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.They would be a family unit again, missing one member, yes, but able to function, and with a new member on the way.Jeanie went to the fridge for the butter dish and a jar of blueberry jam, also Chad’s favorite.The toast popped right on cue and she pulled all four slices out, buttered them, and put them on a plate, which she covered with a glass lid.She had already cooked the sausages and now she slid the six little logs off the platter they’d been resting on, into the pan with the scrambled eggs.She nudged the sausages off to one side and turned the burner down to low.They’d be warm again in no time.The timer beeped on the oven.The home fries were ready, nicely baked with slices of mushroom and smothered in freshly grated Parmesan cheese.It had been much longer than a year since she’d made Henry’s personal recipe for home fries.Ever since the doctor had told him to watch what he ate, Jeanie had begun serving fresh fruit for breakfast, homemade oatmeal with skim milk, with no attention paid to Henry’s constant complaints.And she had set about trying to get Chad accustomed to better eating habits while he was still young.But this was to be a celebration breakfast, one that would speak of those happier times the family had known.Surely this one morning wouldn’t hurt.She heard Chad coming down the stairs now, one step at a time, as if he was positive the world would wait for him.Jeanie filled the cup she’d put by Chad’s plate with hot coffee.His juice was already poured, in a small glass with an orange painted on its side.She grabbed his plate off the table and took it to the stove.She spooned out a large helping of the eggs and then rolled three of the link sausages onto one corner.She opened the oven door and scooped up a serving of the home fries, the hot, sticky cheese pulling away in strings.She wanted Chad’s plate all ready for him, waiting on the table like a picture out of a magazine.The most wonderful breakfast a boy could imagine.Again, Jeanie scolded herself.Why had she been so tied up with her own problems, her own grief, that she’d let family issues ride this long? Now, with the service just two days away, the best thing she could do to memorialize Henry Munroe was to save his son.She put the plate of food back on the table, fitted snugly between a fork and knife.Next to the plate was a freshly ironed linen napkin.The next morning, they would have fresh blueberries, a slice of wheat toast, cereal.And that’s when she heard the motorbike start up, out in the front yard.By the time Jeanie got to the kitchen window, all she saw disappearing around the thick bulge of lilac bushes by the mailbox was Henry’s orange bonnet.It was still early, just four o’clock, when Evie got out of her car in Murphy’s parking lot.She looked across the rows of parked cars in time to see Marshall Thompson slide a leg over the seat of his big black Harley.When he saw Evie, he waved a hand that held a beer bottle.Not only was this illegal, it was against Murphy employee rules to let customers leave the establishment with alcohol.Gail was wiping down the bar as Evie clocked in and started picking up empty glasses, dipping them into the bin of sudsy water.Monique, the new girl, was sweeping the floor over by the jukebox.Evie quickly counted heads seated at the bar and at tables around the room.Only fifteen customers, including Billy Randall, who was at the pinball machine.But happy hour was just beginning, and Fridays were always good nights for the tavern, a kind of early weekend frenzy.Murphy’s wasn’t fancy enough to beckon to the uptown crowd, the ones with good salaries and retirement plans, the lawyers and computer programmers and college types.They all drove their Beamers and Volvos out to the fancier bars down at the new mall.Murphy’s, on the other hand, seemed to call out to anyone who’d had a hard life and little money to spend telling the bartender all about it.Evie always felt good seeing Billy Randall in the place.Shortly after she began working at the bar, Billy had told her that if she ever needed his help, to ask for it.And Evie had asked for help on several occasions.And asking was all it took since word was out at Murphy’s that “Crazy Billy” had come back from Vietnam with a black belt in karate and jungle skills that even the Viet Cong hadn’t learned.If Billy stood up, a troublemaker sat down.“When’s Sheila getting here?” Evie asked.She would need at least two waitresses to handle the tables.And then Sheila would close, allowing Evie to go home early.“Any time now,” said Gail.“Hey, thanks a million for doing this, Evie.I know it’s your days off and all, but Marshall decided spur of the moment that he’s just got to see the sun come up over Quebec City.”“It’s okay,” said Evie.She hadn’t wanted to be back at Murphy’s so soon, but there were worse ways to kill a few hours.The memorial service was Sunday, and as far as Evie was concerned, she’d prefer to stay in a coma until it was finally over.Then, maybe then, Larry Munroe would find it in his heart to come on back to the tavern, to sit on his favorite bar stool, to go home with her at the end of the night.She missed him.Evie looked up to see Andy Southby just coming in for his two beers, those twelve quarters no doubt rattling about in his pocket.She closed her eyes and imagined the face of a clock, the hour hand pointing at the number ten.Ten o’clock.In six hours, it would be a reality.The bar would have slowed down by then, and the two waitresses would be able to handle the crowd.Evie would be free to go.Before Monique and Sheila would have washed the glasses, swept the floor, and locked the tavern door just past midnight, Evie would have already smoked a joint on the porch swing, had a midnight snack, and then fallen into bed for a deep sleep.“Beer,” said Andy, as if this were a new revelation.Evie gave him his beer and then noticed that she was out of napkins.Gail was supposed to have stocked the bar before she left
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