"Layea, sweetheart, could you mind the bar?" Mrs. Ollick asked, coming into the back room. "I just need a quick break."

"Yeah, sure, mom." Layea was quick to slide a bookmark into the novel she was reading and get up, entering the bar and laying her book in the counter.

Almost immediately a woman in her forties asked for gin and tonic, and a couple of girls in their twenties ordered shots of tequila. Finally she got back to her book, and several minutes later someone asked for a beer.

It wasn't until she handed it to him that she realized who he was. "Lewis?"

His head jerked up, and he seemed surprised. "You work here?"

"My mom runs the place. Ever since I was a little girl; I used to sit and color in the back."

"Oh, I didn't know that. That must have been . . . an interesting childhood. Many barfights?"

"A few here and there. My dad once had to get twenty stitches at his jaw because he got involved in breaking one up. I think I was about eight. I remember it because he got blood on my drawing."

Lewis laughed. "Not because your dad was hurt?"

"I was eight, I didn't even look up until then!"

"You're so kind." He laughed again, and his eyes danced for a moment. "How's your friend? She was pretty tipsy when I last saw her."

"She's home," Layea rolled her eyes. "It's not really a surprise that she got drunk though. I'm always the designated driver."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-one, and she's making the most of her new eligibility."

"And you?"

"I'm almost twenty. You?"

"I'm turning twenty-four in February."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"So what are you doing here?" Layea smiled. "Where's the rest of the band?"

"At their apartments."

"And you aren't? I'd think you'd be relaxing after the show. All that energy you used, you know? Getting it all back."

"I'd rather get hammered." He mutters, but he hadn't taken more than a couple sips of his beer.

"Why?"

"To forget."

"About . . . your loss?"

"Amongst other things."

"Like what?"

He hesitated, chewing at his lower lip while he traced his finger along the rim of the mug.

"Just . . . stuff."

"Just stuff?" She gave him a small smirk. "I'm good at 'just stuff.'"

Lewis laughed, and again his eyes danced for a moment.

"Things like . . . like my life." He finally said. "It was everything I ever wanted, you know? The fame, the money, the music. It was my dream. But now. . . I guess I didn't think it all through, you know? The paparazzi, the crazy schedules, the management guys who care more about the money than the actual person. Did you know I was once so sick that I couldn't even hold water down, and they made me perform anyway?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I almost passed out on stage and I wound up being admitted to the hospital for two days, mostly because my fever was so high."

"That's insane."

"Isn't it? And everywhere I go, people notice and scream or ask for photos or autographs. At first it was fun--crazy, like a dream, but fun. Now . . . I mean, I can't even go to the store for toilet paper without somebody taking my picture."

"That must be aggravating."

"Not as aggravating as the people who pretend they like you just because people know your name."

"That happens?"

"Yeah. I forbade myself from dating actually." He sighed, looking tired again. "My last girlfriend, Alexis, was a major gold-digger. I was too blind to notice until she dumped my ass in the middle of Main Street. On my birthday, no less."

Layea winced. "Not all girls are like that."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Can you prove that to me?"

"If you let me I could."

He laughed again. "You're nice, Layea. I like you."

She ducked her head, blushing. "You're not so bad yourself, for a musician."

He grinned, and they fell silent again.

"What are you reading?" He asked, pointing to her book.

"Oh, it's To Kill a Mockingbird. Have you read it?"

"When I was younger, yeah." He nodded slowly. "I never thought much of the title though."

"Do you read much?"

Lewis nodded. "All the time. I'm on Pride & Prejudice right now. I just finished The Three Musketeers."

"I haven't read that one,"

"My mama used to tell me a watered down version, when I was a kid. She would tell it to me a lot, usually before bed. I remember refusing to go to bed one night until she told it to me, because I'd had some nightmare and didn't want to sleep."

"What was your mom like?"

"She was great when I was younger."

"And . . . now?"

"She's gone now."

"I'm sorry,"

"It was a long time ago. I was fifteen."

"What happened?"

"I'd like to say something like breast cancer, but I can't. That sounds bad. I just meant . . . something that could have been treated, at least give her a chance." Lewis's voice trembled and he ran a hand through his hair. "She . . . uh . . . well she um . . . she was kind of institutionalized, around my eleventh birthday. And uh . . . Well we would take trips and stuff, but it always scared me."

"Why was she there?"

Lewis hesitated, running his finger along the mouth of the glass again. He held back a part oft his jacket to show her a long scar on his arm.

"She tried to kill me," he said simply.

"Why?"

"Dementia,"

"I'm so sorry, Lewis." Layea whispered. Her eyes seemed glued to the scar, and he pulled his jacket back on, tighter.

He gave a sudden shiver, as though he was cold. "Sorry . . . memories."

"If you don't mind my asking . . . What happened after that? After she was institutionalized, I mean."

"Oh, well around twelve I stopped visiting--all the hallways and the people and the nurses, it scared me. All the medications and screaming, all that stuff. I still remember crying myself to sleep the first couple of nights, after the first visit. My dad didn't leave my side for a week."

"He must have cared an awful lot about you."

"He was amazing. I don't know how he did it, keeping me okay and my sister at the same time. She's a couple years younger than you, not much. She's almost eighteen. She was too young to remember it the way I do." He frowned, as if trying to remember--or, like he said, trying to forget. Maybe he was debating what to say next. "We visited twice when I was fifteen."

"You don't have to tell me any more, if you don't want to." She said softly. Again her hand found his arm, and again he just looked at it, as though surprised it was there.

"She . . . killed . . . herself." He said, very, very slowly, gauging her reaction.

"That's . . . Oh my . . . That's just . . . That's awful, I'm so, so sorry."

"She was so far gone by then that she didn't remember us at all. She was convinced her name was Carrie, and that she was married to a man named Friar Franklin. She told us she had no children, that we were crazy to be calling her 'mom.'"

"That must have been terrible."

Lewis's lower lip trembled. "I tried to get her to remember me, and for a second I thought she did--I mentioned the musketeers, and she got this weird look in her eyes. But then she hit me, and the nurse told us to leave so we couldn't be hurt more."

"You must have been scared."

"I told her I loved her," his voice cracked. "And she said she didn't know who I was. They found her body in the morning."

Layea didn't think as she wrapped her arms around him. "Are you okay?"

He took a shaky breath. "Like I said, it was a long time ago. I don't think it's my fault anymore. My sister and I haven't seen a therapist in four years."

"If you ever need to talk anyways, I'm here."

"Nobody knows any of this, by the way." He said suddenly. "James knows, but only because he's known me since we were little kids. We were about three when we met."

"I won't tell anyone," she shrugged.

"Do you and your mom have a good relationship?"

"Yeah, we do."

"You hesitated."

"She coddles. She's a coddler. She likes to coddle."

"I'd rather be coddled than have nobody."

"That's a good point. I'm sorry." She bit her lip. "I just . . . I know why she sent me out here when she did."

"Oh?"

"She saw you come in. She probably talked to Melanie. They're trying to set me up with someone but I don't know if I'd like to date yet."

"I get it. The dating part, I mean. James and Jessie have tried to persuade me a couple times, but it didn't work."

"I just realized their names are Jessie and James." Layea smirke, trying not to laugh.

It took Lewis a moment as he processed that, and then he burst out laughing. He spilled some of his beer, and as he cleaned it up with a napkin he looked at her. "You're funny."

'Thanks, I prise myself on it." She joked.

"You were mentioning somebody earlier tonight. After your dad?"

"My brother, Ned. He died when we were kids. We were twins, but he got sick and I didn't. He was four."

"I'm sorry,"

"Were you drinking before coming here?" Layea studied his eyes again. They were slightly glassy, but focused.

"Just a little, with the band."

"You should go home."

"Don't want to be lonely."

Layea thought, then tugged a napkin out of the little dispenser and clicked open a pen. When she slid the napkin to him, he smiled.

"My nymber," she smiled softly. "I'm always available."