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Ethan
Every once in a while, I get two blessed days off in a row. This time it just happens to fall on the day before and the day of the press conference. It gives me plenty of time to tear the house apart in anxiety. I put on a paint-stained wife beater and a backwards ball cap, blast some Metallica, and start digging through cabinets and closets that haven’t been emptied since before my grandparents moved out.
I’m lobbing forty-year-old Tupperware into the garbage and slapping the floor in time to the guitar solo from "Battery" when I look up and realize Mom has left her puzzle to watch. She has a small, knowing smile on her face that I haven’t seen since before she got sick. I switch off the music and study her from my position sprawled on the linoleum. “Am I being too loud?”
She shakes her head. “I like it when you’re loud.” As an afterthought, she adds, “There’s someone at the door asking for you.”
I scramble to my feet, wiping sweat off my forehead and checking my phone. Neither Peyton nor Ana texted they were coming over, so it must be a Girl Scout or a Mormon. I know which I’d prefer.
It’s sure as hell not a Girl Scout.
The man in the charcoal suit is so tall our eyes are level even though he’s standing down a step. He’s clearly older than me, but not as old as most men you see in suits like that. He tips his head down slightly to cut the sun glare on his glasses and studies me, from my crooked Raiders hat to my filthy, ripped clothes. Over his shoulder I see what looks like an Aston Martin nosed up to the curb.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he says crisply, handing me a business card.Gray Freeman. That name rings a bell—Werner Lang’s lawyer or something.
“I can’t leave my mom alone.”
“Five minutes.”
“Are you here to condescend to, intimidate, flex on, or otherwise bully me?”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “That depends. Even if I am, it’s too late to back out. The payment should be hitting your bank about,” he checks his watch, “now.”
“What?” I glance over my shoulder to make sure Mom is focused on her puzzle again. “I’ll be back in a second.” Pulling the storm door shut behind me, I herd Gray down the driveway until we’re out of earshot of the house. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Think of it as a goodwill gesture. We can afford to be generous with tiny sums like that.”
“So youarehere to flex on me.”
This time, he doesn’t smile. His brow furrows as he turns and starts strolling down the sidewalk, expecting me to follow. “I have a suit in my car to deliver to you, along with a folder of personal information you’re to memorize. It covers basic background on the Lang family and Victor’s preferences, along with a cover story to go with the pseudonym you’ve been assigned.”
When I hesitate, he turns around. “Victor and I haven’t had a single normal conversation. Shouldn’t we meet up and go over this stuff together, get to know each other?”
“Your job isn’t to get to know Victor. Your job is to say the things written on that piece of paper and then disappear into the sunset.”
“Are they going to say we broke up?”
“That’s not your concern.” He seems to relent a little. “Victor’s the main attraction; no one will remember you. They’ll assume that you’re a secretive person or that he eventually moved on. It doesn’t matter.”
"Well ok, then." I'm feeling more and more alone, like I'm the only one who cares if this stupid plan goes right or not.
He crosses his arms and examines me again, more slowly this time. Feeling self-conscious, I try to adjust my hat without showing him my unwashed hair. But even though I look like I just crawled out of a hole, his expression when he finishes seems satisfied.
For the first time since I set eyes on him, he hesitates, like he’s searching for words. “Be careful with him,” he says abruptly, then starts walking back toward his car, which has attracted a lot of attention from people doing their Saturday morning yard work.
I should keep my mouth shut, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it's being made responsible for other people’s carelessness. When I was seven years old, I panicked because the other first graders were goofing around during singing practice instead of doing the motions and my teacher wouldn’t make them stop. She told me it would be ok as long as I concentrated on doing my part perfectly. During the performance, I messed up one time, just a little, and broke down bawling. I think she meant well, but I’m sick of the decent people in the world being expected to make up for the existence of the freeloaders. “Becarefulwith him? You do know he was doing coke in his living room with a bunch of creeps the other night, right?”
Gray’s gait falters for just a second, but he keeps walking without a word. I can’t help but admire the lines of the Aston Martin as he opens the door and pushes a garment bag and a folder into my arms. “A car will pick you up at five o’clock tomorrow evening. Call the number on my card if you have any questions.”
When he pulls away, I realize all the people gawking at his car are now gawking at me. I hurry inside and open the folder, preparing myself to pull on another life like a spare jacket, a life where I was the kind of person—God knows who—that would catch the eye of someone like Victor Lang. If that imaginary person existed, I would have felt very sorry for him.
The next afternoon, after Ana arrives, I shave and spray on deodorant, then wash my hands carefully and open the garment bag in my room. Even though I skipped breakfast and lunch, my stomach is churning. I’ve never evenfeltfabric like the stuff under my fingers as I ease the jacket off its hanger, trying not to let it touch anything in my dusty room. The fact that they have all my sizes without asking me is some supervillain level shit.
The last time I wore a suit was to Danny’s funeral, a wrinkled polyester hand-me-down that my wide shoulders nearly tore in half. I threw it in the garbage that night, one of the only things I’ve ever outright wasted. This tailored jacket hugs me in all the right places, while the light gray color makes me look impossibly sophisticated and somehow older. I have no idea what to do with the matching bow tie, so I leave it hanging around my neck as I pull on the surprisingly comfortable black leather shoes.
Ava was supposed to take Mom out shopping so I could leave discreetly, but when I emerge into the living room they’re still sitting on the couch.Shit.Ava’s eyes get round, and Mom bursts into tears.
“Mom, Mom, it’s ok.” I tug up the hems of my trousers and crouch in front of her, folding her hands in mine. “It’s just me. What’s wrong?”
