The white-haired man frowned, for this line of inquiry was annoying to him. Pointedly he glanced at the bartender, who was eavesdropping from a few feet away, and so the bartender came to Juliana and told her politely that Ned Spires was an old friend and that she’d best return to where she had been sitting or, better yet, consider leaving, for it was after midnight.

Did Juliana need a ride home? Any kind of help getting to her home?

“No! I do not.”

Juliana retreated, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. She had not intended this harshness—this was not her.

Much of what she’d said was not Juliana speaking. Vodka, it was.

Meaning to leave the tavern, on her way out of the tavern, but turning suddenly and returning to the bar to explain to the men. Their eyes shifting onto her in annoyance, dread.

“He has threatened my life. ‘Ned Spires.’ I mean—that was what I’d learned. But—I think—” Juliana’s voice faltered, she felt as if she were grasping a rope, hauling herself up out of dark, churning water in which she might drown as the men stared at her. “I think I may have misunderstood. You are saying that Ned Spires is a good man. He is kind … I was one of his closest friends, we shared his poetry together. I don’t wish him ill. Yes, Ned is a good man, he is to be trusted. I see that now. I’m sorry, I was misinformed. I’ve said the wrong thing. You don’t need to tell him. I see now that I was wrong—he’d never said he was getting a divorce. He never said that to me.”

Following this, Juliana avoided the Wild Goose. She did not telephone Ned Spires, she made no effort to contact him. And soon, then, she stopped drinking, or rather began the stages of not-drinking, which she envisioned as stone steps in a hill badly worn from many feet preceding hers, but Juliana too would ascend it, in time.

7.

But now, Blue Moon Café. At dusk, that heartbreak time.

Blue Moon, blue neon. She won’t stay long.

Taking pleasure in the anticipation. Just club soda, thanks!

Taking pleasure in slow-driving along Front Street. Passing darkened storefronts in this small town on the Delaware River that has become familiar and comforting to Juliana, like home.

Not home, not quite yet. But soon.

Much has changed in Juliana’s life since the Wild Goose Tavern. Three years since Ned Spires. Shame and desperation, bad memories steeped in vodka.

Now Juliana no longer drinks. Certainly not vodka, which is lethal.

Not even beer, with Patrick.

Unknowing, innocently, Patrick has urged her. C’mon, Julie! Just a sip, it’s just beer.

But now, since she has become pregnant, Patrick no longer urges her to drink. Instead, he fusses over the food Juliana eats, watches over her almost too carefully.