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It’s a moment of clarity every time, or so I tell myself. Maybe it’s just a natural high, or a weird over-confidence based on the story I’ve told myself, but lying there in the bubbles, I think that there isn’t any reason at all I shouldn’t see Brady again. In fact, he might just enjoy it.
3
Brady
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m a cop first. And I’m on the wrong side of forty. I’m not foolish enough to forget about these things. And before you ask, yes, we can find out whatever we’d like to about anybody who strikes your fancy. I’m not too proud to admit the thought of running a couple of searches to find Megan has crossed my mind. But that means requests and paperwork and, the fact is, even if I could wrap up my curiosity with a nice little bow made out of the alarm call, I’m not too keen on everyone asking questions about my work.
Plus, we’re cops. It would take all of about two seconds for someone to look at my actions and assess my intentions.
But the truth is, if you really want to learn about someone, all you need is an internet connection. After my shift I head home like usual, trying to follow the same routine I always do, figuring that maybe this new train of thought will fizzle out if I just keep myself focused on regular life.
I stop by Frank’s, shoot the shit for a few minutes with Stacy, the bartender there, almost got talked into sticking around for some wings, but bow out at the last minute, and am home by the time the sun is starting to think about setting. About as regular as it could be for a summer day.
Of course, the first thing I do after I get home is grab the old laptop off the desk in the second bedroom and head for the coffee table.
Because, like I was saying, all you need is an internet connection. It’s not like I’m trying to crack the Zodiac case here. I’ve got a name. A town. I’ve got a general age and picture of her in my mind. Kids nowadays think there’s something wrong with them if they haven’t plastered their faces all over the internet. And, to all you kids out there, thanks. It makes my job easier in so many ways.
So I kick off my shoes, set a beer on top of an old pizza box, and get to it.
Things would admittedly be easier if she had a name with a little more pizzazz to it. There are Megan Reynolds from Utah to Chicago. Athletes, actresses. You name it. But it doesn’t take a computer whiz to type in a few extra terms, say “Arden” or our zip code here, to narrow it down some. After that, you just look through the pictures till you see one you recognize.
Theoretically, anyway.
After about forty-five minutes and another beer, I lean back on the couch and sigh. It figures, really. The one time I’m really geared up to find out about somebody and it’s the one girl who decides to keep her private life private.
Granted, there’s a part of me that admires her for it, don’t get me wrong. But things would be a hell of a lot easier if I had more to go on than a couple of hits on a high school yearbook page and a long list of what were clearly incorrect phone numbers. Without a photo, I can’t even be sure about the yearbook. Brick Chapel wasn’t terribly far away, and the university wasn’t one you’d exactly drive across the country to attend. But even if it was her, what was I gonna do? Go talk to her about her high school extracurriculars?
I hadn’t caught a high school game in…
The thought stops me. What am I doing? It’s been two and a half decades since I was in high school. For her, it’s maybe barely two and a half months. Even if I’m lucky and she’s just older than she looks, two and a half years. Max.
“You’re being a creep,” I mutter to myself, closing the search windows.
I take the computer back to the desk, toss the beer can in the trash, and stand in the kitchen. It’s not gonna do me any good to just sit around the house the rest of the night. Next thing I know I’ll have the computer open again and be trying to narrow down which phone number really could be hers. And even if I do it, then what? “Hey, I’ve been trying to track you down all night but didn’t want to use the precinct search database because I’m being a dirty old man.”
That at least sounded about right.
I walk into the bedroom. There’s a beat-up pair of sneakers in the closet and gym shorts in the dresser. Lord knows I have been paying the gym down the street enough money over the years to own half the machines in there. Originally, the idea was to have it as a get-away type place. You can only be around cops so much in a day before it starts to wear on you. Yeah, that goes for us, too. But the thing is, it’s easy as hell to drive past a gym. I do it all the time.
So, figuring there isn’t any sense in keeping up another fantasy for the evening, I grab a ball cap off the rack on the wall, my keys and jacket from by the end table, and head back to Frank’s. Food always tastes better when you don’t fix it yourself anyway. At least that’s what my mom always said.
And I’m not ashamed to admit it, but just as I’m pulling the door closed, I wonder if Megan can cook because one of us will need to.
Hell.
I lock the door and head out.
* * *
The thingwith most parts of my life is, I either need them, or I don’t. I’m not trying to sound like some kind of nut job here. I’m not sitting around prepping for the end of the world and I’m not some monk living with no more than two nickels set aside to rub together. All I’m saying is, I’ve got my system down and I stick to it. Sure, there are bumps in the road, but most of those bumps come in the form of cases, and cases have a tendency to get closed. No more cases, no more bumps.
So after four days have gone by and I still find myself keeping an eye out for a blonde with big curls, or when I find myself “just so happening” to roll down through the jewelry store’s neighborhood, I figure something has to be done. It’s not like she was a loose end, but she wasn’t settling with me. Like having something caught in your teeth, though that’s hardly the way a girl probably wants somebody to think about her.
And plus the dreams. Don’t get me started on those. Four days. That’s three nights. Three nights of dreams like I haven’t had since I was sixteen. Waking up like part of me is made out of iron. Waking up to see that orgasm wasn’t just in my dream after all.
I needed to track her down, if for no other reason than to give myself a good shot of reality. Fantasy Megan, Dream Megan, whatever you wanna call her, that girl was getting way too far down in my brain. Especially for someone I didn’t ever see with my own two eyes.
Given that it’s a Saturday, I didn’t figure I’d have too much luck catching her at work, but you never know. College kids gotta keep odd hours and all. And, despite having told myself I wouldn’t, I was able to confirm that there were not one but two Megan Reynolds enrolled in the University. Megan A and Megan T. Maybe that just means the name is more common than even I thought, but the odds of there being three in the same little podunk town…surely not.
