“I think,” Alex said, “that Josie and I need a few minutes to settle in, and then how about we go get something to eat?”
Darla looked at her phone. “The kitchen at Jerry's opens at four for mozz sticks and anything you can put in a fryer.”
“That covers a lot of ground in Ohio versus Massachusetts, Darla,” Josie said.
“True 'nuff. I'm all fine with fried Twinkies and pickles, but Jerry's got a triple-fried bratwurst thing Mike keeps telling me about when I make my holiday calls.”
Alex's eyes met Joe's. They smiled.
Challenge accepted.
“You guys are nuts,” Josie said flatly.
“What kind of sauce do you dip it in?” Alex asked Darla.
“Sauce? Ain't no sauce.”
Joe's face fell.
“You just get a side of mayo with it,” she added.
I gagged slightly.
Which made Joe smile even wider.
“Let's leave Josie and Alex to freshen up,” he said in a fakey-polite tone. “And grab a cup of coffee or something before we go.”
“Jerry's has coffee,” Darla protested as Alex shut their bedroom door.
“I'll eat a triple-fried sausage on a stick dipped in mayo,” Joe declared, “but I'll be damned if I'll drink Jerry's Bar coffee. I have standards.”
Squeak-er. Squeak-er.
Joe gave the closed door an appreciative look.
“Go, Alex,” he whispered.
Squeak-er. Squeak-er.
The sound sped up.
Joe just mugged, nodding approval.
Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er.
Alarm filled Joe's face.
“Is that tempo humanly possible?”
Darla smacked him upside the head.
“Come on, frou-frou boy. Go make your damn Keurig so we can get going by four. I'm starving.”
Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er. Squeak-er.
“AND JOSIE!” Darla screamed. “Quit jumping on the bed. If you break it, you're paying for it.”
Giggles and booming laughter followed from the other side of the door.
We joined in.
It was good to finally laugh.
Ten minutes later, Joe finished his coffee, Darla had freshened up (which meant changed into a different flannel and t-shirt combo), and Josie and Alex came out of their bedroom all smiles.
A loud growl from Darla's belly made Josie give her a smirk. “You ready for some wings?”
“Yes ma'am.”
We locked up and Joe headed for the car, Alex behind him.
“Where you going?” Darla called out as she and Josie headed for the sidewalk. “Jerry's is four blocks from here. Easier to walk and this way, if we get pissed, we can puke in Mr. Rangabarger's bushes like Josie did after her college graduation party.”
“DARLA!” Josie shouted. “That was private!”
“What? First time I ever got shitfaced and you ended up being the puker.”
“Shhhh.”
“What's this shhhhhh business? Cat's outta the bag, Josie! The guys all heard it.”
“How old were you when you graduated? Twenty-three?” Alex asked Josie, who nodded. He looked at Darla. “That means you were sixteen.”
“Yeah.”
“Getting drunk at sixteen?”
Joe and I started howling. He seemed so... prim.
“Your face,” Josie wheezed, pointing at her husband. “Getting drunk at sixteen?” she mimicked. “Puh-leeze. It's Peters. Getting drunk at sixteen makes you a prude. I was thirteen the first time I had a beer at a party.”
“I had beer at parties, too,” Alex said, suddenly defensive.
“You got sips from your grandfather's can, Alex. Not the same as being handed beer after beer while hanging out on the gate of someone's twenty-three year old brother's F-150.”
“You hung out with men when you were that young?”
“Hello? It's Peters. That's what kids do here.”
“Kids did plenty of crazy stuff in Watertown, too,” Alex countered, his worlds calm, not taking Josie's bait. “Just imagining thirteen year old you being fed alcohol so some slimy bastard could take advantage of you.” His face made it clear what he thought of that.
God help any guy who ever tried to take advantage of Alex Derjian's future daughter.
Darla and Josie stopped walking and started laughing so hard it looked like Darla was seconds away from losing bladder control.
“Alex, were you raised by nuns?” Joe finally asked. “You're asking questions like you're a Prohibitionist.”
“What? No.” His words were measured. “I am just reflecting on that kind of behavior from the perspective of a thirty-something man instead of – ”
“I married a square,” Josie gasped.
“Didn't you ever drink or do drugs in high school?” Joe asked.
Alex shook his head. “I was an athlete. Couldn't.”
“College?”
“A little. Too busy working and studying.”
“Med school? Snorted Adderral to study?”
Alex looked positively scandalized. “I would never take a prescription drug off-label like that.”
Joe signed. “Got it. It's official, then. Alex is a monk.”
“A monk with an accomplished tongue,” Josie amended, threading her fingers in his as they held hands, looking like a small giant and a pixie in love.
“Not a monk, Just not a big partier,” Alex grumbled. “I was a med school geek. Undergrad was nothing but busting my ass in pre-med, then there was med school. No one had time to party.”
“I met plenty of people in college who were pre-med and partiers,” I said.
“And how many of them got into their top choice for med school?” he asked.
I had to think. “None.”
“See? Point made.” Alex never looked smug, but the expression on his face was close enough.
We turned a corner and a long stretch of bare dirt next to the sidewalk indicated we'd hit an entirely different part of town, rather abruptly. Jerry's Bar was a place where losers went to drink and play pool, a dive that wasn't kept up on the outside because why bother? They weren't trying to impress anyone.
If you were going to Jerry's it was to hide from the world or get shitfaced.
Or both.
“Huh. Still ain't fixed the sign.”
“Aaaaarrrrrrrrr,” Joe and I groaned at the same time, the tired old pirate joke resurrected.
“Where's the B?” Josie asked. The sign said JERRY'S AR.
“Given that Marlene practically lives here, the B is inside.”
“Ha ha.”
Darla and Josie went in first, followed by Alex, then Joe, and I brought up the rear.
A shriek went up. A woman's voice.
And then:
“ALEX!”
Marlene threw herself into Alex's arms, her five-inch needle heels making her tower over Josie, but she could give her son-in-law a fair embrace. She was already drunk enough to look like a vertical rubber band.
“Hey, Mom,” Josie said with a tight mouth and loads of blinking.
Darla pulled me aside. “Josie told me in the car she and Alex are still trying. Starting foster care paperwork and maybe looking to adopt if she keeps miscarrying. Holding baby Cal was hard for her, but he's her cousin, so...”