I have a surprise for you.
I double checked the time—five minutes ago. So not the ‘surprise’ from the arcade booth, then. I wondered what it could be.
Joey was standing at the prize counter, waiting for the attendant from up front to come back and give us the less than worthy prizes arcades were known for: hard candy, plastic bracelets, finger traps, and mostly other dollar-store items. One hand was behind his back as he looked up at me.
“Where’s Zoey and the girls?” he asked.
“Oh, Lettie’s gone to work. She’s dropping off June at your house, and Zoey’s with my mom. My mom texted me and wanted her to stay the night.”
His eyes lit up at that last part and his eyebrow arched. “Did you get my text?”
My mind went somewhere I didn’t want it to go, and I had to reign it back. “What’s this surprise, then?”
He pulled his arm out and slid a small teddy bear across the counter. “It cost me twenty dollars or more, I’m sure. Did they make the grabber harder since I left town?”
I ignored his rambling and stared at the small stuffed animal.
“Joey.” was all I could say. I choked back nostalgic tears.
“The one in your office looked lonely,” he said.
“You gave that to me at senior prom.”
“Because you hate flowers. I remembered, Abby.”
“Oh, God, I…” I breathed. I didn’t know what to say. I picked up the bear and held it in my palm. It was almost a perfect twin to the one he’d won me eight years ago. Some things had never changed in eight years, including grabber machine toys, it seemed.
“What can I get for ya?” A rotund man in a poorly buttoned shirt and jeans appeared behind the counter.
Joey picked out a variety of items. Candy, bracelets, a few plastic things. The four bracelets he slid across the counter to me, and he popped a piece of candy in his mouth. He winced as he crunched the ancient chocolate imitation. The attendant shuffled away without another word.
“Remember in high school I had a ton of these?” I said, pulling the bracelets on my wrist.
“So many,” he smiled.
“There used to be this joke that if a boy ripped the black one he wanted to sleep with you.”
“Oh, really?” Before I could slap him away, he reached over and yanked hard on the black rubber bracelet and it snapped immediately.
I gasped.
He tucked the broken one in his pocket and winked.
“Joey.” I tried to be serious, but the twinkle in his eye said don’t ask. I didn’t.
“So, no kid today, huh? What do you want to do now?”
“I need to go home and grade.” when I saw his frown, I quickly added, “but I’m starving. Let’s grab lunch?”
“Sounds good.”
As soon as we hit the parking lot, I groaned. “Oh, no. I gave Lettie my keys to get Zoey’s car seat, and she must have forgot to bring them back in.”
“No problem. We can take my truck.”
“Is that old thing even running anymore? You’ve had it since…”
“Senior year, that’s right,” he chuckled as we walked over it to it. “When I left for the Marines, my brother Randy drove it for a while, then my dad used it at work. It’s mine again, I guess, for the time being.”
“Time being?”
“Dad, he, uh, well, he hasn’t changed much. I’m twenty-six years old and I’m sure he’d love to ground me and take it away, even now.” He opened my door for me.
“Wow, it really hasn’t changed.”
“I can’t even drink his beer unless I pay for it.”
“Jesus.” I climbed in. It was just as high as I remembered, but I wasn’t as nimble as I was in high school. I struggled and felt Joey’s hand on my rear to help me up and in.
“I think you’re just trying to cop a feel,” I whispered to him.
He just grinned and shrugged. “Do I have to rip another bracelet?”
Chapter 7
Jo-Jo: It’s my turn for a confession.
Abby Girl: What’s that? You know it’s like 2am here, right?
Jo-Jo: It’s 3pm here and I just got off shift. And I miss you.
Abby Girl: I miss you, too, bestie.
Jo-Jo: You know you mean more to me than that.
Abby Girl: Joey.
Jo-Jo: You realize we are thousands of miles away and I can’t get you out of my mind?
Abby Girl: How’s Afghanistan, anyway?
Jo-Jo: hot. I don’t understand a word of whatever they speak. It’s hotter than shit out here.
Abby Girl: No air conditioning?
Jo-Jo: I wish.
Abby Girl: So, Army of two?
Jo-Jo: That’s the Army.
Abby Girl: Semper fi, I guess?
Jo-Jo: Finally, you get it. But seriously, I’d like to make us an army of two someday.
Abby Girl: Goodnight, Joey.
There’s something to be said about driving while distracted. I was keenly aware of Abby in the front seat of my truck, which hadn’t happened since prom night, eight years ago. That night had gone horribly, I remembered, though I couldn’t really recall why. We had left early and ended up at the arcade. I was trying to console her about something, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was. Was it something I had said?
Unlike that night, when her dark purple gown had reached her ankles, she was dressed in a short summer dress that was driving me crazy. When she folded herself into the arcade earlier, the hem of the dress lifted just enough to reveal the lacy edge of a thigh-high stocking. Fuck. My only weakness.
“Where do you want to eat?” she yelled above the music she’d turned up, thankfully distracting me from thinking about her legs.
I thumbed the volume button down while I thought about the meager options in town. “Soup and salad, or BBQ?”
“Hmm. I was thinking more exotic. Have you been out to Marlita’s, yet?”
“Marlita’s? What’s that?”
“It’s out past the ranch. A Brazilian place. It opened last year.”
“Brazilian? That is exotic. Wait, the ranch? That’s sixty miles out of town!”
“Exactly. Up for a road trip?”
“With you? Anytime.” I turned off the road and headed to the highway. A familiar tune pumped from the radio, and I turned it up.
Abby eyed me as I hummed along to Hot for Teacher.
“What?” I said innocently.
She shook her head. “Really, Joey.”
I shrugged.
“How’re your brothers these days? I heard Mike was working for JAG. Did Randy ever go into the military?”
I laughed and regaled my brothers’ histories. Abby listened patiently, shaking her head. “Your dad must be proud.”
“About everyone but me, it seems.”
“Weird.”
“Why?”
“A father should be proud of all his children. I know Evan would be.”
She dropped his name into our conversation so casually as I set the cruise control on the narrow two-lane highway. It took two tries as my fingers fumbled when she mentioned him. I took a chance and asked her what happened. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand,” I added.
She waved it away. “It’s been a year. I’m okay, now, I guess.”
“Still…Evan, man.” I ran a hand through my hair. “That’s crazy. Can’t believe he’s gone. My brother emailed me.”
She nodded. “It was, uh, not really unexpected. Evan had some demons.”
“He always did.”
“The military fucked him up,” Abby said bluntly.
That startled me. She never swore so blatantly. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Night terrors, tremors, PTSD, the works. After his first tour.”
“Wow, he’d seen some shit.”
“He never talked about it.” She shrugged and adjusted her seat belt over her chest.
“I don’t like to talk about it,”
I said softly. “It’s just easier to forget.”
“That’s probably what killed Evan.”
Jesus. She’s just so open about it, I thought. “You really don’t like to date soldiers?” I snuck a glance at her.
“It’s, uh, complicated,” she said slowly. “To be honest, I don’t date anyone.”
“What? Why?” The road curved to the left and I hit the brake. We were going a little fast, and I forgot how curvy this road was. To my delight, it threw Abby against my shoulder. I wanted to hold her hand, I realized, but this conversation wasn’t the time nor place, so I shifted my arm to my leg.
“I don’t really have time. Between school, grading, and Zoey, it’s not been a priority.”
“So has there been anyone since Evan?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her glare at me. “That’s really none of your business.”
From her defensiveness, I knew that answer was most likely no. Her next statement, though, caught me off guard.
“No one dates fat girls in this town, anyway. Fat girls with degrees and jobs? Out of the question.”
I laughed and heard her gasp. Realizing I’d offended her, I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. Both of those statements are just so ridiculous.”
“Really?” She crossed her arms. “Are they?”
I slowed around another corner. “Any man who would turn down someone like you is a completely shallow idiot.” I took a chance and added, “Plus, I’m pretty poor. You’re paying for lunch, right?”
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “What kind of guy doesn’t pay for food on a date?”
“So, this is a date.”
I saw her bite her lip. “Well, I’m not sure about that.”
“Hey, you kissed me, remember?”
I could see her turn three shades of red, flustered.
“Sorry.”
“You apologize a lot, Abby. Knock that shit off.”
“Then, you’re not mad?”
“I wouldn’t have kissed you back if I was mad.”
“I guess that’s a good point.”
I chuckled. “Some things never change, do they?”
She tilted her head at me. “I guess they don’t.”
Because believe me, if you had given me the signal in high school, I would have kissed you, I thought, but couldn’t bring myself to say it. I wasn’t even sure if it was entirely true.
The rest of our car ride was in relative silence, each of us buried in our own thoughts, except for the occasional comment about another car or some roadside attraction. For the next half-hour, I was keenly aware I had the most beautiful girl in the world next to me, and I couldn’t help but think about the kiss in the arcade.
I wanted more—but I wasn’t sure if she was ready.
“That’s your exit,” Abby pointed out eventually. I merged off the highway to a windy little road that dead-ended at a gas station and sprawling restaurant with cleanly landscaped front sidewalk. Just behind it, I could see the small-town resort, complete with horse-back riding stalls and an ice skating rink.
“Didn’t this used to be another resturant?”
“A Mexican place,” Abby finished, “And after that German. For a month Italian, then weird Asian-fusion. They never last long here. But this place is pretty good. I’ve been here a few times for work meetings.”
I pulled into the front next to a row of a dozen cars, all high-end and expensive. A couple of BMW convertibles, a Mercedes, and a shiny new Buick. My beat up old truck looked like an eye sore next to them as I joined Abby on the sidewalk.
The place was probably the fanciest I’d ever seen in my life. I’d been to the Officer’s Club on base only once, and while they served prime rib and lobster, it was nothing compared to this.
Miniature chandeliers lighted each table, which were a rustic-style oak with log-cabin-styled chairs. The motif was all wrong for Brazilian, though the splashes of color in the Latin American paintings on the wall aided to the cultural flair. I’m no designer, but already this place looked backwoods and high end at the same time.
A waiter in a crisp white shirt and black bowtie sat us immediately. There were only a dozen tables, and six of them held elderly patrons of varying ages. Some casual in jogging suits and visors, two business men in one corner in suit and tie, and an elderly woman with a younger man by the fireplace in the center. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t really recognize her.
Abby slid into a chair across from me, her back to the couple I couldn’t stop staring at. The man had a shock of thin, straight blond hair, reminding me a little of Zoey’s. Odd, I thought.
Distracted by the menu, Abby launched into telling me what was good to eat. “Lamb chops are a little pricey, but there’s also pork and quiche. Oh, and the plantain appetizer is to die for.”
I briefly looked at the prices, which were high, even for this town. Abby must have seen the look on my face because she reached over and touched my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. My treat.”
“So, it is a date.” I winked at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I guess it’s a date.”
“Okay, but next time, my treat,” I told her. “Damn, we are far from splitting fries at McDonalds.”
“Welcome to adulthood,” she laughed. The waiter appeared, and she ordered sodas for the both of us. She still remembered my favorite and I grinned at her. “Can we get an order of plantains as well?” she added.
The waiter nodded and smiled, then disappeared.
Behind Abby, the couple I’d noticed on the way in were staring openly at her now. The woman caught my eye and frowned deeply, her face almost a flash of anger.
I was on full alert now. Even if Abby hadn’t noticed them, they clearly noticed her. Who were they?
The woman suddenly pointed, and the man turned around to look.
I cleared my throat, mostly to hide my shock. He was the spitting image of Evan, even down to those brooding brown eyes. Malachai, his name shot through my brain. Evan’s twin brother.
The woman with him was his mother. She’d aged twenty years in the eight I’d been gone, and that’s why I didn’t recognize her. Her eyes were deep set and dark, like an alcoholic who had developed a sudden hard drug addiction, and her collar bones poked through her blouse, her arms, impossibly skinny, were twig-like. I realized then her hair was tightly bound in a scarf-style turban. I wondered what disease had ravaged her that she would look so sallow.
“Abby,” I whispered. She was still buried in the menu. “I don’t want to alarm you, but Malachai Years and his mother are sitting a few tables behind you.”
Her head shot up and she dropped the menu. “Oh, no! Are you sure?” She leaned forward and whispered fiercely, “They are supposed to be in Europe until June. They came back already?”
“She looks sick,” I admitted. “Like, really sick.”
Abby nodded, her face sad. “Cheryl was diagnosed with thyroid cancer right before Evan. Well, you know.”
The waiter interrupted then with our drinks and plantains. “Are you ready to order?” he asked us.
I looked at Abby. “Are you okay?”
She took a sip and nodded. “It’s fine. We can just eat and go. Do you care if I order for both of us?”
“I trust you,” I nodded. I quickly glanced at Cheryl and Malachai. They were still staring and chatting with each other.
Abby ordered a party plate of pork chops, salad, and two soups, smiling brilliantly at the waiter.
No sooner had the waiter left our table than things heated up with the two behind Abby. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Cheryl was reaching for her son, trying to persuade him not to do something. Malachai stood, pushing his chair back so hard and suddenly it nearly rocked over. He turned and strode to our table.
I grabbed Abby’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t panic, he’s coming over here.”
Her eyes darted around, but she didn’t look behind her. She squeezed my hand and pu
shed it away. “Whatever you do, don’t tell them where Zoey is.”
“What?” Alarmed, I didn’t have time to clarify, as Malachai had already crossed the room.
“Fancy seeing you here, Abigail,” he said, leaning his palms on our table. “Is this your new man?”
I started at that, but from my time in the military I knew violence met with violence never solved much. I stood and offered him my hand. “Hi, Mal. It’s Joey. Joey Harrison. We had English together, remember?”
Malachai looked at my hand, then at me, and ignored both. He turned back to Abby. “Where’s my niece?”
“Malachai,” Abby said, her tone measured and even, though I could see her jaw work in anger. “You’re back from Europe already.”
“Do you see her? My mother?” He pointed to his table. “She’s dying. Or do you even care? You awful bitch, you never cared. Keeping my mother’s only grandchild from her!”
“I told you before, I’ve been busy. I haven’t kept her from you. I’m teaching now, and I’m fairly busy.”
I stepped between them, pushing Malachai back lightly, my palm against his chest. “Hey, this is not the time or place for this, buddy. Now, I don’t know what’s going on—I just got back into town myself—but if your mother wanted to see Zoey, I do believe there’s lawyers you can contact.”
Too late, I didn’t see Malachai’s fist cock back, but I did see it swing toward me. I ducked and thrust my weight into the center of his chest. He toppled to the floor, taking a chair with him. His fingers wrapped around it, but I was faster and stronger. I batted it out of the way and straddled him, pinning his arms to his chest as he struggled against me. I leaned in and hissed, “I said leave the lady alone. Do you want to embarrass your mother this way? With police?”
“Joey!” Abby gasped behind me.
A waiter and another man in a suit had rushed over by this time. “I’m Mr. Johnson, the owner. What is going on here?” Suit asked.
I quickly stood, leaving Malachai staring up at me in shock. The waiter helped him up and stepped between us.
Malachai’s mother, Cheryl, had watched all this front row and center, and had hobbled over to us. She rested heavily on an ancient cane. Even though she was sick, she wasn’t more than my mother’s age—early to mid-50s, maybe—but up close she looked like she was more into her 70s.
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