Before Ever After by Samantha Sotto Page A

hers. She clenched her teeth when Max followed Miren behind the counter. Dex took the empty seat.
    “So, what can I get everyone?” Miren handed out bowls of peanuts. “Guinness all around?”
    “Thank you, but I think it’s too early in the day for me to be drinking,” Jonathan said. A peanut disappeared behind his white beard.
    “I’ll have a pint, dear,” Rose chirped.
    Jonathan choked on a half-chewed nut. “Oh, all right. I’ll have one, too.”
    “That’s the spirit.” Brad grinned.
    “How about you, luv?” Max asked Shelley.
    “Well, you know what they say—when in Paris do as the Irish do,” Shelley said. “I’d hate to be the only one not sick all over your van tomorrow.” She knew, however, that she would not feel the slightest bit guilty if she contributed her share of bile onto the Volkswagen’s green shag carpet. Seeing Max standing next to Miren did not bring out her considerate side.
    Miren smiled and began pouring beer into mugs.
    “Ah, yes, the dreaded hangover,” Max said. “Did you know that in Myanmar the phrase for hangover means ‘clapper of the temple bell’?”
    “On second thought, I’ll have a Coke,” Shelley said. Jealousy was not worth a pounding migraine.
    “Trust me,” Max said, “no one has to worry about hangovers or clanging bells with Miren around. In fact, that’s why we’re here. There’s a little potion she makes that I’d like all of you to try.”
    “It’s what this old tub is famous for,” Miren said, beaming, “that and our perfectly poured Guinness and potato pancakes. This is the only place the blokes can drink themselves under the table and not worry about their heads exploding in the morning—thanks to Max and his secret recipe.”
    “Well, it’s not my recipe, really,” Max said. “It was Adrien’s.”
    The name was familiar, Shelley thought. Where had she heard it before? Then she remembered that she had not. She had seen it. The memorycrept back to an elegant cursive, painting gold letters on an olive leaf. It was one of the names on the mosaic in Isabelle’s tomb.
    “Who’s Adrien?” Simon asked.
    “Isabelle’s great-grandfather. It is his story we shall entertain ourselves with next,” Max said. “But first we drink.”
    Shelley watched Max help Miren prepare their drinks with choreographed ease. She wondered how many times they had done this before. She felt a pain in her throat thinking of what else Max had done—and might still be doing with this woman.
    “How about a toast?” Brad asked Miren.
    Miren raised her mug and smiled broadly. “To your wives and girlfriends,” she said, “may they never meet.”
    The group laughed. Shelley did not.
    Miren drained her mug in one swig and licked the froth off her upper lip. “Excuse me for a moment while I whip up Adrien’s little potion.” She left the bar through a door in the back of the room.
    Max leaned his elbows on the counter in front of Shelley. “Miren’s an old friend.”
    “Of course.” Shelley immediately regretted her clipped tone. “I mean, yes, that’s lovely. Old friends are lovely. I have a lot of old flames, er, friends, myself.”
    Brad nudged Simon’s knee under the counter. “Why don’t we finish our drinks outside? I’d like to take some pictures from the deck.”
    “Uh, okay.” Simon shrugged and got to his feet.
    “Splendid idea,” Jonathan said. “I think we’ll join you.”
    “Max, would you be a dear and call us back in when Miren returns?” Rose asked.
    Dex sipped his beer.
    Rose tapped his shoulder and smiled. “Coming, Dex?”
    “Oh. Um, sure.” He stood up. “Shelley?”
    Shelley shook her head and dove into her beer. The rest of the group filed out of the room.
    “Darts?” Max asked Shelley.
    “Sure.” Picturing Miren’s face on the dartboard, she thought, couldbe mildly satisfying. She walked over to the corner of the bar where the dartboard was set up. She picked up a dart, got a feel for its weight, and