by Mary Frame
I’m grateful when Tabby shows up to take me to trivia night, anything to stop thinking about all the things that could happen. All the things that will happen.
Friday night at Ben’s is always the same. Wall to wall people, Tabby sneaking behind the bar stealing drinks, and the Newsomes getting into a fight.
But it’s not the same. Everyone here, from the old drunk sitting at the corner of the bar sleeping, to the men playing at the pool table, and Tabby sneaking behind the bar as soon as Ben goes to boot the Newsomes . . . they’ll all be here next week and next month and next year.
I won’t.
“Come back when you can behave like adults!” Ben yells out the door. His words barely register over the buzz of the crowd.
“That’s never going to happen.” Tabby laughs. “This time they didn’t even make it to eight o’clock. Here, drink this.” She shoves a glass in my hand.
I mentally shrug off the melancholy that’s wrapped itself around my mind like a python. I don’t have forever here, not like everyone else, but what I do have I want to enjoy.
My brows lift at the glass. “What’s this one?”
She shrugs. “Oh, you know, some roofies, rat poison, the usual.”
“Sounds delicious.”
Tabby always has the uncanny ability to make light of everything, to make me laugh no matter what else is going on in my life. Out of everyone in Castle Cove, I think I’m going to miss her the most.
The trivia thing is about to start. I’m not sure how it all works, but I’m sure someone will explain it eventually.
“Hello, ladies.” Troy slides into the booth across from me and Tabby.
She immediately pushes a glass in his direction.
He grimaces at the purple-colored concoction. “What is this foo-foo crap?”
“Oh please, you drink this all the time at my house when I give you pedicures.”
Troy glances around with a pained expression. “Keep your voice down,” he begs.
Tabby laughs.
After another darting glance around the room, Troy takes the shot.
Tabby whoops and then her attention is on me. “Your turn.”
I take the shot, much slower than Troy, and put the glass on the table next to his.
Tabby claps. “Now we’re ready for trivia.”
“How does this work, anyway?” I ask.
“Ben hands out one blank paper for each group to write our answers on. He’ll call out the questions, and we answer as a group. Once all the questions are over, we turn in our answers for grading. Oh, we need a group name. I think we should call ourselves . . .” She taps her finger on her pursed lips while she thinks.
“The youngest people in the room,” Troy offers.
“No.”
“The only people who haven’t had knee or hip surgery.”
“No, Troy.” She smacks him in the arm. “It has to be trivia related.”
“Quiz in my pants.”
She makes a face. “Gross.”
“Trivia Newton John.”
We laugh.
“That is clever,” I say.
“Then it’s set.” Troy claps his hands once. “Where’s the rest of our team?”
“More than just us?” Tabby asks. I steel myself. After all, I know the answer already.
“Yeah, Jared and Eleanor are coming.”
My stomach immediately drops to my toes. I haven’t seen Jared, well, since he ran by this morning, but . . . Jared and Eleanor?
“They’re coming together?” I fidget with the drink napkin on the table in front of me. All of Ben’s napkins have an imprint of a frog with a crown on its head. They match the fake frogs hanging from the ceiling over the bar. I rub the ridge in the napkin with my thumb, suddenly super interested in the stupid frog’s head.
Troy shrugs but eyes me over the rim of his glass before he takes a sip. “Yeah. That’s not a problem, right, since you and Jared are just friends?”
“Right. No problem. Totally.”
“Speak of the devil.” Troy stands to greet Jared and Eleanor.
I can’t quite make myself look at them. Instead, I keep my gaze riveted on the napkin in my hands.
“You guys made it,” Tabby says. “I didn’t know you were bringing Eleanor. What in the world took you so long? Did you guys get distracted on the way here?” she asks a bit too loudly.
That makes me look up in time to see Tabby winking in my direction.
She’s totally full of it, but the thought still makes me a little queasy.
Jared lifts a brow. “You told me to be here around—”
Tabby elbows him in the side. “Oh, hey, look, Ben’s passing out the answer sheets.”
Now that I’ve looked up, I can’t look away. Jared is wearing jeans and a T-shirt. All very normal and nothing to gawk over, but it doesn’t stop me from staring. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days but the stubble on his chin doesn’t conceal his strong jawline. He smiles at me, but the movement doesn’t reach his eyes.
Jared and Eleanor get in the circular booth with us. Somehow, I end up at the top of the curve next to Jared. I’m blocked in by Tabby on one side, and on my other side is Jared, Eleanor, then Troy.
I smile and say hi to our new teammates and force myself to act normal.
Ben reaches our table and passes a paper to Tabby. “Put your group name at the top.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She snatches the pen from him.
He looks like he wants to say something else but then shakes his head and turns toward the next group.
“What’s the theme tonight?” Jared asks.
“I think it’s the 1950s,” Tabby says.
Troy scoffs. “Ugh, old people trivia. Again.”
“Gotta cater to the crowd,” Jared says.
“Speak for yourself old man.”
“You’re a year younger than me.”
“Try three years and three times as manly.” Troy puffs out his chest, making us laugh, and then he winks at Eleanor.
She blushes.
“Try a year and a half and twice as ridiculous,” Jared says.
“You’re both ridiculous,” Tabby says. “And you’re both old men.”
“Tabby, we have the same birthday,” Troy says.
“You’re at least a few minutes older and I look way younger.”
Jared nods, brimming with sincerity. “She does look younger than you.”
“Don’t make me come over there.” Troy reaches around Eleanor, trying to get to Jared. She squeaks and tries to move out of the way, but Troy’s undeterred, his hands grabbing at Jared.
“Boys, stop.” Tabby stretches across the table and smacks her brother upside the head. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You’re calling us ridiculous?” Troy’s eyebrows lift. “Pot. Kettle. Black.”
The insults stop when Ben gets on the stage and steps up to the microphone. “Some quick rules.” His voice echoes over the bar.
The crowd quiets down.
Except for one person.
“Boo,” Tabby yells.
Ben shields his eyes from the glare of the stage lights. “Tabby, settle down.”
“I’ll settle down your face,” she calls back.
A few chuckles titter around the room.
“Did you mean that to sound like a sex thing? Because it sounded like a sex thing,” Troy says with a grimace.
“It was supposed to sound tough.” She wrinkles her nose. “I am off my game tonight.”
“Rule number one,” Ben continues, undeterred. “No sharing answers with other groups.”
“Duh,” Tabby says.
“Rule number two, no switching groups. Whoever you’re sitting with now is who you’re stuck with. Rule number three, no sore losers. That’s for you, Tabby.”
“I resent that!” she yells, and then in a lower voice, “What makes him think I would lose?”
“Have you ever won?” Troy asks.
“So? Wouldn’
t that make a win more likely? Law of averages and all?”
“We’ll start out with some easy questions,” Ben’s voice booms over the microphone. “Number one: What teen idol sang ‘Kookie, Kookie [Lend Me Your Comb]’?”
“What the hell is that shit?” Tabby says. “This is supposed to be easy?”
“Anyone have any ideas?” Troy asks.
“Isn’t it the guy from 77 Sunset Strip?” I whisper, leaning in.
Eyes swing toward me.
“What is that?” Tabby asks.
“It’s a TV show from the fifties,” I say. “You know, he was always combing his hair.”
“No, I don’t know. How the hell do you know about some random TV show from the 1950s?” Tabby asks.
“Paige and I watch a lot of old shows. It’s sort of a thing we do.”
“Dude. Yes. That’s amazing. We will smoke this trivia night.” Tabby holds her hand up for a high five and I smack it.
“I still don’t know the guy’s name,” I say.
“It’s okay, I’m going to put ‘dude from 77 Sunset Strip.’ That has to be a valid answer because it’s the worst question ever.”
Ben moves on to the next question. “Which hugely popular trilogy was awarded the International Fantasy Award in 1957?”
Tabby looks at me and I shrug. “I got nothing.”
No one else speaks for a moment.
“It’s The Lord of the Rings,” Eleanor says so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“What?” Tabby barks.
“The Lord of the Rings,” Troy repeats for her, louder. “Geez, Tabby, I’m going to start calling you Miss Viola.”
“Defensive much?” Tabby says to Troy and then to Eleanor, “Nice work.” She scribbles down the answer.
I think it’s the first time Eleanor has said anything all night. I almost forgot she was here.
Ben rattles off a few more questions, of which I know nothing, but between the five of us we attempt to answer most of them.
“Which 1950s TV show started October 15, 1951, and ran until May 6, 1957?”
I immediately lean in. “I Love Lucy.”
Tabby starts writing the answer down, but then Jared bends in my direction, his leg pressing against mine. “The Roy Rogers Show was on during the same time.”
I turn my head toward him. “Yeah but Roy Rogers is no Lucille Ball.”
He smiles slowly, his eyes lighting up with the motion. “That’s true.”
I smile back at him. Our eyes lock and hold. A flash of memory assaults me, his lips on mine—not the passionate embrace when I practically attacked him, but the soft movement of his mouth on mine when he kissed me like my lips were something to be revered. His gaze flicks to my mouth and I wonder if he’s remembering the same thing.
“We’re agreed on I Love Lucy then?” Tabby confirms, breaking the spell.
“Uh, yeah,” Jared says.
I can’t look back at Jared. I glance around the table. Tabby is scribbling on the paper in front of her and Troy is making faces at Eleanor, trying to make her laugh.
Ben continues calling out questions at intervals. Other than the TV show questions, I can’t contribute much, but it is fun between Tabby getting all competitive and Troy and Jared trying to insult each other.
The whole thing takes less than an hour, and when all the questions have been read, Ben comes back around to pick up the answer sheets.
“Tabby, it’s time to put the pencil down, you know the rules,” he says, since Tabby is still furiously erasing and scribbling things down.
“Shhh.” She takes a moment from her writing to press a finger to his lips, smooshing them down and to the side. “Just let it happen.”
When she removes her finger, he grabs the paper from her hand.
“Hey!”
“Ben, are we still on for the pool tournament on Thursday?” Troy interrupts.
“Can’t. Thursday night is mocktail party night at the senior center.”
“Mocktail party?” I ask.
Ben explains, “Most of the old folks there can’t drink because it interferes with their meds, so we started a thing last month. Mocktails: fake cocktails. They get dressed up and pretend they’re drinking cosmos but it’s really cranberry juice and soda water.”
“Sounds like a good time.” Tabby fakes a gag.
“Maybe too much of a good time. There’s no booze, but they like to act like they’re hammered. I caught Mrs. Hale and Mr. Godfrey trying to steal a package of the little umbrellas I put in the drinks.”
“What were they going to do with those?” Jared asks.
“You know, I don’t want to know.”
Another group calls Ben over and he leaves. Tabby explains to me how he’ll review and tally the answers and decide who won.
“What does the winner get?” Eleanor asks.
“The trophy.” Tabby nods in the direction of the bar.
“That’s a trophy?” Eleanor’s voice is a little strangled.
The item in question is resting at the end of the bar, all by itself in the center of the gleaming wood. It’s a red-and-white beer can with a variety of objects glued to it, from little green GI Joes to a plastic banana.
“And you want to win this so bad because . . .” Troy asks Tabby.
“You know I like to win, I don’t care if the prize is a piece of junk. I want it.”
Eleanor and Jared start having a discussion about a charity event at the library involving local law enforcement while Tabby and Troy argue about who won the last trivia night.
I watch them all. Listening, but not really engaging. Tabby and Troy are sitting across from each other, so Tabby is leaning forward, getting irritated with her brother.
Jared is resting his arms on the table, but facing Eleanor. Eleanor is focused completely on him as he talks, her hands clenched in her lap.
Is talking to him making her nervous? I remember what it’s like to have his intense gaze focused on you like you’re the only person in the room.
I can’t help but wonder, if they arrived together, will they be leaving together? I might have to get out of here before I can find out. Even though it’s obvious to me they aren’t together like that, despite what Tabby tried to insinuate earlier, it doesn’t mean something won’t happen between them. Something could start for them tonight, even. With a sinking in my gut, I realize I really don’t want to know.
After a few minutes, Ben is back on the mic. He reads out the questions again, along with the correct answers—I was right about I Love Lucy—before he announces the winner. We lost by two questions.
“I demand a recount!” Tabby yells.
“We don’t do recounts, Tabby, sit down,” Ben says over the microphone.
The group who won, Agatha Quiztie, cheers and claps, and the rest of the room groans.
Once they’ve collected their trophy, people shuffle around the bar as some pack up to leave or move over to the pool tables and dartboards.
Tabby and Ben decide to play a game of pool; I don’t want to hang around.
“I think I’m going to head home,” I tell Tabby. “You can stay. I’ll walk,” I assure her when she starts to put down her pool cue.
“I’m leaving, too,” Troy says. “I’m taking Eleanor home. I can drop you off on the way if you want.”
“I can take you, Ruby,” Jared interrupts. “You’re on my way and that way Troy doesn’t have to double back after he drops off Eleanor.”
My stomach does a mini somersault. Alone with Jared in a car the entire way home? That sounds like a terrible idea. But it would be weirder to object. Plus, even though I know I’m no good for him and I won’t be here much longer anyway, some sick little part of me craves his presence.
“Sounds good,” I agree.
Troy nods at him and we all make our way toward the exit.
I follow Troy out. He pulls his keys out of his back pocket and a small rectangular shape falls out onto the floor.
I bend ove
r to retrieve it. “Troy. You dropped this . . . ketchup?” I frown in confusion.
An individual-sized ketchup packet was in his pocket, like the kind you get at a fast food restaurant. There aren’t any fast food restaurants around here though. And also, why does he have ketchup in his pocket?
“Oh, thanks.” He grins and takes it from me, shoving it back in his pants without explanation and continuing toward the door.
Weird, but whatever.
We say our goodbyes in the parking lot before Troy and Eleanor head out.
Jared opens the door to his Jeep for me.
“Thank you for taking me home,” I say when we’re driving down the dark road.
“It’s no problem.”
“So . . . how have you been?” Okay, lamest fishing-for-information attempt that’s ever come out of my mouth.
He knows it too, if the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth is any indication. “I’ve been fine.”
“Listen, I’m sorry about—”
“You don’t need to apologize to me, Ruby.”
“I know I don’t need to. I want to. It was rude of me to . . .” Lead you on and then kick you out? Give you the cold shoulder with no explanation? Completely lie to you the entire time I’ve known you? I have too many options to choose from so I settle on the simple. “I’m sorry.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What are you so afraid of?”
I decide to answer this one honestly. “Everything.”
He doesn’t respond for a few long seconds. Then he glances over at me, his face dark except for the glow from the dash. “You know you can trust me, right?”
Trust. Such a flimsy thing. So hard to gain, so easy to lose.
When I think about it, I realize I can’t answer that question. Do I really trust anyone?
I can’t answer.
Too quickly, he’s pulling up in front of my house.
“Thanks for the ride.” I unclick the seat belt.
The light is off and darkness shrouds the porch like a giant cloak. I pause for a moment, unable to help myself, and assess the dark house I’m walking into alone. Not that I’m afraid of a burglar or anything, but Gravy has been known to ambush me. When Paige is home, she usually distracts him from his sneak attacks on my legs.
