Page 77 of A Change of Location
“Bet they did, too. Or something worse. Cow manure stinks way more than lobsters and crabs.”
“He said Buck had it coming. That pissed me off. What I did wasn’t deliberate. I don’t want no praise for it.”
Her gaze darted to his hands. He favored the left one, which must have delivered the fatal stab.
“Nobody ever talked to me about what happened at the Anchor Bar. I read the part of the trial testimony that was printed in The Portland Herald and heard news radio reports. I bet a lot was left out. Can we talk about it?”
“I s’pose., if you really want to know everything. After all this time.”
She nodded. “I need to.”
“Okay.” After a moment, he said, “The trouble started when Buck was yelling at his wife, calling her a dirty whore, and I told him to shut up. He pulled her out of her chair and dragged her over the bar. Asked if his kid was mine. She was close enough I could see a bruise on her cheek. All us guys knew he knocked her around, we’d heard him talking about it. Almost bragging.” Chase’s breath came in short bursts.
“Is that when you hit him with your beer mug?”
“I never did that. I poured beer on his head. I was half-drunk and wicked mad. He let go of Shannon and reached for my throat. I moved my hand along the bar, to grab a pitcher or something hard enough to knock some sense into him. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the knife by the lemons and limes. I figured waving it at Buck would make him back off. Instead, he lunged at me. That’s how he got cut. Pierced artery.”
“I guess if the ambulance had reached him sooner, he’d still be alive.”
“You know what our crappy roads are like in winter. Potholes. Snowplows in the way.” Chase tossed a scrap of bread to the seagull floating nearby. “According to the prosecution’s medical expert, the paramedics couldn’t have saved him.”
When he stared down at the water beneath their dangling legs, Hannah saw several gray hairs mixed in with his dark curls. “Shannon should’ve gotten a restraining order.”
“Things have been tough for her and her boy. My probation officer told me I could contact her, after he checked that she’d be okay about it. I can help out, after I start earning some dough.”
“Do you still care about her?”
“Not like when we were young, before she started going with Buck. If she’d left that jerk when he started beating her up, gotten a divorce, who knows what might’ve happened?” His head shifted towards her. “I’m wondering what’s going on between you and your duke of earl.”
“He’s a marquess. To describe our situation as complicated would be a massive understatement.”
“I saw how he looked at you. And you at him. That don’t seem complicated.”
“Until you arrived at Bear Knoll on the Fourth, he didn’t know anything about you. Or where you’ve been. I never told him. I was so afraid the press would find out and hassle him. And you, which would mess up your future. When he asked me to stay in England, I decided I’d better come back to Boston.”
His eyes bored into her. “Did Martin and his mom leave all of sudden like that because of me?”
“No! Isobel had an appointment with her Boston doctor.”
Chase climbed to his feet. “I don’t see a problem.”
“You can bet there will be a big one if tabloid newspapers and gossip websites and scandal-obsessed television programs find out about Lord Milverston being involved with an ex-con’s niece. I won’t let that happen.”
“Sounds kinda self-serving. Like maybe you just don’t want to be embarrassed about my going berserk in the Anchor Bar.”
Affronted by the accusation, she shoved his shoulder. “Wrong.”
“Who cares what a bunch of stuffy Brits think?”
“I do. Martin’s working hard to increase tourism in his part of Somerset, and I want him to succeed. If a sensationalized version of your story got traction here in the States, it would be hard on Dad and Grampa. Mum’s career nosedived after you—” She couldn’t say it.
“You gotta stop treating me like I’m your own personal Boo Radley.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t need you protecting me. I’ve had counseling—the psychology kind and the employment kind. My head’s on straight. Straighter than it used to be. I’m tough, I’ll deal with whatever comes my way. And I know damn well you can, too. So what if you’re related to an ex-con? Why would anybody judge you or your mom and dad for a felony I committed? Stop being a weenie, worrying that stupid media fuckers might say or write bad stuff about us.”
“Don’t call me a weenie—Shrimpy! I’ll do whatever I think is best for everyone. Including Martin.”
