Part 7 (2/2)
”What do you think they wanted?” Charlie asked, swiping a chicken wing through the ranch dressing.
After my run-in with the Longmont cops, I'd driven straight over the mountain-or rather around it-to the Dubliner, shaken up and not wanting to be alone. Sometimes walking into a dark, empty house by yourself is more than you can stand.
”No idea.” I didn't feel like going into my meeting with Nicki at the Chop Shop, which would prompt more questions about my wife and life.
We sat outside on the tiki porch, Charlie enjoying his ice-cold beer in the ice and cold, licking microwaved BBQ sauce off his fingers, savoring flavors like he was dining on grade A, choice cut. I was s.h.i.+vering b.a.l.l.s. My stomach muscles ached, throat raw from retching and breathing fire. My attempts to quit smoking had proved as successful as my efforts to play family man. Now back up to over a pack a day, I exhibited no signs of slowing down.
”So they pull you over. Kick the s.h.i.+t out of you. Then let you go?”
”Pretty much.” I regretted mentioning the incident to Charlie, but you can't show up looking like I did without offering some explanation.
”Weird.”
I fired another cigarette. I couldn't be certain that cop had dated Nicki. He sure seemed to have a thing for her. Even if it was one-way, Fatal Attraction s.h.i.+t, I wasn't calling to find out.
”Maybe you should talk to Turley.”
”What for?”
”He's a cop.”
”Being a police officer is not like being a member of the f.u.c.king moose lodge.”
”I know but maybe he can reach out. Y'know, vouch for you.”
”Vouch for what? Being okay to drive through their s.h.i.+t-heel town? Trust me. I'm not going back to Longmont anytime soon.”
”Why were you out there anyway?”
”Favor. For a friend.” I left it there. Charlie didn't press what or for whom.
After a few minutes, he said, ”Isn't Longmont where your brother stayed sometimes?
”Yeah. They have a Y over there. Your point?”
”Chris was always getting in trouble. Maybe they knew about you from one of his screw-jobs.”
”Possible.” I doubted it. That beat-down felt far more personal.
”Isn't that where your brother met that girlfriend of his? What was her name? The one you talked to last year when he went missing? Cat something?”
”Kitty. Katherine. I don't know her last name. I'm not sure they were dating. She was a junkie, too. Chris met her there though, yeah. What are you getting at?”
”I'm not getting at anything. Just trying to have a conversation with my friend who showed up looking like he'd gone twelve rounds with one of the Klitschkos.”
”Sorry.” I was being a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I still stewed over Jenny and neighbor Stephen, my inability to do a d.a.m.n thing about it.
”How are things with Jenny?” Charlie asked, picking my thoughts out of the radio waves. ”You able to patch things back up?”
”Not exactly.”
Charlie waited for the rest. Clipped answers weren't going to cut it. I filled him in on my macho bulls.h.i.+t at Lynne's. How I'd threatened to punch a guy in the head for eating lunch with my wife. Charlie could usually find the silver lining in my storm cloud, fake an attempt that this too shall pa.s.s. Not this time.
”d.a.m.n,” was all he said before turning away to sift through the bird bone graveyard.
”Yeah, I know. I f.u.c.ked up. You don't have to remind me. Having my mother-in-law whispering in my wife's ear isn't helping.” Lynne couldn't come right out and tell Jenny she was better off without me-Jenny, no matter how mad she was at me, would never tolerate her mom openly disparaging the father of her child-but Lynne could still snake the gardens, plant subtle seeds of discontent. Sow enough of them, then she sits back and waits for the things to bloom next time I say something stupid. Which, in my case, was only a matter of time.
”What are you going to do?” Charlie asked.
”What can I do? Jenny ordered me to stay away. I can't go all caveman clubbing down doors and dragging her back. I can't let Aiden see me like that again.”
Charlie didn't say anything.
”I don't get it. This was all I wanted, man. Jenny and my son. The three of us together. A family. And now that I have it, every move I make just seems to make things worse. Even when I manage to do something right-like breaking this case at work and putting myself in line for a promotion-I still screw it up. I went up there to tell Jenny the good news in person. We can move to Concord, get out of here. Get away from all-” I swept my arm out over the breadth of my hometown ”-this.” I drained my pint. ”Maybe it's not meant to be.”
”What?”
”Jenny and me. A contented, regular life. Peace.”
Charlie slapped me on the back. ”You want to crash at my place again?”
”No. Thanks, man.” I'd only had the one beer. ”I have work in the morning.” I'd burned up whatever favor I'd curried with DeSouza by taking off the whole afternoon. I couldn't do anything else to jeopardize this promotion.
I wasn't looking forward to going back to an empty house, any more than I was waking up at the a.s.s crack of dawn and heading back into that claptrap of an office. In fact, when I gazed into my future, all I saw was dread on the horizon. That little light of mine, Concord, wasn't a perk any longer. I now needed it for the win.
Driving back to Plasterville, a song came over the radio. ”Your Love” by The Outfield, this old song from the '80s that had been a running joke between Jenny and me ever since high school. I used to sing it to her when we first started dating, and later on, too, because it always made her laugh. The song was about the singer's girlfriend, Jenny, being out of town, and so he invites a younger girl over to spend the night. I'd tease Jenny, belting out the opening line: ”Jenny's on a vacation far away . . .” I have a terrible voice, and Jenny would tell me to stop, the song's message awful, but she'd giggle anyway. Except when I listened to the words tonight, I realized I'd gotten it wrong all these years. The girl's name in the song wasn't Jenny at all; it was Josie. I'd been singing to the wrong girl.
CHAPTER NINE.
THE MORNING HAD already gotten off to a rocky start. I hadn't been able to sleep a lick the night before. Those kicks to my stomach had messed up something inside me. Hurt like h.e.l.l every time I tried to take a p.i.s.s. Which couldn't be good. I contemplated a trip to the hospital, but dismissed the idea. I hated doctors. I didn't even have a general pract.i.tioner, and no way was I visiting the ER in the middle of the night. I'd wait until I literally began p.i.s.sing blood before I endured that freak show.
Even though she'd cautioned me against calling, I still tried phoning my wife. Didn't matter. Jenny wasn't taking my calls. And my mother-in-law wasn't looking to do any favors.
Wet, cold slop filled the roadways, precipitation stuck between solid and liquid states, which only made a mess of things, weighing down the world. A felled tree and knocked-over telephone pole detoured traffic past the lumberyard, and the moron cas.h.i.+er at the Dunkin' Donuts drive-through added another half hour to my morning commute. I got to work late. Stepping into the office, pant cuffs stained with rock salt, my socks wet and toes squishy, I got a rude reminder that yesterday's victory was an apparition, and any celebration short-lived.
DeSouza stood at the gateway, curling a finger for me to follow him into his office. There was no smile this time. My coworkers, so quick to congratulate and praise me just a day earlier, now shuffled with their heads down, noses in their coffee, careful to look the other way.
When I stepped inside the boss's office, the heavy office door closed behind me with an ominous thud.
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