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The door creaks as Ava pushes it open with the palm of her hands, the sound somehow still audible over the sound of music humming from some hidden jukebox or speakers, the exact type of grumbly 80s music she would’ve expected from a place like this. She can’t tell if it’s the bar or the surrounding area that make the place smell a little off-kilter -a little yeasty, little fishy, a lot marshy, sweaty, weary. That last part might at least come from the men who clearly make a habit of hanging around the place, the type of men Ava’s father had never been eager to associate with because their idea of a hard day’s work involved a boat and hauling up net while her father considered it time well spent to have a phone pressed to his ear all day and a secretary who fetched coffee and copies before he even had to ask. Thanks to her time both as a college student and a wunderkind lawyer flitting about New York City like some CW heroine, she’s been to her fair share of dive bars with cheap drink specials and baskets of fried food that all tasted like oil anyway, but clearly those places were just masquerading as blue-collar to make the patrons feel better. Briefly, Ava considers turning right back around. Grabbing the door before it shuts all the way and slipping back out into the July air. But something stops her before she can beat a hasty retreat.
Well, no, not something. Someone, seeing as Stevie picks that moment to lift her eyes from the beer glass she’s filling to glance toward the door and pin her there in place. Stevie’s eyebrows lift in surprise and Ava flashes a quick uptick of lips, complete with bared teeth, that might pass as a smile, giving a quick wave like they’re near perfect strangers thrown together by a well meaning teacher’s group project or because they need someone to sit with in a crowded cafeteria. And maybe that’s what they are, after all, strangers with a shared history made all the more complicated by shared misspent youth and murder.
And so, really, what choice does Ava have but to slink away from the door and toward the bar. “Hey, Stevie.”
Stevie puts the glass on the bar, foam leaking down one side. “This is new.”
Ava pulls back her lips in that toothy grimace once more, unsure of how she’s supposed to respond. Stevie stares at her for a moment, her expression unreadable -something else that has changed and resettled between them over the years, those gulfs of time recreating and refiguring them until Ava wonders if she’s as unknowable to Stevie as Stevie suddenly feels to her. This person she used to understand so well, whose every expression seemed to spill out a story just for Ava to read in a quick glance across classroom or hallway. Now it’s impossible to read anything in Stevie’s still features, in the unforgiving flint of her eyes.
But, thankfully, Stevie seems to decide to take pity on her quickly enough, because her face shifts just enough to allow Ava a peek, a splinter of softness. Stevie leans slightly over the bar, swatting one of the men sitting there with the back of her hand in an easy gesture that speaks of far more familiarity than Ava currently feels with her. The man looks at her, blinking his tired eyes, brightening somewhat as Stevie hands over the glass. “Take a hike, Jae. My friend needs the seat.”
The man, still wearing what Ava imagines he’s had on throughout the day given that fishy smell and dubious stains, glances over his shoulder, spotting her. He stands quickly, holding the beer and offering her an apologetic dip of his head. “Ma’am.”
Before Ava can protest, the man sidles away, going off to join a handful of men at the other end of the bar. Gingerly, Ava steps forward, half-sliding into the stool he’s left behind. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Why?” Stevie smirks. “So you could just stand there staring at me awkwardly instead?”
Ava rolls her eyes but can feel some of the tightness loosening itself from the middle of her shoulder blades, that fist that feels like it’s been jammed right into her spine since Danica had opened that envelope the day before finally taking a break. “I wasn’t awkwardly staring.”
Stevie’s continued smirk lets Ava know she’s doing her a favor by not offering further commentary. “Want a drink?”
Ava starts to shake her head, only to catch herself with an eye roll. “Yes, please. Like…the strongest thing you’ve got.”
“So I guess I don’t need to ask how you’re doing, huh?”
Pressing her lips together, Ava just presses the tips of her fingers into the sticky wood of the bar. Her bones press against the skin over her knuckles, nails going white. “I…don’t know how I’m doing,” she admits.
Stevie hums and Ava decides to blame it on the 80s rock and the din of conversation when she can’t entirely decipher the tone, the sound, the meaning of it. She just watches as Stevie makes her drink, fingers sticking to the surface of the bar. It feels slightly reassuring, familiar, when she realizes that Stevie is making a variation of the drink they’d made dozens of times from the Spencers’ massive bar when it was a Saturday night and easy to pretend like they were pulling one over on Grant and Jill.
“I thought you’d probably be with Danica.”
Ava nods, taking the glass when Stevie hands it over. “I…yeah, I’ll probably be going back later. I just needed some air.”
“Probably not the first place people would think to come for fresh air around beautiful Southport,” Stevie drawls, grinning slightly as she affects an imitation of the real estate signs dotting the marina and shops beyond.
“Really? This place?” Ava feigns surprise. “It should be on everyone’s must-visit list.”
She means it as a joke, an attempt to pick up the thread of loose and easy teasing that Stevie had just extended, but it’s clear from Stevie’s expression that it doesn’t quite land. Her face shutters once more, the set of her lips more frown than smirk, and Ava clears her throat, looking down at her glass. “Uh…yeah. I…came to see you, actually. Of course. I mean I…” She looks up, shaking her head. “I don’t think I really had a chance to thank you for earlier.”
Now Stevie’s expression is easy enough to read: surprise. It rounds her eyes, parts her lips slightly. “Thank me? Why?”
Ava shrugs, taking a sip from her drink, trying not to cough from the burn of it. It’s been a while since high school, clearly. “For coming to Bayside House. And…with Tyler…”
The words lodge immediately in her throat, that fist apparently moving from its place against her spine to jam right into the center of her windpipe. Nausea rolls over her, swiftly, unexpectedly, and Ava can feel the alcohol burning the back of her throat, tears burning the backs of her eyes. Tyler…Tyler…Tyler…it’s impossible to keep that name from cycling over and over in her mind, running a loop in tandem with the memory of Tyler’s body hanging there, blood winding down from her chest and toward the asphalt. As they’d waited for the police, Stevie’s hands gripping her tightly, trying to steer her away in vein, Ava hadn’t been able to keep from looking at the spot on the concrete where the blood kept landing, the unrhythmic drip of it offering a staccato beat to the creaking of the bunting as Tyler swayed from the balcony.
Stevie studies her, reaching up to fidget with the chain around her neck, her eyes not leaving Ava’s. “Yeah…I…” Her forehead creases, brows knitting together. “I’m sorry that happened.”
Ava nods, not trusting herself to speak. If she opens her mouth, she worries she’ll just throw up across the surface of the bar.
Twisting the chain around her fingers, Stevie swallows and says, “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad…”
She doesn’t finish the sentiment, but Ava imagines she might be able to fill in the blanks anyway. I’m glad it wasn’t you.
Blowing out a breath, Ava nods, half tempted to reach for her drink and down the rest of it in a few swallows. But, unlike high school, she knows enough to recognize a horrible idea when she sees one.
Most of the time, anyway.
“Yeah,” Ava exhales finally.
Stevie lets go of the chain and something bounces against her chest. A ring, too big to fit Stevie’s slender fingers. “Whose is that?”
Her memory of a year ago is shockingly vibrant only in one particular moment, the rest of the night a smudged blur in her mind, threatening to elicit a similar reaction to the one she’d get if she drank the rest of the contents of her glass. But Ava is sure the Stevie in her memory isn’t wearing that ring.
The shift is sudden: the shuttering of Stevie’s expression, the straightening of her shoulders, the way she draws back from the bar as though to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. “Look, I’ve got to get back to…” She glances down the bar pointedly, though everyone seems more or less content with the state of their drinks, no one demanding the attention of the girl behind the bar. “But tomorrow, yeah? The Town Hall?”
Ava blinks, her palms falling back against the surface of the bar again. She opens her mouth, only to find that she doesn’t know what she’s planning to say. She’d thought…what? Coming here would give her a chance to talk about those steady memories of Tyler thrumming in her mind with someone other than Danica, who Ava imagines thinks she’s doing a good job hiding her trembling chin, the way her eyes have been tearing up, gaze suddenly far away. How can she possibly mention Bayside House and Tyler to someone who has been Googling crime scene cleaners all day?
But what, exactly, was she expecting from Stevie? This person she hasn’t seen in years, aside from the night where they’d watched someone die and known they’d been the reason?
“Yeah…” Ava nods, slipping off the stool. “Tomorrow.”
She reaches into her purse, withdrawing her wallet but Stevie waves her away. “On me.” When Ava starts to protest, Stevie just looks at the glass. “I mean, it’s not like you actually drank it.”
“Tasted way too much like bad decisions.”
This, at least, gets a genuine flicker of a smile from Stevie. Their eyes meet and Ava feels a flicker of relief, if just for a moment. The same sense of safety and security she’d always felt around her friends, the knowledge that she wasn’t having to navigate through all of this alone.
“Thanks, Stevie. Seriously.”
Stevie just nods, grabbing the drink and dumping the contents into the sink before setting the glass into a bus tub. “See you tomorrow, Ava.”
Briefly, Ava thinks of staying. Finding a way to say something she probably should’ve said last year, before…everything. Or, really, something she should’ve said long before that, really. But Stevie is already focused on something else, bending to reach for something out of sight, that ringing dangling into the open air. And so, Ava just turns, heading for the door, the smell of the wharf clinging to her even as she slides behind the wheel of the rental car.