Page 37 of If Not for My Baby
Inside, our DRIVER SALVATORE’S seatis empty, but the front lounge is awash in soft purple, lit by small dotted lights that line the bus’s ceiling. I round the corner and, to my shock, find Halloran there, reclining in the leather lounger. He sets whatever book he was reading aside. “You’re back early,” he murmurs, voice velvety and low like he hasn’t spoken in hours. “Everything fine?”
Oh, jeez.Those words. That concern directed atme.I’m a goner.
“Mhm.” I nod. “What are you doing out here?”
His face is half cast in shadow so I can’t quite tell if he’s smirking or scowling. “How do you mean?”
“You usually stay in your bedroom.”
“A perpetual dweller of bus enclaves.”
“Your words, not mine.”
He chuckles, sitting up. “I don’t go to many large social gatherings…or small ones, really.”
I move slowly as if trying not to spook a wild animal, andlean against the table directly across from him. His eyes are aligned perfectly with the hem of my itty-bitty denim skirt. “Let me guess—big fan of the Irish goodbye?”
“Is that like a French exit?”
My lips twitch. An American saying, I guess. “It means leaving a party without saying goodbye to anyone.”
“Ah,” he says gently. “I think you’d be hard-pressed to find me at a party in the first place.”
“So when everyone comes back, will you retreat into your Batcave? What do you even do in there all night?”
“Depends which hour we’re talkin’.”
When my eyes bulge he laughs to himself. “That’s terrible. I’m only kidding. I read some, write music…I dunno, try and fail to catch up on sleep.”
The following silence is dotted by the whoosh of passing cars and buzz of the violet LED lights. The lounge smells of fresh tea, which I spot piping steam into the air to Halloran’s left.
“Where is everyone?”
“Salvatore is off tonight on account of us not leavin’ till tomorrow afternoon. Rest of the lads are out, I’d guess. Thought you would be, too.”
I am not fighting to swallow a squeal ofhe thought about me?I am not fifteen years old. I am also not going to tell him I meant all the groupies from the green room, rather than the band. Belatedly, I realize perhaps he was telling me to scram. I blanch. “Oh! My bad. I can go back to the casino.” I move for the bus doors.
“No—no,” he says, sitting up. “That’s not what I— Stay, if you want.” He waggles his book at me. “I won’t bother you.”
I squint at the reading material. “Homer?”
“You know him?”
I shake my head.
“Ancient Greek poet. He wrote theOdyssey.”
Well-read as suspected. “I knew you were secretly a classics professor.”
“Hey,” he chides softly. “Don’t mock. It’s easier to read books I’ve read many times when I’m on the road. My brain stops working after a few cities.”
“So you always stay in and read? You never go out with your band?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Aren’t they your buds?”
Halloran rubs his long fingers over his jaw. “They’re my colleagues. Other than Conor. He’s like a brother I can’t seem to move away from. So no, yeah, the rest of ’em…they’re grand. Known ’em for years, but…no, they aren’t my mates.”
