Why Can't I Be You by Allie Larkin Page A

leaving me gasping for breath. His jacket smelled like cold air and engine grease. “Holy crap! You’re really here! We missed you around these parts.” He kissed me on both cheeks and then my forehead before he pulled away and looked at me. “I missed you like crazy. No one to wreak havoc with me.” His face looked strained, like he might be fighting tears. He took his jacket off and hung it over the back of the barstool next to mine. “I had to settle down and get boring.” He patted his slight beer gut. “It’s all your fault!” He laughed and it was so loud that the people around us stared. He didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. It made me laugh too.
    Myra poured drinks. She handed one to Robbie, but he handed it right to me.
    “What’s with this shit, My Oh My?” Robbie said, looking into my glass and making a face like a kid staring at plate full of brussels sprouts. “It has grass in it.” He kissed Heather hello, even though he’d presumably just seen her when he dropped her off at the front door. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
    “It’s mint,” Myra said, even though Robbie wasn’t listening. She waved her hand to get the bartender’s attention. When he came over, Myra stood on the rung of one of the stools, leaned over the bar, and shouted, “You see these two here?” She pointed to Fish and Robbie. “They’re too prissy for mojitos. You need to get them some beers.”
    “Pike,” Fish shouted to Myra.
    “Stout?” she asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “Pale for me,” Robbie said, his eyes sparkling. “Stout is like
eating
beer. You’re supposed to drink it, dumb ass.” Robbie grabbed Fish’s shoulder and slapped hands with him. “Hey, man!”
    “Hey,” Fish said to Robbie, his eyes so much softer than when he looked at me, “so I know this guy who’s looking for a new clutch shaft for his Farmall.”
    “Oh. Cool! What year is it?” Robbie asked.
    “It’s a fifty-two Cub.”
    “Ew!” Heather said, putting her drink on the bar so she’d have both hands free to herd Robbie and Fish over to some empty chairs by the fireplace. “If you guys are going to talk tractor parts, do it somewhere else and leave us to our girl talk, okay?”
    “All day with the tractor talk. I need a break, you know?” she said to me, rolling her eyes when she came back.
    “I can imagine,” I said, taking a small sip of my drink. I knew I had to be careful.
    Myra was quiet. She watched the door and sipped her drink through a pair of red stirrer straws. The bar wasn’t too crowded. Most of the people coming for the reunion would probably just show up the next day, for the main event. I got the feeling that Jessie’s friends cared more about hanging out together than catching up with the few random meatheads and former cheerleaders at a table in the corner.
    “Robbie took over his uncle’s shop,” Heather said. “I do all the books and stuff.” She shook her head and her pretty blond ringlets trembled around her face. “God, Jess. It’s so weird that you don’t even know this, right? I mean, I used to tell you everything and now there’s like thirteen years of stuff you don’t even know.”
    I tried really hard to listen, to pick up any clues that might be useful later, but over Heather’s shoulder, I saw Kyle, from the conference, at the other end of the bar, raising his hand to get the bartender’s attention. I watched from across the bar, wondering if he’d be there all night. He couldn’t be a part of the reunion too. What would the chances of that be? Two of us from the conference at the reunion? And I was pretty sure he was older than Jessie’s friends. Late thirties.
    “Uh-huh. Totally,” I said, nodding my head at Heather.
    The bartender poured a shot of tequila for Kyle, who kicked it back immediately, smacked some bills on the bar, and got up. He caught me watching him and smiled.
    Heather was still talking. “Um, you know . . . ,” I