2
“They were probably blind drunk.” Vivian recalled Harvey’s declaration about her parents at their first meal together two months ago.
“They probably came here first,” she responded, because it was about the most unlikely circumstance on the planet. Her parents in an Astoria, Oregon bar was never going to happen. Especially not one like this.
Besides, it was Christmas Eve, always a big affair at the Adler mansion. Instead of surviving Mother’s endless matchmaking, it was her third day in Oregon and Vivian had nowhere else to go. It was calm and unusually cold for the Oregon Coast—just below freezing, her breath had clouded on the night air as the whole team hustled out to Workers Tavern. It lay on a dirty back street under the Astoria-Megler Bridge that spanned the Columbia River betwe
