by Stash (v5)
“I’m really sorry you can’t be in the race tomorrow,” Jen said. “I know how important it is to you.”
“Maybe next week,” Dana said, although she was afraid that her knee might not be better next week, or all season for that matter. She cast her eyes down, trying to shake that thought. Whatever. When she looked up again, Jen was smiling at her in the mirror.
“What?”
Jen lowered her voice. “Can I show you something?”
Dana nodded. “Sure.”
Jen was wearing a denim button shirt. She undid the top buttons and lifted her right boob from its bra cup. She had a wide, pillowy breast with a tiny areola and a nipple the size and color of a pencil eraser.
Dana held her breath and felt weakness in her legs, unsure what was transpiring and pretty sure she wouldn’t like it.
Then Jen lifted her boob to reveal its underside. There, in dark blue ink, was a tattoo. At first Dana thought it was a teardrop, but then realized it was one half of the yin and yang symbol, the dark half, with a white dot.
“Wow, you got a tattoo,” Dana said.
“Mark has the other half,” Jen explained. “We got them today. There’s a tattoo parlor right in town. The yin and yang represent the two energies of the world coming together to create everything. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but it just feels so right to connect ourselves in this way.”
“Is it permanent?”
“Of course it’s permanent—it’s a tattoo.”
“I mean, I thought maybe it was one of those that wears off after a while.”
“You don’t approve?”
“No, it’s fine.”
Jen put her boob back in her bra and straightened her shirt. “I can see why you might think that a permanent mark on your skin isn’t a positive thing,” Jen said.
“I have nothing against tattoos,” Dana said. “It’s really beautiful.”
They looked at each other in the mirror. Under the intensity of the bathroom lights, the inky, swollen mark beneath Dana’s eye looked anything but beautiful. Of course she’d already clued Jen in on the details, how could she not? When you look like someone punched your face, there’s always a story to tell, in this case the story of a venous malformation she’d had since birth. “Venous malformation”: sounds like a misshapen planet, an embarrassment to an otherwise balanced solar system.
“So which half do you have?” Dana asked. “The yin or the yang?”
The question caught Jen by surprise, because she laughed and blushed. “I’m not sure.”
Heidi entered the bathroom and went in the stall. “I got a ride for Dana and me, we leave at eight. This is so awesome. And I know this guy at Clarkson, I called him and he’s going to meet me. He’s going to the concert, too.”
“I applied to Clarkson but didn’t get in,” Jen said.
“I didn’t get into Brown and, like, two other colleges.”
“What about you, Dana?”
The three of them now shared two sinks, Dana in the middle, trying to keep a steady hand with a mascara brush.
“This was my first choice,” she said. “I got the scholarship, plus a writer I like went here and that made me want to come.”
“Who?”
“Lorrie Moore—you probably haven’t heard of her.”
“No,” Heidi said. Then added, “By the way, the ride is just one way. You’ll have to find your own way home. I’ll probably stay at Clarkson tonight.”
“We’ll find you a ride,” Jen told Dana. “Even if you have to sit on a lap.”
Jen reached for the buttons of her shirt. She said to Heidi, “Can I show you something?”
Just a Friend Doing a Favor
He leaned against his van watching Gwen run to comfort her boy. Moments ago he imagined making love to her; now he wanted to choke her. Anger heated him like a sudden fever. Sweat ran beneath his shirt. He had done her a favor he would not have done for others, getting her that puny fucking bag, a tiny gesture as a means to an end but breaking the rules of how he ran his business. And this is what she does in return.
When she drove out of the parking lot, he followed. He could run her off the road, send her rolling into a ditch, then stop to finish her off. Clamp down on her pretty neck and squeeze the breath from her. He sped up, accelerating out of each curve, closing in.
But then: Who was he kidding? As quickly as his anger had spiked, it died, like a firework banging brilliant trails of color before drifting into smoke. What was he thinking? He wasn’t. He was gut reacting, a guaranteed way to make the situation worse, which is what he’d also done in letting his desire for Gwen build unchecked and unexplained. The way he had driven by her house this morning and pulled to the shoulder within sight distance of their property, the van’s hold full, no real plan in place, just watching, then blessing his luck when she came out to her car. And then the real kicker: asking her to meet him later. Where exactly were they going to meet? At the cabin where Aaron operated the grow house? At her lake home where she vacationed with her family? Maybe he could bed her down in a mildewed mountain hotel while the biggest business deal of his life slipped away?
The deal. How would he get the deal done now? He’d never been touched by the police before. Never sold to the wrong customer. Never been stopped on the road. Never needed a last minute Plan B.
Now he did.
First order of business: get off the road and figure out his next steps.
He glanced in his side mirror to see who might be tailing him. No one. Not yet.
At the junction of Route 186 he stopped following Gwen’s car and turned off. He snaked between Mount Adams and Rainbow Mountain for eight miles and turned again on the dirt road leading back to the cabin he knew to be safe. No one could locate him here, even if Gwen had told the police about him. His name was not associated with this property, never had been. There was no reason for anyone to believe he’d be up here.
Aaron’s truck was gone. Good. This gave him time to think. He sat on the porch and willed himself to calm down. A vise clamped his chest. Breathe, he reminded himself. Use your head. Think it through.
Quit acting like a frightened, weak man. Think.
He could reasonably conclude no one had tracked him into the mountains or followed him on the road. You couldn’t be tailed on these remote roads and not realize someone was behind you. Plus, no one would be looking for this van; it was registered to the dining company, not to Jude. And any surveillance on him would have taken place back in Morrissey, at Gull. A plainclothes posing as a patron: observing, finding nothing. Or a cornered rat set up to make a buy, wearing a wire. He hadn’t been approached by anyone new. But, wait, Gwen had come into the bar a few nights ago, edgy and nervous. He thought it was because she wanted to be with him, didn’t know how to express it or get started after being out of the game for so long. Could she have been bugged? But she never asked about getting more—he’d been the one to ask her if she’d run out already. Idiot.
No, she couldn’t have been wired. She said she’d come to Gull to tip him about the police.
There was no one setting him up.
There was Sweet.
Of course. Sweet had trapped him. Gwen had told the police where she’d gotten the pot and they set Jude up using Sweet, who was either an informant or a cop himself, all of this put into play because he’d gotten careless and sold Gwen a few buds of weed as a way to see her again. Panic and disgust choked him as he comprehended his situation, realized what a fool he’d been.
If he had not run into Gwen at the gas station, he’d be on his way to rendezvous with Sweet and a police ambush right now, and he didn’t have the Jericho with him. Not that he’d instigate a shootout, unless it were to turn the gun inward. That’s what he’d always told himself: he’d go out before he’d go down, but who really knew until the moment came.
Yet the only reason he could avoid that moment now is because Gwen had tipped him off.
And then he unde
rstood Sweet couldn’t be the one. Jude had been negotiating with Sweet before Gwen had come to see him the first time last winter. Sweet was clean. Sweet was his business partner, even though Jude had never trusted him.
No, Jude was scaring himself, still not thinking clearly.
He looked up Gwen’s number on his phone and called.
When she answered, he started by thanking her for letting him know, trying to put her at ease.
She whispered something he couldn’t hear. There was a voice in the background.
When did you tell the police?
She couldn’t talk. She’d call him back.
She cut the connection.
He sat on the stoop of the porch and watched yellow leaves fluttering in a stand of birches. Cloud cover moved in, blocking the sun behind a hazy white blanket. Think. How fucked was he? How much evidence did they have? Sweet had paid him half the money—did the police see that transaction? Were they watching him that night? He’d provided Sweet a sample of product—the sample alone was evidence enough against him. But the police could not have discovered much about him in a few weeks. With Dana preparing to go off to school, Jude had been lying low on the business side while helping her get ready. Focusing on finalizing arrangements with Sweet. Working with Simon to set up the online pharmacies, cultivating clients with that kind of taste. Ritalin instead of coke. Opiates instead of pot. Off the street and online. Not much traffic for an observer to see.
Maybe the situation wasn’t so bleak. With no one looking for the van and no need to stop at Gull, he could drive directly to Sweet’s location and make the delivery, earn his profit on this deal and get out now. This one deal would be a good nut; there was no need to get greedy.
He walked to the van and opened the back and decided it looked empty. He stood there staring at the hold for a long time, but couldn’t get himself back into the driver’s seat and on the road. He couldn’t put himself out there.
His phone rang. He saw Gwen’s number in the display and answered.
“I wanted to explain myself,” she said. “I mean—why I did it.”
“Go ahead.”
She launched into her story: the accident, the police finding the bag of pot in her car, testing her blood in the hospital, the other driver dying. Then came the threat of indictment for vehicular manslaughter if she didn’t reveal where she’d gotten the bag—even though the evidence showed she wasn’t at fault in the accident.
“I kept telling them it was just a friend doing me a favor. I didn’t want to give your name. But they really pushed. It’s a big deal because there have been problems with drugs in the schools and the police are following up on every little thing.”
“So now they’re following me.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m telling you.”
“Did they ask you to wear a wire and try to make another buy from me?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“To record our phone calls, like this one?”
“They didn’t ask me to do anything else.”
“So the police think I’m selling drugs to schoolchildren in Morrissey,” Jude said. An echo followed his voice, as if someone were repeating his words.
“That’s what they said they want to find out.”
“What do you think, Gwen?”
She paused, then answered. “I think you’re a friend who did me a favor.”
He said, “I have a daughter, she’s just eighteen years old.” He was a single parent, he reminded Gwen. He loved his daughter. He tried to raise her well. He read to her, helped her with school work, attended her track meets. He protected her. Sacrificed his personal life. “Do you remember, Gwen—that night when you watched Dana for me and she asked if you were going to be her new mother? I knew how confusing that could be for a young child. That’s the last time I let that situation occur.”
“We both have families to think of,” Gwen said. “Everyone would have known. I’d be barred from volunteering in the school. My kids, they would have been shunned. You don’t know what it’s like in Morrissey.”
“I understand. I know you had no choice.”
“Thank you for saying that. I didn’t want to get you in any trouble, I never intended to.”
“I know that. Forget about this police business, it’s just an unfortunate turn for both of us, I’m sure it will blow over.”
“That’s what I was hoping.”
“They’ll discover that following me is very dull.”
“You mean you’re not …”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore.” Instead: Would she come see him when they were back in Morrissey?
She didn’t hesitate. “I told you, I can’t do that.” She sounded strong and definitive, but also stilted, as if she’d expected his question and rehearsed a response.
“We could have been something, Gwen, you and I. That time we spent together, there was something special between us.”
“That was years ago. We have different lives now.”
“You reached out to me, remember. Just to buy something—was that the only reason you came to see me?”
She hesitated. “No, not just that.”
“Then what, Gwen? Tell me.”
“You haven’t been carrying some kind of torch for me all this time,” she said. “I won’t believe it. You didn’t carry one back then, we didn’t have that kind of relationship.”
“Let’s say I’ve rediscovered you. I’ve been imagining you.” He clenched the phone in his hand. “Okay, I’ve said too much.” This wasn’t turning out the way he wanted, none of it. Why couldn’t he control himself? “Actually, if you think about it, you’re the one who’s said too much.”
“That’s the reason I called—to apologize,” she said.
“So isn’t it your turn to do me a favor?”
“I just did you one, telling you about the police.”
“You’ll come see me?”
“It’s flattering, but, I know I might seem ungrateful, and if the situation were different and I were free …”
She stopped speaking.
“You want to say yes.”
Silence.
“Gwen, are you still there?”
“No. Jude, please.”
“Where are you right now?”
I Want Mommy
They fished for over an hour with Walter Garrison, catching nothing despite Mr. Garrison’s assurances that any minute now Nate or Nora or both of them would hook a fat, juicy trout. The entire time Brian kept watch on the house and when Walter motored around a dogleg in the lake and beyond the sight line of the house Brian asked him to turn back the other way.
They stayed in the boat until the kids got hungry and Walter headed back to the dock. Brian said there was nothing wrong with having peanut butter and jelly for lunch instead of trout.
Gwen wasn’t home.
“Where’s Mommy?” Nate asked.
“I’m not sure,” Brian said.
“She went for a walk,” Nora said. “She said there was no room for her in the boat.”
It fit for Brian, at first. He figured she needed alone time to collect herself and expend tension after her encounter with Gates at the market.
“Did she say where she was walking?” Brian asked.
Nora shook her head.
There wasn’t anywhere to go except along the road. It curved in and out with the shape of the lake and was pretty and quiet enough for a walk, although you were confined by the waterfront houses on one side and a rugged wooded tract on the other leading up the eastern slope of Mount Adams. She could walk down the road, and then walk back the same way.
Brian made sandwiches for the kids and poured milk. He drank leftover coffee from the morning. He suggested they go for ice cream and Nate said they bought ice cream at the store.
“We can save that for later,” Brian said. “I’m in the mood for a cone.”
“Me too,” said Nora.
“We can have ice crea
m twice today?” Nate asked.
“Why not?”
The kids cheered and ran out to the car. Brian left a note on the counter for Gwen.
He drove to the market Gwen and Nate had gone to that morning, where they sold soft ice cream from a window at the side of the building. He looked for Gwen along the way but saw only the flattened remains of a raccoon along the side of the road and two bicyclists riding in the other direction.
At the market, they stood in a short line waiting their turn and all three of them ordered a vanilla twist, Nora with a butterscotch dip, Nate with rainbow sprinkles, Brian plain old. They licked their cones at one of the picnic tables set up in a grassy area next to the parking lot. The sun dipped behind a bank of clouds moving in from the west and Nate started complaining he was cold. Brian wanted to ask his son what he saw happen between Gwen and the other man, but Nate would detect something wrong and so Brian kept his thoughts to himself.
He drove back the long way, taking a left instead of a right on the road circumventing the lake to approach their house from the opposite direction. Nate fell asleep. Nora leaned her forehead against the window and stared out. Brian began to worry.
His initial fear was that Jude had indeed followed Gwen back to the house and had picked a spot to wait, then snatched her when he saw her, the drug kingpin motivated by revenge for the ratting out. But the snatch theory was unlikely: Gwen said that at one point Jude had stopped following her and turned off, and Brian hadn’t lost sight of the house for more than a few minutes when they were out on Walt Garrison’s boat. He would have noticed any vehicles. Plus, Brian doubted Jude was immersed in that way as a drug dealer, although he had pointed out just that possibility whenever Gwen insisted that Jude was only a friend doing her a favor.
The other explanation was that Gwen’s involvement with Jude was more than old friends, former lovers, or business. He played this scenario out: she runs into him at the market, is consumed with guilt and remorse at having given his name to the police, not because she broke a promise to him and compromised her own integrity but because she’s attracted to him and he to her and they’ve been planning and hoping for an opportunity together. Her visit to Gull the other night was just a prelude to the main event. At this moment she’s tucked away in a mountain hideaway rolling him in the sheets.
