8.

On the Saturday night, Hannah furled up beside me on the couch like a kitten. I stroked her hair and continued watching television and nursing my exhausted body. She brought a hand up my thigh and began trying to rouse me. When I declined, she got stroppy, responding with a locked bedroom door between us. My apology through the wood only resulted in her turning the music up.

Crossing James Island, the only one between Johns Island and downtown Charleston, I passed a bar recessed into a dirt parking lot. The gaps between trucks parked in its lot were too small to fit another, though I squeezed the Miata into one with ease. The courtyard at the rear of the place was like a large deck with no roof. It had a tree in the middle and a stage in the corner. The band played under fairy lights running throughout the tree and reaching out to meet the tops of the mural-covered walls and stage. On the opposite side was the bar; I took a seat and lit a cigarette. The scene gave me the same sensation I’d first had when I arrived in Charleston. The bartender drummed his fingers against the bar top in time with the music. He saw I was wanting and came over, flashing a smile through a perfectly sculpted goatee. He had the eyes of a child. His face could’ve wrinkled and decayed around them, but nothing was corrupting those eyes. I ordered a beer, a shot of whiskey and we shook hands.

‘Australia, eh? How’d you end up in Chucktown of all places?’

‘It’s a long story, Mick. But don’t worry; there’ll be plenty of time to tell it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, feeling good, looking around as the band finished a song to the applause and whistles of their audience under the hanging lights. ‘I think I’m gonna be here for a while.’

Hannah’s car was out front when I returned to the apartment. I opened the bedroom door to find her sitting up against the bedhead with a lace top on and a book in her hands. The covers were draped over bent legs and a half-empty wine bottle sat on her bedside table.

‘How was your night?’ she asked.

‘It was alright. And yours?’

She took her glasses off and put them next to the bottle. Then closed the book and did the same.

‘I have a question, Mark.’

‘Shoot.’

‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Do you think I’m another one of the “dumb fucks” you talk about so often?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Do you think I took you in off the street so you could use my bed and my body and then ignore me?’

‘No. You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ve just been exhausted.’

‘I haven’t asked for anything from you. Not even rent.’

‘I know.’

She pulled the covers off and brought her legs apart. Her exposed carnation was in full bloom.

‘Now this, I am not asking for.’

I scratched my beard, slipped my boots off and crawled onto the bed up to her. She reached down between her knees, ran her fingers through my hair and squeezed. Her head pivoted back as she bit her lip and ushered me downwards. I looked into her, took a deep breath, and paid what I owed.