by Wade Lake
Chase's phone is there.
Right there, face up on the coffee table.
"He lies," the wind chime says.
20
Mack leans forward, reaching between his feet, and picks up Chase's phone.
He knows the passcode.
He's known it for years. He's opened Chase's phone dozens of times, most often to help him manage its settings, or to teach him how to use an app; but, occasionally, for reasons. Reassurance mostly: to check Chase’s location history, to see who he’s been calling, to read his texts.
It now occurs to Mack that there is one thing he's never snooped on Chase’s phone: He's never explored the backup files on Chase's cloud drive.
Chase has used the same cell carrier since Mack's known him. Same carrier Mack uses. Same service plan. It includes auto-generated backup on a storage cloud. And Chase never deletes anything. He probably doesn't know how. He still has the first texts Mack ever sent him. His address book has phone numbers for contractors no longer in business. He likely has auto-generated photo albums dating back to … maybe dating back to before he and Mack met.
Mack enters Chase's passcode.
Taps the backup cloud icon.
Reenters the passcode.
Opens the Options menu.
Sort By Date.
View By Albums.
Arrange Oldest to Newest.
He leans back on the couch and begins swiping through old pictures of a younger Chase's life.
Birthday parties, Mardi Gras parties, nights out with pretty young people. Snapshots of food, funny faces, floats—Mack recognizes Chase's brothers because he's seen them in a photo Chase keeps in his wallet, along with the old picture of his young father, who died the year Chase graduated high school. There's been a lot of tragedy in Chase's family. Both of Chase's brothers passed away the year before Mack and Chase met. One had an aneurysm, the other was in a car accident. Mack isn't sure which happened to which because Chase has mixed it up, himself, on occasion, and Mack never pried. That would be insensitive.
And here's a picture of Chase's sister. She's not dead. As far as Mack knows. Mack actually met her. Once. She moved to Oklahoma a year after Mack and Chase began dating.
These are the oldest pics on his backup. The album File Date says this batch is ten years old. Chase looks so young. He has a shaggy head of hair, a heavy beard, and a baby face. It's a Chase from a different lifetime. But Mack would recognize that face anywhere. Any age. It's the only face in the world that triggers this heart-wrenching conflict in Mack's psyche: deep love versus deep resentment.
But most of the faces in these photos are as anonymous as any face on the street.
Anonymous young men in suits.
Anonymous young men in swim trunks.
Anonymous young men kissing Chase's handsome face
Anonymous young men holding Chase in embraces that only happen when both parties are either drunk or in love.
Four young men mooning the camera.
Five young men posing with socks on their cocks.
A half dozen nude dudes in a hot tub.
Mack speeds through a dozen album folders, opening and closing files at a rapid pace until—
Cock pics.
Mack slows his swipes, just a little.
Dozens of cock picks—little guys, big guys, at ease, at attention, bare-necked and collared; individual, side-by-side, eight in a circle like spokes of a wagon wheel; and one animated gif going flaccid to eruption in five seconds flat. The gif runs in a loop, and Mack watches it for a full minute. It’s definitely Chase’s cock.
The album immediately following this features—
Women!
Mack was expecting this, but seeing it is still a shock.
Women in party dresses, women in bikinis, anonymous young women holding Chase in embraces that only happen when both parties are either drunk or in love.
Lots of beautiful women.
The female shots are less bawdy, but a few include upraised shirts and bare breasts—
Mack swipes past these in a hurry.
The irony isn't lost on Mack: the anonymous faces and body parts aren't the only strangers in these photos. Mack is married to a stranger. That realization feels like a punch in the gut. His stomach aches with a low-toned, thumping vibration. His hands begin to shake a little.
A few swipes forward, and Mack is entering more recent photo albums—relatively. File Date on this one says the photos are seven years old: A work party featuring a group of people Mack has never met or heard mention of; a couple beach shots—looks like Dauphin Island; a selfie at an LSU game. The dates between albums are widespread now.
A few more swipes.
Now a wide-eyed, round-faced young woman makes her first appearance. She stands out from those girls in the older albums because she's not partying or dancing. Instead, she's sitting inside a coffee shop, a contented and curious look on her face. It's a natural and friendly pose. She's looking up from her latte macchiato. There's a dab of milk froth on her upper lip. Her smile is pretty. It looks like a smile that appears easily and often.
A few more swipes, and she's in every shot.
She's smiling in front of a giant harlequin at the Mardi Gras Museum.
She’s smiling at a concert at Fair Grounds Race Course.
She’s smiling in front of the cannon at Artillery Park with Chase by her side and St. Louis Cathedral blurry in the background.
She's wearing too much lipstick, and her earrings are too large for the shape of her face, but she looks … happy. Very happy. Chase looks happy, too—happier than Mack has seen him in … well, a while.
Is this the girl with "big curves, and too much makeup," who Jim mentioned? The one who used to stroll past Jim’s house, hand-in-hand with Chase?
It definitely looks like Chase had something serious with this girl.
The picture is dated six years ago. Chase would have been twenty-nine. The girl looks to be around that age. Chase's hair is still thick, but his forehead is way higher than in the older pics.
Next file up is an untitled video file.
Mack taps it.
It takes him a moment to realize what he's watching.
It looks like ... it is!
It’s a homemade, hand-held action-cam close-up of Chase's fat member ... as it attempts an awkward entry into ... a lady thing! A real vagina!
Mack isn't sure he wants to open the next video file. Of course, he does: And … the stud has entered the stable! Wow!
In the next clip, he's thrusting down and up as if attempting to unclog a drain.
Mack swipes forward.
In the next video, the camera moves up and down the female’s body, confirming what Mack suspected. The lady parts belong to the smiling girl with too much make-up and over-sized earrings.
Her boobs are kind of over-sized, too.
Now Chase appears to be holding the camera up so that their faces are in the frame. They’re on a bed. It’s the same bed Chase and Mack share. Chase said his grandparents gave him that bedroom set when they moved from Delacroix Island to a nursing home in Baton Rouge. He said it was sacred, and that he’d never been with anyone but Mack on that bed—or maybe he said any man but Mack. Maybe that’s what he said, but who knows? He lies.
In the next clip, the woman is on top. Looks like she's holding the camera now. She's smiling and bouncing, one arm in the air, whirling her upper body as if she's riding a bull. Her boobs are looping round and round with a wide-enough range to take out a lampshade. Maybe that's an exaggeration. But she's just trying too hard. So is Chase. His arms and legs are flailing like he's fallen down and can't get up. The whole scene looks … just awkward.
Awkward for all parties involved.
That includes Mack.
More videos follow.
It's a portal to a past he would prefer not to know.
But he watches every video in that album.
Twice.
The next al
bum folder contains only one file.
It's a photo dated four months after the raunchy rodeo vids.
Mack opens it.
Hum. It appears they've moved past the porno stage of their relationship. Neither Chase nor the curvy girl is looking photo-ready. She's taken to wearing yoga pants. Chase is letting his beard grow out untrimmed. They look like they're on a casual date, or maybe running an errand together. Looks like they're in a residential neighborhood. Mack imagines them strolling along, talking about their future together. He imagines them pausing mid-conversation to snap a picture, which seems a bit odd. There's nothing picturesque about the captured moment. Why here? Chase's right arm is outstretched and partially out of frame. He's holding the camera. His left arm is behind the curvy girl's back, pulling her to his side. Her left arm seems to be reaching for the camera, but it's mostly out of frame as well. She's still smiling, her earrings are still too big, but she looks less wide-eyed, less naïve. Behind them is a familiar structure: They're standing in front of this house.
Mack expands the picture to make sure.
It's definitely this house.
The wooden number beside the front door is out of focus, but … it's definitely the same number. And above the stoop—blurry, but there's no mistaking it—hangs the same wind chime Mack placed there just yesterday!
That's too weird.
It doesn't make any sense . . . unless—Mack doesn't want to speculate. He's learned a lot about jumping to conclusions this week. Maybe the house in the background isn't even this house … except it is. Maybe the wind chime on the front stoop isn't his wind chime … except it is.
There's one more album with a File Date from that same year.
It's the only album left that falls into the timeline before Mack and Chase met. There are other albums, but those are all dated much later—over a year later. That means there’s just one album left to document why Chase and The Smiling Girl are no longer a couple.
It might hold clues as to why she cheated, why they broke up, why Chase married Mack, not her.
Or not.
It could just be food pics.
As Mack stares down at the album icon, it appears to flicker. Mack imagines its contents are alive and writhing, whispering in flits of ethereal current. The folder is daring him to lift the lid. Daring him to peek inside. Daring him to release its secrets.
Mack's finger hovers over the folder.
But he doesn't touch the screen.
Something tells him not to—that the contents will simply reveal more of a Chase he never knew. A Chase he was never meant to know. A Chase he doesn't want to know.
Sometimes it's best to leave the last page unread.
Mack closes the archives.
Logs out of the backup cloud.
Sets the phone back down on the coffee table.
It's nearly dawn when Mack stretches out on the couch in an attempt to fall asleep. He balances his head on a throw pillow and pulls the wind chime close to his chest. He's completely drained, bewildered, afraid, eyes unwilling to close, mind whirling like The Smiling Girl's breasts. The A/C unit above the couch is roaring, attempting to cool down a climate that can't be cooled. Even with that, Mack can still hear Chase's snoring in the bedroom. It's louder than the air conditioner. Sounds like an engine. A grinding, fretful engine. Mack longs for a home without sound. A cloud without thunder. He imagines himself floating. Tumbling. Bouncing wall-to-wall, room-to-room. Sounds surround him like rolling jolts of anguish. The snores. The muffled slicing from the ceiling fan. The bass hum of the A/C. The vibration of the fridge kicking on in the kitchen. And something else.
Thankfully, Chase is a deep sleeper. He can't hear it.
But Mack can hear it.
Mack can feel it.
A repeating metallic whisper whirling through every pipe in every wall of the house: "Soon … soon … soon."
21
Mack is up before Chase, of course.
It's Friday, always a busy day in his business. He skips breakfast and is out the door before dawn. Moonlight falling through the canopy of oak branches looks like rain. As he climbs into his truck, he sees a light turn on in the neighbors' house and remembers they're coming over for dinner tonight. Fuck. And he's promised Chase he'd be home by four to help prep. Double fuck. Of course, he'd never really forgotten about the dinner party, he'd just forced it out of his mind last night on purpose. Too many other things to dread.
Today is the worst possible day for nosy neighbors. He hasn't had enough sleep to deal with Creepy Jim and his wooden boy. He hasn't had enough sleep to pretend to be one half of a happy couple. He hasn't had enough sleep to keep Chase from embarrassing himself.
What he really wants is to spend tonight alone with Chase. No nosy neighbors. He wants to ask questions. He needs to ask questions. Just how serious was Chase's relationship with The Smiling Girl? Why is there a six-year-old picture of the two of them in front of their house? He wants answers this time. Real answers.
He has a full morning of snaking drains, installing faucets, and changing out old flush valves. All easy jobs, but he keeps screwing up, dropping things, forgetting what he's doing.
By lunchtime, he's sick to his stomach with apprehension. He can't eat. His gut feels like the hollow drum of a washing machine, whirling and whirling with nothing inside. He lifts his shirt, and he can actually see his abs. The surprise confuses him. It's been years since he's had abs. Then it dawns on him: Despite his nervous late-night snacking on peanut butter crackers, he’s barely eaten since they moved into the house. There’s just been too much work, too much stress. He rubs a hand down and up his tight abdomen. Feels like rubbing steel. Looks great, but he feels like shit.
He cancels the rest of his jobs for the day.
It takes an hour to reschedule with angry clients, but it has to be done. He can't work with this hollow whirling in his stomach.
On his way home, he stops at the grocery store. He has to pick up something to feed the neighbors this evening. Too bad they don't sell castor beans. He settles on a whole chicken, instant mashed potatoes, and a can of red beans. Nothing special. More to the point, it's conspicuously uninspired. About as boring a meal as he can envision. That's the point. Maybe the neighbors will never invite themselves back.
But they didn't invite themselves.
Chase invited them.
Mack has to remind himself of that.
And despite his current frustration—his anger at Chase for taking down the wind chime, his confusion at their lack of sex, his minor jealousy over the mysterious Smiling Girl—Mack still doesn't want to disappoint Chase. Doesn't want to let him down. Frustrations are temporary. Miscommunications are remedied. Even lies can be forgiven. The logical side of Mack’s brain knows this; it knows that despite their current troubles, Mack and Chase are partners.
That will never change.
✽✽✽
Mack arrives home early. Two o'clock. It's the earliest he's arrived home in years. Maybe ever.
Carrying his groceries, he climbs the stoop. The door is unlocked. He pushes through. Inside, the house smells like fresh paint—the smell of latex paint always reminds Mack of condoms.
He hears music coming from the bedroom, but ignores it. Heads straight to the kitchen.
He finds a wad of plastic bags and paint roller packaging on the kitchen table. Two rolls of blue masking tape and the upside-down lid from a paint can on the kitchen counter beside the stove. An empty paint can in the sink. The balled-up receipt on the floor. No surprise. Chase has never been one to clean up after himself. Mack is just about tired of that. He considers walking in on him right now and asking about The Smiling Girl. How serious were they? There's plenty of time to begin an argument, stomp around and get it resolved all before the neighbors arrive at six. But that would take energy. Mack doesn't have energy. Not much. What little he has needs to be applied toward prepping dinner—the dinner he's been dreading since Chase first suggested it.
<
br /> First, he'll need the counter space. Chase needs to get in here and clean up his mess. "Chase?" he calls, no patience in his voice.
A full minute passes.
The music in the bedroom is too loud.
"Chase?!" He shouts.
"In here," Chase shouts back from the bedroom. "Come check it out."
Something isn't right. Mack doesn't want to go in there. There's something in there that will hurt him. He knows it as surely as he knows his own name. "You come out here," Mack says, busying himself by opening the fridge. "You need to clear your shit out of the kitchen."
"I can't hear you, come in here," Chase calls out again over the music. "I want to show you something."
Mack slowly closes the refrigerator door. Exits the kitchen. Crosses the living room. Enters the bedroom.
His eyes focus on Chase first.
Then the room around him.
It's electric green.
"What did you do?" Mack whispers.
Chase holds up both hands as if to hold back any sudden judgment. "I know we were going with a softer color,” he says, “but I wasn't a hundred percent on board with that, and I got to the paint store, and I had second thoughts, but you were working …" He sprouts and innocent grin. “So I made an executive decision."
"You couldn't text me?"
Chase shrugs. "You know me and phones."
"It's … a weird neon!"
"Give it a second. It took me a second, too. Jim says this is the hottest color for bedrooms this year. All the designers are using it. And it's a mint, it's called 'Mint Fire.'"
"Looks like shit fire."
Chase stiffens.
Mack heads back to the kitchen.
Begins hastily unpacking the groceries.
A minute later, Chase enters the kitchen. He begins collecting his trash off the counter and out of the sink. His clothing and forearms are streaked with Mint Fire. There's even a drop of it on his bald spot. Without looking at Mack, he says, "We should talk."
Mack is ready for this. "You have your phone on you?" he asks.
