Four Letter Word

by J. Daniels

  Easy. Bill Fucking Murray.

  Venkman? Really?

  Hell yeah. He’s a legend.

  I think out of all the Ghostbusters, I’d want to have dinner with Janine.

  Janine wasn’t a Ghostbuster, babe.

  She was, sort of.

  No.

  She had a major role in the films.

  No.

  And the coolest hair in 2.

  Didn’t make her a Ghostbuster.

  She worked with them! Guilty by association.

  She have a proton pack? Flight suit?

  She had the coolest hair on the show, Brian!

  I laughed and dropped my head back against the Adirondack chair I was lounging in, my bare feet braced on the railing that wrapped around the deck and my eyes skyward, watching an airplane’s lights blink against dark blue night.

  Two and a half weeks of Wild and I was hooked on our conversations, every single type of conversation with her.

  Talking. Texting. Random thoughts she’d share with me. Invading questions I avoided and ones like this that were simple and pointless and I knew, deep in my marrow and veins and ventricles, persuaded answers from me she’d never forget, because that’s the kind of girl Sydney was.

  A forever girl. A note-taker. A memorizer.

  If it was important or insignificant, she held on to it. It didn’t matter.

  She held on.

  She’d remember fifty years from now what movie role I would want to star in or what my last meal on earth would be. Even if we didn’t still have this, she’d remember and think back, smiling with those dimples she told me she inherited from her mother, the ones she liked instead to say she inherited from her brother.

  He was the coolest person she’d ever met.

  We shared and laughed. Fuck, she made me laugh a lot. Talked real shit, too. Personal shit that walked the line of too personal, and if it faltered, I’d cut it down and divert her, because I couldn’t…I couldn’t.

  She asked me if I lived at the beach, saying she knew I was in North Carolina because of my area code and that it was okay, I could tell her and maybe, Trouble, oh, my God, wouldn’t it be amazing if we both lived in the same town?

  She asked me what type of business I owned, because I gave vague job information to pacify her and she wanted more, she wanted everything, what and where and how long.

  She wanted what I spent my days doing, because she had my nights.

  Just tell me, Brian. What’s the big deal?

  She asked my age and what I looked like. If my hair was dark or long or soft if she touched it, if it curled fresh out of the shower or if it fell annoyingly in my eyes.

  What color are they, Brian? Brown and green and gold like mine? Tell me.

  She asked me what detergent I used so she could use it, too, and imagine she never had to ask these questions, because she knew me and my smell. My habits and hates. She knew my nose was poker straight and my jaw was square and clean shaven. She knew I was tall enough that her ear could rest against my heart, and my hands were bigger than hers and I liked to hold tighter, just a little tighter than she did.

  I gave what I could, and only what I could, my fingers itching to type more, just tell her, fuck it, and my tongue pressing against my palate to prevent speech.

  She couldn’t know too much. She could never know.

  Never.

  I gave her enough so I could still have her, but I took everything.

  Every fucking thing. It was mine and she wanted me to have it. She gave it up. She was perfect that way. She was perfect in every way.

  Red hair. Hazel eyes. Moles she hated, two on her face and two on her neck. The scar that ran in the bend in her elbow from a bicycle accident when she was eight and the piercing on her belly she got on a dare when she was sixteen, lying and saying she was eighteen to get it.

  How she loved to cook but couldn’t do it well enough, leaving her with four recipes she held dear and perfected.

  How she drank Godiva Milk Chocolate Hot Cocoa every night with whole milk, nothing less, adding her own mini marshmallows so she could control the sweetness and liking it that way, and drinking it no matter what the temperature was outside.

  How she loved a winter sky and the first signs of spring, and how she donated blood every year because it was important and everyone should do it.

  If you could save a life, what’s stopping you?

  I took it all and it was good. So fucking good.

  But I took only what I could handle.

  I knew if I let her tell me where she worked, I would go there no matter how far away it was and I would look at her closely and openly where she could see it, where she could see me, and I didn’t know if she was the type of girl who watched porn. We talked about everything but we didn’t talk about shit like that. It didn’t seem important. But I couldn’t risk her recognizing me and reacting, ending this when I wasn’t nearly finished.

  If I allowed her to tell me her last name, I’d search. If I allowed her to tell me where she lived, I’d move.

  My world was one miserable mistake-shaping second after another, except for the breaks in my misery that belonged to her.

  And no way was I ready to give that up.

  Best two and a half weeks of my life came from a girl who was never meant to give me anything.

  And she was giving me everything.

  I was still smiling with the sounds of waves and wind surrounding me as I focused on the life in my hands, typed my question, and waited.

  What about you, Wild? Who do you want to have dinner with?

  That smile vanished the second I read her response.

  Alive? You. Dead? Barrett.

  Because what the fuck was worth smiling over. She’d never get her shot at either.

  Chapter Eight

  SYDNEY

  Girls’ nights are awesome just being what they are, getting together with your friends and getting loud and laughing a lot, but throw in a theme and a very creative wardrobe courtesy of your best friend and they become a whole new level of awesome.

  And tonight’s theme was eighties night.

  I was in luck. Red hair teased out and sprayed stiff looked totally kick-ass on me.

  I felt wild. I liked feeling wild. It made me think of Brian.

  And I really liked thinking about him.

  Kali got her mom to keep Cameron so she could come out with the girls, which included myself, Tori, and Shay, who looked like she stepped straight out of a Madonna video with her black mesh top concealing little of her black lace bra, a black tutu over black tights, spiked black pumps, and bangles covering her arms, all in black and metal. Her hair was teased high enough to reach heaven and she had star earrings dangling from her ears that touched her shoulders.

  She looked rocker chic and could totally pull wearing stuff like that daily if she wanted to.

  I told her that and she said she’d consider it, joking how much her tips would probably increase if she did just that.

  Kali kept it simple with a Flashdance-style oversized sweatshirt that hung off her shoulder, black leggings, and leg warmers. She said she couldn’t fit into cute stuff yet because she still had fifteen pounds to lose from being pregnant with Cameron, which the three of us argued.

  She looked hot and had great curves. And the men in the bar were taking notice of those curves every time she stood up, so she stopped hating what she was wearing about fifteen minutes into our night.

  Tori and I stuck to similar looks—neon tanks and bright-colored tutus over fishnets, multicolored bangles on our wrists, and the highest heels we owned, mine being hot pink Jimmy Choos I’d purchased at the Nordstrom sale last year and cherished with all of my heart.

  They were patent leather and made my calves look amazing.

  And when you find heels that make your calves look amazing, you cherish them.

  We were the only ones keen to eighties night at The 13th Floor, but we didn’t care how badly we stood out. We were h
aving a great time, talking and laughing while drinking lemon drop martinis.

  They were delicious, and I was sipping my second one while staying in the conversation going on around me and the one I was secretly having in my lap.

  They’re sweet and sour. And I think Oprah’s favorite drink if I’m remembering that episode correctly.

  2nd one?

  Gearing up for 3rd.

  Get a cab.

  I smiled because I liked Brian worrying about how I was going to get home. I wanted him to care and he did, and he didn’t keep that from me either. He wanted me to know it.

  I really liked that.

  But I kept that smile on the inside as I looked up at Shay, who had just brought up Stitch for the second time tonight.

  Once was a coincidence. Twice and you knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

  She was thinking about him.

  “Is there something going on with you two?” I asked, keeping one hand in my lap concealing my phone and the other on the stem of the martini glass in front of me.

  Shay was always hanging around that window, leaning in and conversing like she and Stitch had loads to discuss, and Stitch didn’t look like he minded it too much even though the man was harder to read than a Chinese Bible and could’ve absolutely minded it. I just wasn’t reading him correctly.

  He never showed much emotion and barely spoke two words if you asked him something.

  “You say no and I’m calling bullshit,” Tori threw out, doing this pointing a finger at Shay.

  Shay shook her head. The star earrings sparkled in the light when she did it.

  “It’s not like that. He just lets me talk as much as I want and he doesn’t tell me to shut the hell up when I do it. It’s a nice change. I know I talk a lot. It annoys my brothers.”

  “What do you two talk about?” Kali asked, disbelief in her voice.

  “Whatever. Work stuff. Things I’m dealing with at home. The weather.” Shay shrugged and sipped her drink, then added, “And it’s just me doing the talking most of the time. He listens. He’s good at that. Sometimes he’ll comment on what I said or ask me something, but that’s rare. Most of the time he just keeps cooking while I ramble. It’s sweet of him.”

  Kali looked at Tori. Tori looked at me. I looked from Tori to Kali to Shay, then questioned, “He’s sweet? Stitch is sweet?”

  The man was edge and hard looks. Anything but sweet.

  Shay looked between the three of us as if we’d all lost our minds in thinking Stitch was anything but sweet.

  “He is. You talk to him enough, you’ll get it. His eyes are the warmest shade of copper I’ve ever seen.”

  Kali looked at Tori. Tori looked at me. I looked from Tori to Shay to Kali, watching the lip curls on everyone minus Shay.

  Oh, we all got it all right. Stitch could have the hardest looks and the most edge of any man living and breathing and Shay would’ve still had that opinion.

  She liked him. She might not admit it right now, but it was clear.

  “Well, in that case,” Kali chuckled. “I mean, copper eyes on a man who looks like he’s done time is seriously sweet. I guess I just don’t get to look at him close enough to see it. You’re always hogging that damn window and blocking the view.”

  Shay crumpled up her cocktail napkin and chucked it at Kali’s face. They both giggled.

  “You find another job yet, Sydney?”

  I looked at Kali after her question, doing this shaking my head.

  “There’s nothing available right now. I’ve only applied for one and never heard back. I’m thinking they found someone to fill it already.”

  “Well,” Kali started, then pressed her lips together while looking at the other two girls and told me on a rushed breath, “I really don’t hope you find anything. Sorry. I know that’s awful but I’d hate to see you go. I love working with you.”

  “Me, too,” Shay echoed with a warm smile on her crimson-painted lips.

  I smiled at both of them, hoping to convey how much I enjoyed working with them as well, because I definitely enjoyed it, then I looked at Tori, who was remaining silent and had her head turned.

  “Is that Nate?” she asked.

  The three of us followed Tori’s gaze across the bar.

  Dancers had wandered and were no longer obstructing our view of everything on the far side of the room, which was where Nate sat on a stool with a glass in front of him, his head lowered and his eyes either focused hard on something behind the bar or unfocused on anything.

  He looked deep in thought, either way.

  “Why does he always look so sad?”

  I threw out my question to the girls not only because Nate currently did look sad in the middle of a kick-ass bar with great tunes, Beastie Boys currently playing overhead, which I was tapping my foot along to against the leg of my stool, but because he always looked sad every time I saw him, and even though that wasn’t a lot since he stayed shut up in his office more than he wandered the floor, his sadness wasn’t lost on me.

  I knew he was looking sad behind that door, too. I knew it in my bones.

  Tori looked down at her drink. Kali took a sip of hers, but her eyes were lowered to the table.

  They were avoiding.

  I looked across the table at Shay with expectant eyes and she read them, sighed, then gave me a look I knew meant I wasn’t going to love what I was about to hear.

  But I still wanted to hear it. I was curious.

  “I really don’t want to ruin this fantastic evening with a sad story, but I have a feeling you’re just going to keep asking me,” she said, dipping her head.

  She was right.

  I nodded.

  “It’s really sad, hon,” Tori threw out. “Are you sure? I almost cried after I heard it the first time.”

  Hearing that warning, again, I nodded.

  “I want to know.”

  Shay prepared herself to deliver this sad story, and she did that by finishing off the last bit of her lemon drop, then grabbing the attention of the nearest waitress and pointing at her empty glass.

  Tori did the same and lifted hers, silently requesting another.

  Shay then gave me her full attention again and did it most likely feeling the rush of the alcohol she’d just consumed.

  I guessed it was going to help.

  “Nate didn’t always used to be like he is now. Up until about a year ago he was really present around the restaurant and rarely ever spent time in his office. His wife was really present, too. Sadie. She was always stopping in and chatting up the staff even though she worked a lot herself. It didn’t matter; she made time. Then she got pregnant and was still coming around a lot, but we knew it was because she was so excited about being pregnant and wanted to show off her baby bump every second she got. Nate ate that up. He was crazy about her and even more crazy about her carrying his kid. It was really cute to see.”

  I smiled but I did it cautiously because I didn’t want to get too comfortable with the idea of Nate being happy. This was a sad story, and when a pregnant wife is involved, I could only imagine how sad it was about to get.

  Shay took a deep breath and continued.

  “Marley was born, or Mo as we call her. She’s the prettiest baby ever. Seriously. Full head of blond curls and the biggest blue eyes you’ll ever see, holding so much expression it steals your breath. She looks just like Sadie.”

  Kali shifted beside me, and I saw that her attention was now on Nate instead of where it was at the beginning of this story, the table.

  Tori was studying Shay as I was, looking sad.

  “Nate didn’t know. He was working all the time and doing anything he could to make the money they were losing with Sadie being out on maternity leave. I’m not even sure he noticed Sadie’s absence when she stopped popping in as much, then not at all because he was so busy. We all noticed it but honestly I figured Sadie just wanted her mommy-daughter time and I couldn’t blame her for that. Those baby years are important. But
apparently Sadie was in a rough way and no one knew it. She was suffering and she was doing it alone, not confiding in Nate when she should’ve been and then it was too late. He couldn’t help her.”

  “What happened?” I asked, my voice sounding tight like I needed to clear my throat.

  “He went home after work one day and found Mo asleep in her crib and Sadie in the bathtub with an empty bottle of sleeping pills.”

  I clamped a hand over my mouth, my breath bursting warm against my palm.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered, cutting my eyes to Nate.

  She had killed herself. Nate came home and found his wife dead and their baby girl asleep, completely oblivious to the state of her momma.

  Pain circled my heart and folded in on it.

  “I hate hearing that story,” Kali declared quietly, picking off chunks of the napkin in her hand. “I miss seeing Sadie around. It feels like yesterday she was showing us all her first ultrasound photo.”

  “It’s been almost a year, hasn’t it?” Tori asked.

  Shay nodded.

  “Next month. I think that’s why he’s been locked in that office more than usual. He’s hurting.”

  I looked from Shay back to Nate.

  His head was still down, eyes still unfocused while his mind was on something heavy, I’d decided.

  “What about Mo? Do you guys get to see her at all?”

  “Nate’s mom brings her in sometimes. She watches her while he’s working,” Kali answered. “She still looks just like Sadie.”

  “Prettiest baby ever,” Shay professed, smiling gently when she said it.

  I couldn’t imagine Nate’s pain and the enormity of the pain Mo would feel when she got old enough to learn about her mother. It was almost too much to even think about. Adding on the pain Sadie no doubt was feeling and feeling it silently, suffering alone and having this beautiful life she created with her while she was suffering from it, most likely not experiencing those mother-daughter moments the way they’re meant to be experienced because she couldn’t let herself experience them; it was all too much sadness.

  But Nate, his pain I felt deep and there was no option but to feel it. He was right in front of me.