The red plastic stirrer flicked back and forth in a straight line across the brown liquid in the rocks glass.
Mary Lou Ossian wanted to believe it was ginger ale but knew it was in the whiskey family.
Tommy sensed her there, in the driveway, looking at him on the deck, the glass.
He didn't flinch, but did work the stirrer harder, sending little flecks of whiskey onto the table they had discussed replacing with a newer, more stylish one.
“Wanna talk?” Mary Lou asked, wondering if that was the first glass of whiskey or the second or…
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