“I posted a picture from high school graduation, sporting my sky-blue cap and gown. It was hideous. An agency scout happened to see it. They can be predatory. I wouldn’t be shocked if they creeped graduation hashtags,” I say. “Anyway, I got a DM. Since I didn’t have prospects outside of local community college, I took a shot that it was legit.”
“O66.”
I furiously scan my cards, finding the match twice. The prizes don’t matter to me; I just want to win. I need a win.
“You ever seen a tornado?”
“Jesus, is this some kind of twenty-questions,” Juliet says under her breath.
“Do you mind?” Grady taps his knee against mine under the table. I don’t flinch away. “I can stop. I’m only curious.”
“I don’t mind,” I answer. Secretly, I like his attention. Trusting the attention is a different story. “Yes, I’ve seen some smaller ones. There was an F3 where we lived when I was real young, but I don’t remember it.”
“Do you have storm cellars? Like in the movies,” Juliet asks.
“We did. The house I grew up in was an old farmhouse that’s been in my dad’s family forever. The cellar always freaked me out, though. One hundred years’ worth of spider webs lived down there.”
“B6.”
“That card is looking good,” Grady says, pointing to the card of mine with the most dabs. “You don’t do spiders, huh?”
“I don’t do bugs, rodents, anything creepy-crawly,” I say with a feigned shiver. “There were always mice in the house growing up. I don’t think I got a solid night sleep my whole childhood. I’d wake up at every tiny noise thinking it was a mouse climbing up my bedpost.”
“I don’t think they’re loud enough to wake you up,” he says like it’s a secret.
“Thanks for that. Now, I’m never going to sleep again,” I joke. “Are there mice in Irma’s house?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Juliet answers. “Lots of spiders, though.”
“Fuck my life.”
“I’ll catch them while I’m here,” she says. “After that, you’re on your own.”
“Are they big?” Both cringe when I ask the question. “Shit. How big?”
Grady widens his thumb and pointer finger to indicate. I must go pale, because they both laugh.
“Call me, if you need help,” he tells me. “Rescuing cats out of trees and spiders out of showers is kind of part of the job.”
“G50.”
Talk turns to stories of encounters with tiny-legged creatures. Juliet woke up once with something called a stink bug crawling on her face. I tell them about the time I was on a shoot at a Napa vineyard, and my hotel room had a mouse. I had to call the front desk in complete panic until they sent someone up to help me pack my stuff and take me to a room on a higher floor.
I hate vineyards, now.
Grady once had a standoff with a mama possum who was hiding her babies in a five-gallon bucket he had sitting in his backyard.
“I did have a photoshoot with snakes, once. They kept a bucket nearby because I kept having to take vomit breaks. My anxiety was through the roof.”
“And you still came out with a good shot?”
“She’s that good,” Juliet says.
“Do you want to see? I’m sure I can find them online,” I say, pulling my phone from my back pocket. My old phone hadalbums with all my photos in them. That phone will probably never be seen again.
“I’d love to. I’m not scared of snakes, but I’m not sure I could look relaxed with one.” He scoots his chair a couple of inches closer to me. Close enough that his sleeve brushes mine. His heat hovers around the constant chill I can’t seem to shake. It’s penetrating. Grady is comfort. I’ve seen it with Paige and Juliet. I feel it when I’m around him. And I wonder if he’s like that for everyone. Is it just who he is? Or is it a product of his profession?
“G46,” Sam calls out.
