Shotgun

by Marie Sexton

“I called Junior to help, but we’re still shorthanded.”

  “Okay—” Right at that moment, my phone rang. A glance told me it was Lamar. “I have to get this, but then I’ll be out there to help.”

  “Take your time,” he said, but I could tell by his tone what he really meant was “Hurry the fuck up.”

  I waited until he’d left to answer. “Lamar?”

  “Hey. Matt just called me.”

  “It wasn’t me. I swear, I’d never—”

  “I believe you. And so does he.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Really. I’m just relieved—” I heard a voice and laughter in the background, and then Lamar said, “Was Matt a total asshole?”

  “He was only doing his job. Listen, I told him I could give you a ride, but I hadn’t thought it through. We’re slammed here. I probably can’t get there until five.”

  “It’s fine. Zach and Ang say I can stay as long as I need to. I think Angelo’s planning some kind of movie marathon to distract me.”

  I resented that I couldn’t be the one taking care of him, but at least he wasn’t alone. “Okay. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “I know.”

  LAMAR

  OVER THE next several hours, I watched almost every Final Destination ever made. They weren’t my style of movies, but I could see why Angelo had chosen them. They were entertaining without requiring attentiveness, which meant we could talk when the mood suited us without worrying about missing crucial plot points but not feel awkward when the conversation lulled.

  In between various gruesome accidental deaths, I learned a lot about Coda’s two resident gay couples, including the entire story of how Matt, Jared, Zach, and Angelo met, and why the latter two had moved to Coda four years before. I discovered Angelo was quite a bit older than I’d originally assumed—I’d guessed early- to midtwenties, but he was actually my age—and he’d seen nearly every movie ever made. Zach was several years older. As far as I could tell, they didn’t have a thing in common. Zach liked red wine; Angelo preferred beer. Zach wore loafers and polo shirts; Angelo wore combat boots and threadbare T-shirts. Zach had a college degree he scoffed at, claiming he hadn’t really earned it; Angelo was a high-school dropout more passionate about continuing his education than anybody I’d ever met. Once he realized I taught English, he became so excited, he forgot to put in the next movie. I gathered he’d only been reading for a few years, but he seemed to be doing his best to make up for lost time. He questioned me enthusiastically about certain classic novels, showing a respect for symbolism few of my students shared, and shyly admitted to taking an American Lit class at the University of Colorado in Boulder.

  “You drive down there twice a week?” I asked, surprised.

  “It’s the closest place. Thought at first I wouldn’t like goin’ anyplace so big. Kind of figured all the regular students would laugh at me, but they don’t.”

  “Why would they?”

  He shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “Figured they’d take one look at me and know I didn’t belong.”

  “Why would anybody think that?”

  “’Cause I have a GED instead of a diploma.”

  “But none of the other students know you dropped out of high school.”

  “No,” he said, grinning. “Most of ’em don’t even realize I’m ten years older than they are. They don’t exactly pay a lot of attention.”

  I also found out through the course of the day that Zach and Angelo owned the shop I’d noticed downtown called A to Z, which I gathered was some kind of movie theater, hobby store, and wine bar.

  “We have a theater in the back,” Angelo explained as the credits rolled on movie number three. “Not theater seating. More like a dinner theater but with a screen. We can’t show new movies, but we show older flicks, different ones dependin’ on the season, and we have a local catering company serve dinner. We still do movie rental out of the front half, but it’s a pretty small part of our business now. We let people browse a catalog of titles rather than eatin’ up all our floor space displayin’ the cases.”

  “So what did you put in their place?”

  “Games. Puzzles. Toys. Mostly, we’re a hangout spot, you know? We have lots of tables and couches. All the book groups in town meet there. We host game nights. Chess tournaments. Stitch and Bitch. Stuff like that.”

  “And there’s enough of a market for that in Coda to keep you in business?”

  “Sure. We keep our eye on what’s hot. Try to adapt when we need to. Right, Zach?”

  Zach, who was lounging next to Angelo on the couch much as he had earlier, shook his head in bemusement. “What he means is, he stays on top of the latest trends and changes what we’re doing every five minutes. Even I’m not sure what my contribution is.”

  “Shut up. You’re the one who keeps track of all the money.”

  “I know how much we make,” Zach conceded. “I just don’t know exactly how we make it.”

  Angelo laughed and said to me, “He’s not really as clueless as he acts.”

  “Yes, I am,” Zach countered.

  “Truth is,” Angelo went on as if Zach hadn’t contradicted him, “we make most of our money these days off alcohol and lattes.”

  “You’re a coffee shop too?” I asked.

  “Sort of. But only after 10:00 a.m. I keep tellin’ Zach we should open at five or six in the morning so people can get their coffee on the way to work but haven’t talked him into it yet.”

  “There’s already a coffee shop in town,” Zach said. “I’d feel bad driving him out of business.”

  Angelo laughed. “That’s Zach’s way of soundin’ noble. The truth is, neither one of us wants to drag our asses out of bed that early in the morning.”

  Matt called me later in the day to tell me he’d had no luck with Elena, Troy, or Bob, other than to rule out Elena as the culprit.

  “There’s no way it’s her,” he told me. “If that woman’s holding a grudge against anybody, it sure as hell isn’t you or Dominic.”

  “That’s a relief. Anybody else pop up?”

  “Her boyfriend. I talked to him too.”

  “Why would he have anything against me?”

  “Hell if I know, but he was there, so I asked him. He wasn’t even in town the first night your car was vandalized.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “I guess. It’s frustrating as hell. I’m back to looking at Bob and Troy. I honestly don’t think either of them did it. I mean, don’t get me wrong. They’re both assholes, but Troy’s not that bright, and Bob…. Well, it’s like you said. If he came after you, he’d want you to know it was him.”

  “But who else is there?”

  “Exactly. I keep thinking it must be one of them, even though my gut says it isn’t. But even if I thought they had done it, I can’t do anything. I don’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant. God knows what we’d search for anyway. Unless we catch one of them in the act, I can’t do a goddamn thing.”

  “I appreciate you trying.”

  “It’s a good thing this isn’t Miami Vice. I’d be the fuck-up rookie who gets canned for being worthless.”

  “I guess real-life crime takes more than an hour to solve.”

  “Well, it’s still more fun than The Great Cat Rescue. You doing all right over there?”

  “I’m fine. Dominic’ll be here soon anyway.”

  “All right. Listen, I want you to know you can call me anytime. It doesn’t matter if it’s only a hunch. If you suspect one single thing is out of place in your house, you call, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And get your locks changed.”

  “I will,” I agreed, but I knew as I hung up that I’d lied. I didn’t trust my hunches as much as Matt did. I was already doubting my suspicion about somebody being in the house. I had no real evidence of such, and I had to admit I’d been drinking more in the evenings than I should have. As I’d told Matt, I’
d had the locks changed the week I moved in. Nobody had a key but me. All the windows had been closed and locked, and there were no signs of forced entry. Therefore, it had to all be in my head.

  In my defense, the vandalism and the late-night phone calls weren’t helping my paranoia. My stalker existed, whether he or she had entered my home or not. It was frightening, and yet I felt surprisingly calm. I had Matt, who believed me and took me seriously, even when I doubted myself. I had Zach and Angelo, who I’d only just met but who were open and friendly and clearly ready to assist me in any way. And most importantly, I had Dominic. I’d never really believed he could be the one harassing me, but I didn’t trust my own instincts. Not since Jonas. Hearing Matt’s and Angelo’s reassurances of Dominic’s character had been a tremendous relief.

  Was it wrong to trust the intuition of men I barely knew more than I trusted myself? Maybe. But in this case, they’d only confirmed what I already suspected. Dominic really was my friend. The thought buoyed me.

  I grew nervous as five o’clock approached. It was silly, I knew, but I was anxious about seeing Dominic, and nervous about how the day’s events may have affected our friendship.

  Angelo had to be at work at 5:30. Zach assured me I could stay all evening if I needed to. It was a generous offer, but I knew it was time for me to go, even if I hadn’t been expecting Dominic. I grew antsy. By the time their doorbell rang a few minutes after five, my stomach was full of butterflies.

  I wanted to rush to the door but restrained myself. I wasn’t a teenager, and this wasn’t a date. Besides, it was Angelo’s house. But I followed him and waited a few steps back as he opened the door.

  Dominic wore ripped jeans and a black leather jacket hanging open over a stained work shirt. He looked amazing. He tore his eyes away from me with obvious effort to hold his hand out to Angelo.

  “I know you from the store, but I guess we’ve never officially met,” he said. “You’re Angelo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Matt said to tell you you’re an asshole.”

  Angelo laughed. “Tell Matt I said he’s an easy mark.”

  Dominic turned to me, his dark eyes full of concern. Concern, and maybe something more. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I am.”

  I turned to thank Angelo, but he was already waving me off, telling me it hadn’t been a problem at all having a complete stranger camp out at their house for seven hours. The funny thing was, I sensed his sincerity. “It was fun,” he told me. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

  I followed Angelo out, since he had to be at work. He went down the sidewalk to the old Mustang parked in the driveway, and Dominic and I were left facing each other on the front porch, awkward in Angelo’s absence, the gusty evening playing around us.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Out on the lawn, the wind rattled the drying leaves on the trees and sent the fallen ones scuttling across the ground, but overgrown bushes and a copse of aspen sheltered the porch. Only a faint breeze brushed us, carrying his scent to me—the chemical odor of gasoline and rubber from the garage, tempered by a faint trace of aftershave. It felt strangely intimate standing there, as if I were basking in his presence.

  He stepped a bit closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, my heart racing. “I’m just so relieved….”

  Relieved he wasn’t the one causing me so much grief, and overwhelmed by the gratefulness, and struck a bit dumb by the urge that welled up in me, unbidden and unexpected.

  “Relieved?”

  “Yes.” And before I could think better of it, I pushed him back against the wall, and I did what I’d thought about doing for fifteen years:

  I kissed him.

  It was wonderfully familiar, but my heart thudded all the same. His lips were soft and warm against mine, and I felt his strength as he pulled me close. It was perfect, and yet as soon as it had begun, I worried I’d overstepped. I broke our kiss, but I didn’t pull away. I clung to him, my arms tight around his neck. My lips brushed his ear as I spoke.

  “I’m sorry. I never believed it was you, but Matt was so certain, and it all fit, and—”

  “Hush,” he said, rubbing my back. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” I rushed on, desperate to explain myself. “I’ve been lost for so long. Ever since I moved here. And sometimes it felt like I was drowning, and I needed to swim, but I was so damn tired. I was so ready to give up. And then you found me, and you’ve been my lifeline. You’ve kept me alive and sane.”

  “Lamar—”

  “You’re the only thing I have to hang onto. You’re the only thing keeping me from going under, and if I’d lost you….” I shuddered. “Jesus, Dom. I think it would have killed me.”

  He held me tighter and kissed the side of my head. “Hold on as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

  His words nearly brought tears to my eyes. “Thank you.”

  I could have stood there all night, clinging to him, but eventually, he stirred. “Come on,” he said, rubbing my back briskly, “let’s get you home.”

  I followed him down the walk, and he opened the passenger door of his car for me as if this really were a date. I waited until he was seated in the driver’s seat to ask, “Is my car ready?”

  “It is. We’ll swing by the garage and pick it up, but then I’m following you to your house.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Hell yes, I do. In fact”—he scowled as he made a tight U-turn and headed back the other way—”I was thinking maybe you should stay at my house tonight.”

  I swallowed, unsure what he was getting at. Was it a completely innocent offer of a place to stay, or was he asking me to spend the night in his bed? “Oh?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Because if this nutjob has a key to your place—”

  “He doesn’t,” I said.

  “But Matt said—”

  “I know. I was freaked out this morning, and I might have blown things out of proportion.” He glanced sideways at me, clearly unconvinced, and so I launched into an explanation of my reasoning, and my paranoia, and my liberal application of bourbon, and as I explained it all to him, it became even clearer in my mind. “Nobody could have been in my house,” I concluded. “It simply isn’t possible.”

  We’d reached the garage, and he parked next to my car and killed the engine. He didn’t move to exit the vehicle, though. He sat there, staring thoughtfully out at the sky. “Elena’s uncle and his son are locksmiths. I’ll call them tomorrow and have them stop by your place—”

  “Please don’t,” I said, feeling foolish. “Really. It’s not necessary. Nobody has a key. I’ve been on edge, that’s all.”

  “But—”

  “Dom,” I said. “Stop worrying.”

  He sighed in aggravation. “I’m allowed to worry. And I’m still going to follow you home.”

  There was no point in arguing with him, and his protectiveness made me smile.

  I pulled into the driveway when we reached my house. He parked at the curb and followed me to the door. Clearly seeing me home wasn’t quite enough.

  “Going to check under my bed for me?” I asked.

  He didn’t laugh. “I might.”

  I appreciated his concern, but it was unwarranted. Nothing felt wrong when we entered. I had no sense of things being out of place. It was just my house, same as always. A couple of jackets hung from the doorknob of the coat closet. A day’s worth of dirty dishes filled one half of the sink. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on the coffee table, as telling as Hester Prynne’s embroidered A.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” I said.

  He preceded me down the hall, checking the bathroom, the spare bedroom, which was full of unpacked boxes, and finally my bedroom.

  “You do live here, right?” he asked as he surveyed the barren space.

&
nbsp; “Yeah. Why?”

  “It’s like a prison cell.”

  I didn’t think it was quite that bad. Granted, it was small. There was barely enough room for my unmade bed, nightstand, and my dresser with half its drawers hanging open. A pile of dirty clothes filled one corner. I began self-consciously sliding drawers closed.

  “You never even finished unpacking.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t have any pictures or books or anything.”

  “Sure I do,” I said, feeling defensive. But of course he couldn’t see them, because they were in moving boxes. I told myself the books were still packed because I hadn’t bought any bookshelves, but the truth was, unpacking them had felt like too much work. And the pictures? Well, every picture I had was of me and Jonas. Or of me and the guy I’d dated before Jonas, who’d been stuck in the closet. Or the guy I’d dated before him, who’d left me for another man.

  They weren’t memories I cherished.

  “Lamar,” Dominic said softly. “Are you all right?”

  The deep resonance of his voice told me this was more than a redundant nicety. He was genuinely concerned about me. I kept my eyes averted, because it made it easier to lie. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  Worried about what, I wondered. My lack of personal effects? The bottle of bourbon sitting on the table in the living room? Or about the person who seemed to be stalking me?

  Maybe all of them, but I didn’t ask him to clarify.

  I turned to face him. He stood only a few feet away in his ripped jeans and oil-stained work shirt. He still managed to look dignified and confident and gorgeous as hell. He had so much presence, he seemed to fill the cramped room.

  Him, and my unmade bed, which suddenly seemed way too inviting.

  I remembered our kiss earlier in the evening. I still felt the softness of his lips on mine. I tasted him on the tip of my tongue.

  I felt quite sure he was remembering the exact same thing.

  “I should go,” he said quietly, but he didn’t move.

  “You could stay.”

  The words felt loaded. I practically held my breath, waiting for him to respond. I wasn’t sure if I moved closer to him, or if it was him moving closer to me.