I shake my head. “No, not looking for a pity party. Wait a sec. I’m just gonna hang up and call you back on video.”
“Sure.”
I hastily hang up and dial in again. She pops up on the screen and it’s so good to see her. Her wavy brown hair is piled on top of her head in a wild bun, round cheeks flushed and eyes tired but happy.
“I’m looking for help with this.” I point the phone toward the pile of unsuitable clothing stacked on the bed.
“First up, do you happen to have any alcohol handy? A drink will definitely loosen you up a little, and you seem tense.”
My gaze wanders over to the tiny fridge in the room. Might not hurt. I snag one of the tiny bottles of prosecco I grabbed to make the nights at this dismal place a little less depressing and fiddle with the plastic cork until it pops.
Then I hold it up to the camera in a cheers and take a swig. The bubbles dance on my tongue.
“Good plan. Now where do I start?”
“Okay, well, jeans for sure. That’s a given. Do you happen to have any that don’t look like they cost a thousand dollars?”
“What does that even mean? What’s the difference?”
“Right. Probably be fine as long as there are no visible designer logos. Show me what you got.”
The pile teeters, toppling over as I yank the stack of denim out from the bottom, laying them out for her to see.
“The middle ones. The ones on the left are too dark, and those other ones look like they came straight off a runway.”
I eye the pair suspiciously, not sure where she’s getting that from. The alternating patches of multi-colored denim look pretty chill to me, but what do I know?
“Now what kind of bar is it?”
“What do you mean?”
She gives me adon’t-be-denselook. “We talking local watering hole? Cowboys cozied up to the bar downing pints while families enjoy a meal out? Or like live music, karaoke, that kind of thing?”
“I dunno. They did mention something about music.”
“Research, my friend. What’s it called?”
I squint up at the water stain on the yellowed ceiling, searching my mind for the name. “Umm.” Maybe, I’ve gotten too used to relying on other people to do shit for me. I snap my fingers. “The Grove. That’s it.”
“And where are you?”
“Balsam Grove, Alberta.”
“Bastian, phone!” she yells over her shoulder.
There’s a shuffling sound and then a deep male voice sounds out from beside her. “What’s up, Fab?” He dips his head down, dropping a kiss on her forehead. I could swear I see her blush. Even after five years of marriage.
“Look up The Grove Bar, Balsam Grove, Alberta.”
He whips out his phone, starting to scroll without even questioning the command. Knew that guy was a good one.
“Got it. What’s up? You planning a summer vacay? Good place for kids?”
“No, Aura’s there, but shhh, nobody knows. Top secret information.”
He finally glances up from his phone to spot me. I give him a wave and a sheepish smile. Abby might have instantly forgiven me, but I’m not sure he’ll be as willing to if he thinks I did something to hurt his wife.
But there’s no judgment on his face, just a little surprise and maybe a hint of relief. The guilt churns my stomach again.
