Tuesday nights were the worst. The lounge was dead. A few regulars sat at the bar, nursing beers and talking about sports they didn't actually watch. A hockey game was on the TV above the liquor shelf, but the sound was muted. It just looked like men in helmets hitting each other in silence. The jazz band wasn't booked on Tuesdays, so it was just the radio playing low-volume blues that sounded like a funeral.
Lena was polishing glasses behind the bar because Jack had called in sick. Again. He said it was a stomach bug, but he'd sounded like he was actually at a loud party when he called. She didn't mind. She liked the repetition. Her hands were pruned from the hot water. She felt like a machine. Dip, scrub, rinse, dry. Repeat. The glasses were cheap, thick-rimmed things that felt clunky in her hands, but they were clean.
The door opened at 8:15. She didn't have to look up to know who it was. The air just felt different again. Heavier. Cold air from the street always followed him in, even when the rain had stopped.
Adrian walked in, wearing a dark navy coat this time. It looked heavy. He didn't go to the hostess stand. He didn't wait to be greeted. He walked straight to the bar and sat down on the end stool. The one furthest from the door. It was the darkest spot at the counter, right next to the service flap.
"Rye," he said.
He looked like he'd been hit by a bus. There were lines of shadow around his eyes that hadn't been there on Friday. He hadn't shaved, and the stubble was dark and uneven across his jaw. He looked less like a rich man and more like a man who was losing a fight with his own head.
Lena set down the glass she was drying. She took her time picking up the bottle of rye. She didn't want him to think she'd been waiting for him.
"You're early tonight," she said.
"I couldn't sleep," Adrian said. He put his hands on the bar. They were big hands, scarred across the knuckles. He looked at them like they didn't belong to him. "And the silence in my house is getting loud. It starts to hum after a while."
Lena poured the drink. She didn't ask what he meant. She'd had nights like that. Nights where the fridge humming sounded like someone whispering in the next room. She just pushed the glass toward him. "It's quiet here, too. Tuesday nights are for people who want to be left alone."
"It's a better kind of quiet," he said. He took a sip. He didn't wince at the burn. "How's the umbrella?"
"In my locker," Lena said. She went back to her glasses. She didn't want to look at him too long. "I didn't need it today. The sun actually came out for ten minutes this morning."
"Keep it. It's going to rain again tomorrow. The clouds are building up over the river."
She stood there, not knowing what to do. Usually, she'd walk away and find something to clean in the back. Marco was in the kitchen, probably eating the leftover pasta. She was alone with him. Adrian looked... human. Not like the scary statue from the booth. Just a man who was tired of being himself.
"Do you have a family, Lena?" he asked.
The question hit her like a punch to the stomach. She felt her face tighten. She accidentally clinked two glasses together, a sharp ping that sounded too loud in the empty room. Don't talk about it. Don't tell him anything. People who ask about family are looking for hooks to pull you with.
"Not really," she said.
"No brothers? Sisters?"
Lena gripped the edge of the bar. Her knuckles turned white. "Why do you care? You ask a lot of personal questions for someone who just wants a drink."
Adrian looked at his drink. He swirled the amber liquid around the single ice cube. "I had a friend once. He talked about his sister a lot. He loved her more than anything. He used to tell me stories about how they'd steal peaches from a neighbor's tree and eat them until they were sick. But he couldn't get back to her. He'd made too many mistakes."
Lena felt her breath get caught in her throat. Her mind went to Julian. To the blue house in Ohio. To the way he used to lift her up on his shoulders to reach the apples on the tree in the vacant lot. It wasn't peaches, but it was close enough to hurt.
"My brother is gone," she said. The words felt like lead. She hadn't said them out loud in a long time. It felt like admitting a defeat.
"I'm sorry," Adrian said. He sounded like he meant it, which was the weirdest part. Most people said they were sorry because it was the polite thing to do. He said it like he felt the weight of it.
"It was a long time ago," she lied. "He... he was a lot older than me. We weren't close. He moved away and we just lost touch."
Adrian didn't call her out on the lie. He just nodded slowly. He looked at the hockey game on the TV, but his eyes weren't following the puck. "Family is a burden. Even when they're gone, they stay in your head. Like a song you can't stop humming. You think you've forgotten the lyrics, then you turn a corner and there it is again."
Lena looked at him. Really looked at him. She saw the way his fingers twitched on the glass. He was nervous. Or he was holding something back. "Is that why you're here? Because of someone in your head?"
"Something like that," he said. He finished his drink in one go, a long, desperate swallow. "You ever want to leave this place, Lena? Get out of this city? Go somewhere where the air doesn't taste like exhaust and old grease?"
"Every day," she said. It was the truest thing she'd said in years. She hated the gray streets. She hated the way the building across from her apartment blocked out the sunset.
"So why don't you? You're young. You've got your whole life ahead of you, as the saying goes."
"Because I'm waiting for something," she whispered. She wasn't even sure why she was saying it. Maybe it was the blues music. Maybe it was the way the light caught his scar.
"What?"
"I don't know," she said. She picked up a towel and started wiping the bar top, even though it was clean. "Maybe I'm just waiting for it to be safe. For the world to stop feeling like it's tilting."
Adrian reached across the bar. For a second, she thought he was going to touch her hand. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't pull away. She wanted to know if his skin was as cold as it looked. But he just grabbed a napkin to wipe a drop of condensation from the bar.
"It's never going to be safe, Lena," he said softly. His voice was like a secret. "Safety is an illusion. It's a trick we play on ourselves so we can get out of bed in the morning. You just have to find a place where the danger makes sense. A place where you know which way the bullets are coming from."
He stood up. The stool made a scraping sound on the wood floor. He left a fifty-dollar bill on the bar.
"Wait," Lena said. She felt a sudden panic at the idea of him leaving. The room felt too big when he wasn't in it. "Your change. That's a ten-dollar drink."
"Keep it," he said. He started buttoning his coat. He looked like he was bracing himself for the cold. "Pay Jack's medical bills. Or buy yourself something that isn't black."
He turned to leave. He moved with that same heavy, certain stride.
"Adrian?"
He stopped. He didn't turn all the way around, just looked back over his shoulder.
"Who was he? Your friend? The one with the sister?"
Adrian looked at the door. He looked at the "Closed" sign hanging crookedly in the window. He didn't look back at her. "He was a man who deserved a better life. And a much better friend than I turned out to be."
He walked out. The door chimes gave a lonely little jingle.
Lena stood behind the bar, holding the wet glass. Her hand was shaking. She could feel the vibration in her wrist. She thought about what he'd said. Safety is an illusion. She went to the back and opened her locker. She saw the cheap black umbrella sitting there, leaning against her coat. She touched the plastic handle. It felt cold, but it felt solid.
She thought about Julian. She thought about the money. The "Vance Fortune," the newspapers had called it. Two million dollars that had vanished into thin air. Julian had gone to prison for it. He'd died for it. And everyone thought he'd told her where it was.
I don't have it, Julian, she thought, her eyes stinging. I'm working for tips in a dive bar. I'm eating canned soup.
But who was Adrian?
He knew her brother. She was sure of it now. The story about the peaches—or apples—it was too specific. He was Julian's friend. Or his partner. Or his killer.
The thought made her stomach turn. But the way he'd looked at her... it wasn't the look of a killer. It was the look of someone who was drowning and trying to find something to hold onto.
She wasn't romantic about it. She wasn't a girl in a book. She knew men like Adrian were trouble. They brought the shadows with them.
But he was hiding it. He was playing a game.
And for some reason, Lena didn't want him to stop. She was tired of being invisible. She was tired of the silence in her own apartment.
She went back to the bar and started cleaning the sink. She used too much soap. The bubbles piled up, white and fragile. The blues music kept playing on the radio. A song about a woman who lost her heart in a rainstorm. It was cheesy, but it fit.
She checked the clock. Two hours until closing. She hoped he'd come back tomorrow. She hoped he'd sit at the end of the bar and tell her more stories that were actually about her.
Because for the first time in three years, she didn't feel like a ghost hiding in a basement. She felt like someone who was actually there. Someone who had a name, even if it wasn't the one she was using.
She picked up the fifty-dollar bill and tucked it into the tip jar. It was more money than she'd made all week.
"See you tomorrow, Adrian," she whispered to the empty room.
The only answer was the hum of the refrigerator. It sounded like it was laughing at her. Or maybe it was just humming that song she couldn't stop thinking about.
She turned off the TV. The screen went black, reflecting her own face back at her. She looked tired. She looked like someone who was waiting for a storm.
She grabbed her towel and kept cleaning. There was always more dust. There was always another glass to polish.
Outside, the first few drops of rain started to hit the window. Adrian had been right. It was going to be a long night.