Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  He stuck the check in our bank drop envelope and tucked it back into his drawer. I watched as he locked the drawer and pocketed the keys.

  “You think it’s too soon for vacationing together?” I asked, plopping down in one of his guest chairs.

  The look he sent me was unreadable. “Not for me to say.”

  “When has that ever stopped you?”

  “True.” He looked at me so long that I began to get nervous.

  “What? What is it?”

  “So if I knew something that you probably needed to know… but didn’t want to know, you’d want me to tell you, right?”

  Oh, jeez. When did anything that started that way end up good? My eyes felt fixed, staring at the spot slightly past his shoulder. I took a deep breath and let it out. Measured. Calm.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’d want to know.”

  He sighed. “That was my cousin. You know, Javier? He owns that fancy restaurant downtown.”

  “Yeah, I think I met him a few times,” I said slowly. “Why?”

  “You need to get down to his restaurant.” He took out a pen and scribbled something on a Post-it.

  “Now?”

  “Right now,” he confirmed.

  “I… I don’t even know where it is.”

  “I was debating on when to tell you. Or whether I should tell you at all. I wasn’t sure you’d even want to know. But I love you, and I don’t want you to get hurt. So… here.”

  I stared at the Post-it stuck to his outstretched thumb. I didn’t want to take it. I had forgotten to finish that statement: I don’t know where it is and I don’t want to. Because there was only one reason he could be sending me there.

  I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut against the sight of the offensive yellow note. Cheery little bitch. I was not one of my clients, and I trusted Jordan. More importantly, I knew what it meant when I started checking up on him. When I doubted he was exactly where he said he’d be. If I took that Post-it, our relationship was already over.

  “This is typical of you, Drew,” I said. “You’re always after me about love—believe in love, everyone’s not a cheater. The moment I actually give it a whirl, you’re spying on him to prove me wrong!”

  “I was not spying,” he said, sniffing in a wounded manner. “My cousin called me and told me there was something there you should see. Actually, he snapped his fingers and said, ‘Gurrrl, he’d better get down here right now and see what that fine boy is up to.’” He shook his head. “My cousin is a bit… a bit….”

  “Flaming,” I filled in. “The word you’re looking for is flaming.”

  I sighed, running my hand through my hair, raking it into my eyes in the process. Pulled hard on the ends. They were more brown than blond again—I hadn’t been surfing that much lately. No, I’d been holed up in my dream world pretending everything could be infinitely unspoiled and flawless.

  “I trust him,” I said, rubbing a hand across my eyes tiredly.

  When I opened them, he was standing in front of me. He pressed the Post-it into my hand. “You know the old saying: Trust, but verify.”

  THE RED-CHECKERED pattern of my father’s sofa was as familiar as a treasured baby blanket, but it was unquestionably hideous. It was also obviously chosen by a man who didn’t know how to color coordinate a damn thing. To be fair, I didn’t either, but I knew where to find a Rooms To Go.

  I ruffled the torn fabric on the armrest absently. I’d had juice on this couch, watched cartoons on Saturday morning, and spent one long summer as an indolent teen lying on it. Usually with one arm thrown across my face to ward off the sun, vampire-style. My dad would wander through every now and again and threaten my life if I didn’t get up and do something. A small smile crossed my lips, and I smoothed the fabric down. It would be Case’s turn soon, and he was well on his way to Disgruntled Teenville.

  I could feel my dad giving me side glances every so often, but I didn’t try to engage him in conversation. I crossed my legs, propping one sneakered foot on my left knee. I didn’t know why I had even come, really. Maybe because somewhere deep inside I associated our childhood home with my safety net, home base in a hectic life of “tag, you’re it.” A place to come and reset. Reflect. At least I could if my dad would stop trying to make random conversation.

  As if he could read my thoughts, he spoke on cue. “You like the new TV?”

  “I do.” I tapped my fingers on my Converse sneaker.

  “They installed it, like you said. I put the old one in the backyard. I’m going to fix it one of these days, as soon as I get the picture tube.”

  “I hear you.” Tap.

  “Anything specific you want to watch?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Wonder where your brother got to with our pizza?”

  “No idea.” Tap, tap.

  He flicked through the channels again, and I sighed. I’d made a mistake coming here searching for peace of mind. Ever since Drew had decided to become a big Buttinsky, peace didn’t exist. I’d wanted to turn on him. They always say don’t shoot the messenger, but I think that’s more of a suggestion than a rule. Like a “use by” date or a price tag at a flea market. So I would still be within my rights to cut off his ponytail with scissors for intruding on my rosy bubble.

  He’d called me from the office, wanting to know if I’d made it to the restaurant. I had. He’d wanted to know if I’d seen them yet. I had.

  Or to be more specific, “I’m not blind,” I’d snapped. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “There is none so blind as he who will not see,” he’d murmured.

  Refusing to answer his little proverb or rise to the bait was my only action. That and hoping he’d have a big slice of shut-the-fuck-up pie. No such luck.

  “I knew this would happen,” he’d said.

  I’d shrugged, forgetting that he was on the phone and had no visual on my dismissive action. “So he’s meeting her for dinner. You and I have had dinner. We’re not sleeping together.”

  “Where did he say he was again?”

  “Out of town. New York. I guess he got back early.

  “And hasn’t been home. Because you’re there.”

  “I get it, okay? But he doesn’t have to account for every single second of his life to me.” And I’d watched Jordan lift Rachel’s hand to his lips and kiss it. I’d repeated softly, “I get it.”

  They’d laughed at something together, and they’d looked like a beautiful couple, a matched set—her gleaming cap of dark hair close to his. He didn’t appear to be afraid to kiss her hand in public.

  Drew’s voice had been unusually hesitant. “You mad at me?”

  “No. No. I’m mad at….” I’d taken one last look at the laughing couple. “I’m mad at myself.”

  Because despite all my protests to the contrary, I’d started feeling hopeful. Stupid and hopeful.

  “—Blu-ray,” my dad finished, and I looked at him blankly.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, that DVD player has been skipping lately. I’m probably going to replace it with a unit with Blu-ray.”

  I didn’t know whether it was my frustration with Drew or my anger at Jordan that made me so cranky, but I snapped. “I don’t want to talk about that damned TV anymore. Or any f… flipping appliances.” I caught the fuck and aborted it just in time. I may be an adult, but there were just some things I couldn’t say to my dad. Not without catching hell about it.

  He blinked. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it.”

  “I’m just… not in the mood, okay?”

  “Okay.” He peered at me for a moment and went back to his TV.

  I felt like a jerk.

  This was how Joe Williams communicated. This is what we talked about. Any topics more in-depth were few and far between. I looked at him. Really looked. And I wondered if my mother had ever gotten tired of communicating through appliance repair. If she’d felt this unreachable gap, filled with all the unspoken things sh
e wished she could say.

  My jaw firmed. It was no excuse. Relationships were made to be fluid, constantly changing entities that twisted and twined, growing stronger. More solid. Capable of withstanding a category-five gale on Florida’s worst day. What was it that made people just give up on you?

  It surprised me to see the crow’s-feet around his eyes. Wrinkles in places they hadn’t been before. And when he flicked the button on the remote, his finger trembled. It was just a small tremor, something I was one hundred percent sure he wasn’t aware he did. I gazed at his hands, fixated on that tremble. He was my dad, still larger than life, but he was a person. A man. And my mother had been a woman. She’d made her mistakes, and I didn’t forgive her. But they weren’t the end-all, be-all for how things worked in a relationship. Not my relationship. I wasn’t ready to give up on Jordan just yet.

  That finger trembled over the button again before pressing it, and suddenly I was filled with love for him. He may never love me like Robby, probably would never look at me the same again, but he was my dad. Whether we talked through appliances or not, I always knew he loved me. I stood and went over to his chair. Then hugged him tightly from behind, ignoring the way he instinctively went rigid as stone. It reminded me so much of Finnegan’s duck-and-cover move that I chuckled against his thinning hair.

  “What was that for?” he asked gruffly.

  “Because you’re my dad,” I answered simply enough.

  “Mac?” His voice was uncomfortable, begging me to end this atrocious display of affection.

  “Now hug me back,” I demanded. And he did.

  I heard Robert groan as the front door slammed behind him. He’d slammed that door since he was a little kid, and he’d always gotten in trouble for it. The big lug never learned. He managed to smack me on the back of the head, even with his arms full.

  “God, I thought you said you can’t catch gay,” Robert said, dropping the pizzas off on the kitchen counter.

  This, of course, prompted me to chase him around the room as he screamed like a girl. And our dad to yell at us both before turning up the TV.

  I SAT on the top step of the back porch, arms around my knees, rolling a cigarette between my fingers. I wasn’t planning on smoking it. I’d better not, not with my dad and brother within one hundred feet. No, I’d developed a new, stranger habit of keeping them tucked places on my person—in a pocket, in my sock… behind an ear like a character in the musical Grease. At the post office earlier, one of them even fell out of my wallet. Cigarettes were truly the devil.

  My phone trilled in my pocket, and I looked at the time before answering. Two in the morning. My, my, don’t we stay up late in “New York”?

  “Hey, Jordan.”

  “Hey, sweetheart. I missed you earlier.”

  His voice was like a punch to my stomach and sent desire spiraling up my spine. I meant to be cool and breezy, but once again, I’d underestimated his undiluted effect on me. I’d have to cut him with premium vodka next time—Jordan on the rocks with a splash of Ketel One.

  “I was a little caught up,” I lied. “Couldn’t answer the phone.”

  “Yeah?” I heard him yawn and pictured him stretching out on… on what? Where was he exactly?

  His next question was eerily similar to what I wanted to ask him. “Where’ve you been?”

  “At my dad’s house.” I rolled the cigarette some more. “We were watching the game.”

  “I didn’t know anyone was playing.”

  “There’s always someone playing at Joe’s house.”

  His laughter almost made me smile.

  “So where are you?” I asked.

  His next laugh was a little uneasy. “That’s an odd question.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, it is. I’m still in New York. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  “Home,” I repeated softly. Interesting concept.

  I looked up at the sky. Millions of diamonds on God’s rich, velvety cerulean backdrop. Glittering. Sparkling with expectation and promise. What the hell did they know? They were just interminably burning balls of gas, whiling away time in the sky.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Perfect,” I said. Some part of me realized that he knew what that meant. I didn’t try to clean it up. “Just perfect.”

  Chapter 26

  “YOU FINISHED the paperwork for the skip trace.”

  “Yup.”

  “Left me all the details for the Hernandez case.”

  “Yep.”

  “You finished the report for Mr. Blake.”

  “Yup. Finished a full report with video and left it with Jennie.” I was surprised to see my exit coming up so quickly. Driving just seemed quicker in Jordan’s Mercedes—she responded to my every move smoothly. Almost intuitively.

  Don’t get used to her, I reminded myself with a happy flutter that couldn’t quite be suppressed. My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble….

  Yes, I’d have to give up the Mercedes, but I’d also get to see him. It was a fairly even trade. I had to admit, I felt pretty good. Jordan was back, and I was on vacation as of… five minutes ago.

  Drew still wasn’t satisfied, but I didn’t care. I’d taken my two weeks, and that was that. He’d have to bitch at someone else in that time.

  “Drew, I gotta go. See you when I see you.”

  “Better see you in two weeks,” he warned, but I could tell he was amused.

  “We’ll see,” was all I’d offer as reassurance and clicked my Bluetooth off. And tossed it on the dash. He’s lucky I didn’t toss it in the trash. When I was off, I was off. Sandals. Shorts. No shirt. Shades. Here I come.

  A week had never seemed so long or so tedious. Surrounded by his things, sleeping in his bed alone, made the feeling worse. When I turned down his street and saw the garbage and recycling bins had been taken in, I felt eager as a freaking puppy. Embarrassing. I was so impatient to pull in, I almost missed the sleek white Beamer parked by my truck. I’d seen that car before. I’d followed that car before.

  Rachel. I swore. She was like a bad fucking rash. Either that or Jordan was giving her the most mixed signals I’d ever seen. She just didn’t seem like the clingy sort. If he’d given her walking papers, she would stick those tiny feet back in her stilettos and march on out.

  Both spots were taken in front of the house, so I parked on the street, close to the curb. I turned off the engine. And sat there. Part of me wanted to drive off as if I hadn’t seen her car, maybe even call and alert him I was on my way home. I knew that would be cowardly, but for a moment, it was deliciously tempting. I nibbled on my nail. They could be having a private conversation. Another?

  My inner bitch was right. What was with all these damn private conversations? Coming back early and not telling me?

  Staring at my truck in its usual space annoyed me. The smell of cooling pizza in the backseat didn’t help. I’d had very definitive plans for how I wanted to spend tonight—it included pizza, fucking, and beer, and not necessarily in that order. None of my plans had included a visit—a private visit, from the looks of it—from Jordan’s ex.

  My annoyance grew as my mind flashed over their previous secret little meeting at the restaurant. What the fuck? Besides, if anyone had a right to be here between the two of us, it was me.

  I got out of the car and pulled out the pizza box, stopping to grab the mail on my way up to the door. I was the one who had a key. I was the one whose stuff was strewn about inside. I was the one who was parked in the guest space.

  I… was the one who hesitated briefly before using the key in the lock. But then I was entering the house as if nothing was wrong, with the mail and pizza in hand. I dropped the pizza box off on the kitchen counter and made my way to the living room. He would be happy to see me. We hadn’t seen each other in a week. He would greet me warmly, and I’d realize I was being ridiculous.

  There was nothing but silence as I entered. I was sure it hadn’t been that way befo
re.

  When I entered the living room, she was sitting on the couch, legs crossed elegantly as one shoe swayed back and forth. She looked surprised to see me and gave me a little wave. My gaze swept over Jordan, perched on the coffee table in front of her. His expression was fairly neutral, and I decided that two could play that game.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” he responded easily.

  “I got the mail.” I waggled it unnecessarily.

  “Oh, thanks. Can you just leave it on the table?”

  Leave it, he said. Leave it as in “leave it before you go do whatever you were going to do”? Or leave it as in “leave it before you let yourself back out”? I decided I wouldn’t live my life by assumptions. If he wanted me to leave, he could ask. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t angry. I tossed the mail on the table.

  “I brought pizza. Does anyone want any?”

  They looked at one another and then me. “No, thanks,” they said simultaneously, and I wanted to kill them both. But you can’t kill someone for sharing private looks.

  “Rache and I had an early dinner,” Jordan explained. His ears looked flushed.

  I stared at him, a muscle ticking in my jaw. A dinner, another dinner, and an after-dinner meeting at the house. Better and better. As I marched off to the kitchen, I heard her ask softly, “Does he have a key or something?”

  Or something, sweetheart. I forced myself to keep walking, act naturally, and not bang dishes like I wanted to. I pulled out a plate and set it out on the counter next to a prescription bag. My eye caught the name on the bag, and I realized it was mine. He’d picked up my prescription. It made me more confused than ever.

  I could hear the soft murmurs of their voices but not the words. I found myself shuffling closer to the door, trying to get close enough to muddle out what they were saying. I found my vantage point at the same time her voice broke, right in the middle of whatever she’d been saying.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said. And burst into tears.

  Chapter 27

  THE INSIDE of Jordan’s home may have been a showpiece, but it had nothing on the view from his deck. Usually getting this close to the beach in South Florida involved stalking someone for metered parking for at least twenty minutes. I sat on the bottom step, which allowed me to dig my feet in the sand without getting it in my jeans. I was pleased with the compromise. I picked at the faded, frayed denim of one ankle while watching the goings-on below.