“Hey, what’re you doing, mystery man?” she mumbles. Her eyes are still closed even though she is taking little shuffling steps. He has to put his arm around her waist to steady her. She’s putting all of her weight on him, her head against his shoulder.

“I’m going to put you in your bed, alright?”

“Yep.” She nods.

Asher has some trouble opening the screen door while holding her up, but he manages. A lamp lights the living room dimly. Books are stacked everywhere. A record is spinning on the record player and only now he hears the Cuban music playing, as she has turned the volume down very low, probably to keep from waking up Justin and him. Trumpets quaver and a woman sings “Tamborilero!” in a voice she pulls up from the bottom of her belly.

Evona starts moving her hips in a feeble attempt to dance, the music prodding her awake. “Let’s dance,” she says, pulling his hands to settle on her hips, then locks her hands behind his neck. She is dancing now, but still has trouble keeping her eyes open. She struggles to focus on Asher, squinting hard, laughing.

“You’re not dancing,” she says.

“I don’t know how.”

“Aw, shit, yes you do.” She grabs his hips, pushes them back and forth. She might as well try to get some moves out of a tree stump. She laughs at his awkwardness.

Now men are singing along with the woman, “Tamborilero!” over and over.

“Come on! You can do better’n that!” Evona shakes at his hips again and he responds with a brief motion just to pacify her.

“Dance, dammit!” But then she has lost her burst of energy and has to lean against him again, sliding her arms around his sides to lock at the small of his back. She lays her head on his shoulder. “I’m not a drunk. I should be. But I’m not.”

“I don’t think you are.” Asher finds himself moving his feet so that they’re turning in the room in a little box step. She feels so good against him, breathing, sad, and most of all, alive.

The arm of the record player lifts itself at the end of the song and before it can click back and settle its needle on the first track Evona stumbles away. “Yeah, I better go on to bed,” she stammers. “I can’t remember your name.”

“Asher.”

“Yeah,” she says, and falls into the door frame, slurring out his first name. He goes to help her but she has passed out standing up this time. He gathers her up in his arms—she is light as a child—and carries her into her room.