21 NoraAt five-fifteen on Friday, Nora slipped into Sonny’s Tavern. The stale scent of ancient cigarette fumes assaulted her nose.
Four years after Oregon banned smoking in bars, the stink embedded in the walls overpowered the astringent odor of powerful disinfectant.
She spotted Sonny behind the bar, wearing his trademark white bib-apron over a flannel shirt.
Neon beer signs tinted his bald dome green. A hefty man in his sixties, he still looked capable of expelling an unwelcome patron.
When she was a teenager, he’d kicked her out at least twenty times. But gently, after giving her a minute to ask her mother whatever question had forced her to track down Patty-Jean for an answer.
When he saw her, a grin split his jowly face. He quickly switched his expression to severe and pointed at
