his own.
“Speak for yourself. I’m still pretty youthful,” Aiden chimes in.
“I thought the same when I was your age. Then I started waking up with back pain,” Jude says.
I lift my beer in a salute. “Where are all your wives? I expected at least one to be pregnant or hanging around.”
Heads turn in comical unison toward the back of the room.
“Ah. I was wondering where that thing was,” I say.
That thingrefers to the massive dance floor where a small crowd is line dancing, nearly half of whom are Powell women. Bodies move in synchronicity beneath colorful spotlights. It’s like watching the Electric Slide at a wedding reception, except more modern, and most of the people appear to be under retirement age.
“How long have they been out there?” I ask the table at large.
“Since we got here.” Jack flags down a passing server and gestures for another round for the table. She nods and scurries off to the bar.
“Did they all just know how to do that?” I pick out Frankie, Jude’s wife, by her nearly white-blond hair. Beside her is Bree, who belongs to Corjan. They laugh as they stomp their boots and turn a quarter turn.
“They’ve been practicing,” Lee says.
