by Trixie More
Tommy shut the locker, leaving the card inside. He started walking to the door.
“No shower?” Marco asked. Tommy walked out while the man was still laughing.
There was only so much a person could take. Sophia centered the word “Congratulations” on the screen on her phone and snapped a picture of the cake her coworkers had bought for her. She posted it, giving it a little comment—I’m gonna miss these guys—and a #Thankful #NewJob.
It should read #liar, she thought. She tucked her phone away, feeling hot and uncomfortable, like her socks were too tight, or her bra was on the wrong hook. Something was off, underneath—where nobody else could see. She’d slept on the couch last night, hiding from the idea of marrying Ben. She’d buried herself in her work all day, hiding from the well-wishing and oh-my-goshing. Her life was moving in directions that seemed to have nothing to do with her.
I’m not that girl, am I? The one whose life just sort of happens to her? Sophia absently accepted a plate of cake.
“Earth to Sophia. When are you moving over there?” Ashley dragged her index finger through the icing on her plate and tucked the digit into her mouth.
“Ashley, five people saw you do that. You better wash your hands before you touch anything, girl,” Monica said, eyeing the curvy blond suspiciously. Monica’s gold eyeshadow made her almond eyes even more exotic in her ebony face. Her dress was bright and impeccable. Monica was the kind of woman you couldn’t look away from. Not beautiful in a classic sense, but hypnotic in the way she’d stylized herself. She was also a germaphobe.
“I’m packing my desk today,” Sophia said. She tried not to whine, but it kinda slipped out anyway.
“You’re sure not making this look fun,” Ashley observed, slicing a second sliver of cake. She’d pick away at the thing until it was gone if they let her.
“One piece, Ash,” Sophia said with her first smile of the day. “Just take a whole piece and be done with it.”
Monica took the knife from Ashley and unceremoniously whacked off a three inch section. She dropped it onto Ashley’s plate. “There, I’ll hold this plate while you go disinfect.” She pointed one long, slender finger with its perfect golden fingernail at the ladies’ room. Ashley looked at the plate for a second and then left obediently.
“So,” Monica said, “now that she’s gone, wanna tell me why you’re having a pity party over getting a job the rest of us would kill for?”
“Connelly,” Sophia said.
“That two-year-old nothing of a case? That’s what’s got you all up and sorry for yourself?”
“Yeah, Monica, yeah. That old case is what I’m pissed about. I want to work that, and I can’t do it from Cybercrime.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why can’t you work it from Cybercrime?” Monica forked up a bite of cake. “It’s not like Jack lets you work it here either, and yet, you still seem to find a way.” She shrugged. “My God. This cake is divine!”
“I won’t be working with Bronx PD anymore. I’ll be in Manhattan.”
“And what? You think the people involved just get to the city limit and turn back?” Monica’s forehead creased. “You seriously haven’t thought this out, girl. Don’t you think it’s likely that if they’re loan sharking that they’re also doing something online with the money?”
“I guess I just was so focused on where I wanted to go, that I didn’t think about it,” Sophia said. “You know, Cybercrime wasn’t what I thought I wanted, and I never stopped to ask myself if it should be.”
“You know what I think?” From the look on her friend’s face, Sophia was pretty sure she didn’t want to know.
“What?”
“I think you’re so used to getting everything you decide you want, you don’t appreciate the things that just arrive on your doorstop.”
“That’s cold, Monica.”
“I don’t see you appreciatin’ this cake. Just sayin’.”
Her friend’s words came back to her over and over as Sophia packed her desk, labeled the boxes, and stacked them to be moved to Manhattan. Why not? Why couldn’t this promotion be the best thing that ever happened to her? She’d almost talked herself into it by the time the three women left the building.
Sophia hugged her friends, stood on the sidewalk, snapped a few more shots of the glass and concrete building she’d been working at since her internship, and posted them online. Then, she sent a text to Derrick.
Where are you?
The response, as always, was immediate.
Deb’s
Sophia sent him a smile emoji and tightened the belt on her coat, heading to the subway entrance that would take her toward George’s wife and away from Ben.
The train ride was without incident or drama. She carried her “Fuck off” persona with her on the street, looking men squarely in the eye, her raincoat and flats sending out the message—nothing to see here. When she emerged into the quieter neighborhood where George and Deb had their little Cape Cod house, she relaxed.
Chickenshit, she thought. She was smart enough to know she was delaying going home, delaying seeing Ben. The house had a small concrete walkway that split the tiny front lawn. That tiny lawn gave Deb something many didn’t have, a bigger backyard with grass, a little enclosed porch, a one-car garage. It was a mini-suburban utopia here in the Bronx, and it was nothing that Sophia wanted.
She stopped, one foot on the cement stairs. Why don’t I want a backyard for my children? She wasn’t even sure she wanted children at all. What’s wrong with me? A fist gripped her lungs, her lips moving to an unstoppable tremor. Sophia closed her eyes, gripped the cold metal railing and willed herself to stay together. Suddenly, visiting Deb, seeing her kids, her domesticity, her loyalty to George, didn’t seem like a good idea. Sophia hesitated, glanced at the house. No one knew she was here.
She started to turn. The sound of the door opening caught her.
Shit, she thought. Sophia did a crazy half step turning back to the house and forced herself to commit to mounting the steps. The wooden door swung open. Double shit. The man standing there, looking down at her, was not her brother.
“Hey, pretty lady,” Ben said, and she frowned at the words, so falsely happy, so not what she wanted to be known as.
If she didn’t live with the guy, she would have turned and left. Ben would have followed her, her reluctance egging him on, driving him to solve her like a puzzle. What a mess they were in.
“Hey, yourself, handsome guy,” she said, keeping her voice soft. She climbed the endless five stairs, and kissed his cheek, feeling his strong arm around her, hand sliding down to rest on her waist as she passed. She walked down the interior hall like a woman on the way to her sentencing, entering the kitchen, fearful of seeing all the things she was not. Deb cooking dinner, kids clinging to her legs, Ben laughing with her.
Instead, nothing was being cooked, Deb was yelling at her offspring, the sink was piled high with dishes and Derrick was filling the wash basin.
Thank God, thought Sophia, rushing toward her brother like she was escaping the Titanic, leaving the weaker to sink with the ship. He turned and looked down at her, eyes smiling.
“Hey, Derrick,” she said and gave him a kiss that felt real. “How come you’re always doing dishes?”
“The little weasels built a volcano using my pots and mixing bowls,” Deb announced. “The masterpiece is on my cookie tray. The only problem is they used the dirt from my garden to do it.” Deb wiped her forearm over her brow. The little weasels, a boy, and girl who were no longer so little, marched ahead of her. “Upstairs and get out of those clothes. In the bathroom! Do not walk into your bedrooms like that!”
Deb watched until they’d climbed up the oak staircase and disappeared into the hall above them. She returned to the kitchen.
“Hey, Soph,” Deb said, smiling. The hug she gave Sophia was warm and friendly. “How ya doing?”
Great question, Sophia thought.
Derrick turned and looked at them. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Sophia said. She kept her eyes on Derrick. He loved her. That she knew for sure. He wished only good for her, with no thought for himself. “I’m working on deciding if I’m happy about it.”
He shrugged. “Say no.”
“I can’t. That’s not one of the options.”
Derrick handed her a wet bowl, and she glanced around for a towel. There was one wadded up and stuffed next to a cake pan on the counter, apparently used to pull the thing from the oven. From beneath it, she could see just the corner of a cell phone. Deb came up and handed her a clean towel and Sophia started drying, feeling better right away. Action, that was Derrick’s answer to everything and in this, quiet work, both she and her brother found comfort.
I never cook or do dishes at home. Sophia turned and glanced over her shoulder at Ben. He was seated at the kitchen table, ankle resting on his knee, head bent over his cell phone.
Deb came over and took the dry bowl, stuffing it into a cabinet.
“Received any texts from George lately?” Sophia tried to make it sound casual, but it brought the little scene to a halt.
“Christ, Sophia! Give it a rest.” Frustration laced Ben’s voice; she heard his foot strike the floor with a thump. Beside her, Derrick stopped moving. There was a silent moment and then he rinsed the dish in his hand and passed it to her.
Deb flicked the towel on the counter and moved the cake pan. The cell phone wasn’t visible anymore. She didn’t look at Sophia when she answered. “He says he’s fine.”
“Anything else?” Beside her, Derrick tapped his foot against hers. “Can you text him and find out when he’s coming home?”
Deb turned and headed toward the hall. “Not for a while yet,” she said, and they heard her calling to her kids as she headed up the stairs.
“Deb’s not getting texts anymore, is she, Derrick?”
Her brother kept scrubbing. “Not what she said, Soph.”
“Do you have a hearing problem, Soph? She just told you she was,” Ben said, anger seeping into his voice. Her heart sped up, and for one hot second, she wished they were home, wished she could act on the unexpected feelings his anger brought out in her. What the hell was wrong with her? Unaware of the turmoil inside her, Ben kept right on ranting.
“He’s fine, he’s not ready to come home. That’s all, end of story.”
Derrick nudged her, and she accepted the stainless steel saucepan he was handing her.
“Her cell phone is right there, under that towel,” Sophia said, gesturing with the pan.
“Not happening, Sophia.” Ben came up behind her, his chest touching her back as he reached around her. His frustration was palpable. Ben grabbed up the phone and stalked out of the kitchen.
Why in the world would it be now that she felt attracted to him? Sophia cleared her throat. “I think that went well, don’t you, Der?”
He cleared his throat. “Huh. Well.” She could practically see him trying to find a new topic. After a minute, Derrick succeeded.
“That guy’s getting out,” he said. “It’s gonna be hard on Ed and Dot.”
“What? Who?”
“He tried to kidnap Allison’s roommate.” Her brother shrugged.
“Dorothy?”
“Yeah, Doug’s his name.” Derrick handed her a plate.
The memory came to Sophia quickly. Perhaps, because she’d never really forgotten it. His eyes, blue and pale, looking at her from across a courtroom; her, dropping her pen on the floor, bending to retrieve it and looking up, right into his eyes, electricity bolting through her veins, following her arteries and hitting her in the chest like lightning.
She for sure knew his name, and she wished she could say she didn’t.
Chapter 4
The day was overcast, that much Doug could tell from the bit of sky showing through the high, wire reinforced windows. He could not believe that he was about to walk out the door of this prison on time. His attorney had promised him it would be two years, but Doug had been afraid to count on it. Doug shifted his weight a bit, but he didn’t move his feet. Simply standing there, waiting for the most important meeting of his life, was enough. Today, Tommy would be there to pick him up and that meeting, seeing his friend, outside, under the gloomy sky, was all the destiny he had at the moment. After getting back to his home, showering, eating a meal he chose himself, walking back to his apartment and doing any fucking thing he wanted, after all that—his life could begin again.
“You ready, Lloyd?” The guard approached him, face dispassionate. It was hard to tell what the guy thought, and that was fine with Doug. He knew what he looked like.
Doug nodded. He was leaving this purgatory, this place that had acted as a giant pause button in the life he was trying to live, and he was taking a boatload of brand new skillz with him. Shiny minted talents like how to make a shiv, how to take a punch, how to fight like a demon and how to simply not react. That one there, that was the one he’d been practicing before he’d come in and that was the one that had probably saved his life.
I thought I was tough before, he thought. What did I know? He smirked. There was no question that the place had changed him and not for the better. One thing he knew was, he would never pretend to be anything other than himself again. Not to please a guard, not to sweet talk an investor, not to convince a bunch of tree-huggers to work for him or to get an inside track for a board of directors seat. Not that he expected to be doing much of any of those things. If Tommy was right, they had to rebuild the business from the ground up. Maybe this time, he’d make Tommy the face of things, let him talk to all the two-faced people, do all the wining, dining, whatever. After all, his name wouldn’t be helping them this time.
“Let’s go, convict,” the guard said. One final round of dehumanization, and he was on a bus and then finally, walking away, his possessions in a plastic sack under his arm. Free.
“Doug!” Tommy’s smile was broad and sunny, genuinely happy as he rounded the back of the neon green car, arms open and welcoming. “Man! You’re out, dude!”
Inside him, euphoria, freedom, a feeling of expansive happiness welled, but outside, he was stiff.
I’m going to be myself, he told himself sternly. Reaching for Tommy, he accepted the hug, feeling as awkward as if he had his pants on backward. He slapped his friend’s back twice and consciously allowed himself to smile. What he must look like, he had no clue. He cleared his throat.
Thank the guy, you idiot, he told himself.
“Tommy, thanks for coming out to get me,” he tried. For his part, Tommy just looked at him side-eyed.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Tommy said. He gestured toward the car. “You want to drive?”
Drive. It had been two years since he’d driven. “Yeah, Tommy. I do.”
The ride was eye opening for Doug. From the way he gripped the strap above his head, Tommy felt the same way.
“Dude, you gotta commit here. Pick a damn lane,” Tommy complained.
Doug stopped weaving through the traffic. It had been two years since he’d been outside the walls of his state mandated housing, and now, he suddenly felt the vastness of the world, the sheer complexity of it. High buildings, people moving en masse through the streets, cars—so many and in so many colors. “What a freakin’ trip,” he said. Tommy looked at him. “I had no idea how much I was missing.”
“Huh,” Tommy grunted.
“Huh, what?”
“Just, huh.” Tommy wasn’t smiling anymore.
“The world, it just seems so complex right now,” Doug continued. “It was limited in there, and I didn’t realize how simple my world had become, how small.”
“Funny. While you were in there, my world was a hell of a lot more complex, that’s for damn sure.”
“Well, then it’s time to trade back,” Doug said. A feeling of uncertainty flooded him. Trading back, getti
ng back to trading, back to running his business, back to making money. It was what he’d been waiting for two years for. The kicker was, the idea of making more and more and more didn’t get him jumped up anymore. He wanted to get back what he’d lost, but then? The future beyond that was a very dim arena. All those days inside and he hadn’t found the right answer to the question of after. “Do I still have the same apartment?” he asked.
Tommy shrugged. “Yeah, for now. It’s not easy to move property that expensive. We need just the right buyer.”
“Hang on,” Doug said. He hit the accelerator, and the car hesitated, then caught, merging awkwardly onto Grand Central Parkway. “What the heck made you buy this car?”
“It’s not mine. It’s a shared ride.” Tommy leaned his seat back a bit.
“Where’s the Mercedes?”
His friend looked at him, face stern, eyes hard, and Doug felt a shock run through him. He counted on Tommy to be laid-back, to be his helper. Right now, Tommy sure as hell didn’t look like the sidekick. He looked like he thought he was the boss.
“I sold it,” Tommy said flatly. “We didn’t need it, and I needed the cash.”
An uneasy feeling shifted through Doug.
“Fine. When I get things sorted out, I’ll buy two. One for you and one for me.” There. That felt right.
“Doug.”
He glanced over at Tommy. The guy didn’t look grateful for the offer. In fact, he was looking at him with disdain, of all things.
“I don’t think you fully appreciate where the business is at.”
“There’s three million left. I started with one hundred dollars and falsified bank papers. What’s to appreciate, Tommy?”
“There are a lot of things that are bleeding that money. The rent on the corporate location, the mortgage on your penthouse, our salaries, taxes, everything.” Tommy was staring at him like he had two heads. “That money is shrinking faster than a puddle in the desert.”
Doug focused on the road ahead of them, his jaw tight, back straight, chin lifted. It was just money, the most important thing on the planet, and if he knew one thing, he knew how to make money from money.
