After the Rain by Chuck Logan Page B

dare, in Minneapolis, after the Army, during my brief bartender career.”
    “Why brief?”
    She took a long pull on her drink. “Because I met this guy and put off going to college a second time to marry him.”
    “And you been with him ever since,” Ace said.
    Nina finished her drink and emphatically thumped the empty glass on the table. “Not now I ain’t.”
    “Look,” Ace said. “The way I see it you can call your husband and have him come pick up your kid and continue on with the lovely Jane. Or you go back with him and give your marriage another try, which is better for the kid.”
    Nina’s eyes flashed up. “Really?”
    “Yeah. Kids from intact bad marriages do better than ones from broken homes.”
    She regarded him carefully. “You figure that out on your own?”
    “Nope, this counselor told me and my wife that to keep us from splitting up. Didn’t work. But my mom stayed with my dad, whichprobably kept me and my brother and sister from turning out even worse than we did. What about your folks?”
    She shrugged. “They stayed married but he was never there when I was growing up. He was in the Army.” She chewed a lip, shook her glass so the ice at the bottom made a chilly rattle. Then she looked away. “And then one day he was really gone.
    “Missing, they called it. Twenty years later, the Vietnamese turned over his remains: 1995.” She held up her empty glass until she had the bartender’s attention, then she turned her smoky eyes back on Ace. “So those are my two choices?”
    “Or you could try something different.” Ace said, trying his best to look reasonable and helpful.
    “I just tried something different.” She looked him over like a piece of merchandise when she said that, and Ace couldn’t tell if she was deciding to buy or walk away.
    Then, after a few seconds, she said, “You’re staring.”
    “Tell me what happened with your ear.”
    She shook her head. “Nah, not yet. Maybe when I know you better. Try again.”
    “Okay. Pryce, is that your husband’s name?”
    “Uh-uh. His name’s Broker.”
    “So you didn’t take his name.”
    “And he didn’t take mine.”
    “ O-kay. What about your pal Jane? That hatchet thing around her neck,” he said, exploring.
    Nina smiled. “You ever hear anybody call a woman a battle ax?”
    Ace thought about it. “Sure, my Aunt Bea.”
    “Was Aunt Bea a sweet soft thing, dependent on a man?”
    “More like leather braid soaked in vinegar. Outlived two husbands.”
    “Uh-huh. See, Jane says it’s one of those clues buried in the language. That ax is called a labrys . In ancient Greek paintings, like on vases, there’s pictures of the Amazons carrying them in battle. A lot of lesbians and feminists are into the symbolism.”
    “I can dig it,” Ace said, warming to the gin and the conversation. “I’m sort of into Greek mythology myself. You ever read The Myth of Sisyphus ?”
    She squinted, thought; decided how to play it. “The guy chained to the rock. The birds come every day to tear out his guts.”
    Ace shook his head. “That’s Prometheus.”
    “Okay, then Sisyphus is the other guy with the rock. He pushes it up a hill over and over as punishment.”
    “Bingo. The original uphill battle. I got this theory that Sisyphus is really a German-Norwegian farmer who’s trying to make a go on eight hundred acres up on the border by Hannah,” Ace said as his best grin spread over his face.
    “You’re turning out different than I first expected,” she said frankly.
    “Yep. I’m not like the others.” He held her gaze for a moment. “So Jane’s an Amazon, huh?”
    Nina sniffed, retreated back into her foul mood, and sounded irritated. “Jane wants to be a lot of things. Since I’ve known her she’s wanted to a poet and a caterer but what she really does is wait on tables in this restaurant in Minneapolis.”
    Ace squinted, thoughts revolving just behind his eyes. “So how’d you two…”
    Nina jerked the corner