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nothing’s changed with Teague,” Rory observed. “It just isn’t Saturday night if he doesn’t leg it out of here believing his dignity’s been insulted.”
    “How about you leg it out of here?” said Bettina.
    “It’s a public house,” Rory reminded her. He stood there fifteen more minutes nursing his pint, but finally he drained his glass and put his money down. “I’m looking forward to seeing you all again soon.”
    “Just you try it,” Old Jack began to sputter. “Just you—”
    Bettina stilled him with her hand. “Calm down, you old fool. Don’t have a nervo.”
    Rory could feel them all watching him as he left. Ripping him to shreds the second the door closed behind him.
Rip all you want,
Rory thought.
But it’s not going to get you anywhere
.
    *   *   *
    “Sandra?”
    Erin’s voice echoed nervously through what appeared to be an empty house. Ever since they were teenagers, each of them had had a key to the other’s home. Larry hated it, of course, claiming it was a “gross violation of his husbandly rights.” Sandra’s reply to that was always the same: “Shove off.” She wanted Erin to have access to the house “just in case,” which meant if Larry was being a drunken jerk and Sandra needed someone to fetch the kids. Sometimes the mere threat of Erin’s appearance made Larry back off; sometimes it made things worse. If the latter was the case, all Sandra had to do was pick up her cell and Larry was off like a shot.
    Sandra’s brood was gone, which was not a good sign. It meant Sandra had sent them off to her mother’s. Erin surveyed the living room; nothing was broken and there were nohalf-eaten plates of food on the coffee table, which was good. It meant Sandra hadn’t had to hustle them out in the middle of a boiling row. Erin proceeded into the kitchen. It was messy as usual, but nothing was broken. It was as she was walking back into the living room that she heard a groan from upstairs.
    “Sandra?”
    Another groan.
    Erin tiptoed up the stairs.
Please, Christ, don’t let that moron be there. Please.
    Fighting trepidation, she quietly opened the door to Sandra’s bedroom. No Larry. But her friend was there, curled up in a little ball, her pallor gray and her eyes shut tight. “I have a terrible migraine,” Sandra whispered as Erin perched on the edge of the bed.
    “Yeah?” Erin asked, disinterested.
    Sandra opened her eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”
    “What’s the matter with me? You think I’m thick, after all these years? What did he do? You always seem to get migraines after he’s pulled one of his stunts.”
    “You’re wrong. He didn’t do anything.”
    “What did he do? And you better answer me, ’cause I’m getting sick of asking.”
    Sandra looked chastised. “The usual: tearing me to shreds in front of the kids. I had Lucy bring the brood to my mam’s.”
    “What was he even doing in the house, San?”
    “He wanted to see the kids.”
    “Well, he sure did that, didn’t he? I’m so sick of this.”
    “What?” Wincing, Sandra pushed herself up into a sitting position.
    “You heard me. Year in, year out, it’s the same old tune. Next I’m going to tell you he’s a bastard, and then you’re going to cry and say he doesn’t mean it. Then Larry will come back and cry all apologetic, and you’ll believe him because staying stuck is safer.”
    Sandra looked incredulous. “How can you say that to me? I’m your best friend!”
    “Which is why I’m telling you the truth!” Erin was surprisedto find herself trembling with anger. “You deserve better than this.”
    “Do I?” Sandra looked bitter. “I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.”
    Erin’s voice shot up an octave. “Will you listen to yourself? You sound like half the old biddies in town, who stayed in the beds they made because the Church had them by the throat, making them believe they had to suffer. You can get out. There are ways out.”
    “You don’t