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David & Beth
Lara
Mark
I touch Mark’s name and put the phone to my ear as the line rings on the other end. After five rings, it rolls to voicemail. I decide not to leave a message, so I clickEND.
The speed dial for David & Beth reminds me I told them I’d visit them next month. David always says I’m welcome to visit anytime, and unlike most people, when he says it, I believe it.
Right about now would be a good time for me to get the hell out of Houston. I haven’t taken a vacation in years, and I could really use a break from the club. I’ll call him on the way to give him a heads-up, just in case they are away. What am I talking about? They never go away. They barely ever leave the house. Since David retired, they have barely enough to cover the mortgage and nominal expenses.
I open my phone and press the speed dial again.
“Shelly. Hi… Yeah, it’s me… I know I’m late. Look. I’m not coming in tonight… Just listen, please?... I’m going to need you to cover for me for a few days… Because I have a family emergency, that’s why… I need to go out of town… No! It doesnothave something to do with Lara… Look, can I count on you?… Thanks… Okay. Have a good night.”
I hitENDand slide my phone back into my pocket.
Jamie
For the first time in years, I decide to take some time away from Eden's. I'm fortunate to have caught Lara's tampering early enough that it doesn't appear to have affected the business too much. I was tempted to dump all the other procedures she implemented, but they seem to work. No sense being stupid about it.
It seems like Lara was actually trying to help the place. Until she wasn’t.
And now that Lara’s out of the picture, I'm confident the bar will be in good hands under Shelly’s watch while I'm gone. She’s a pain in my ass sometimes, but she’s been there longer than even me, so nobody knows the business better.
And Lord knows I fucking need a break.
And Lara. I need to forget about her. And clear my head. This past month with her has been a plaque accumulating in my soul. A nine-hour drive will do me good, and once I hit the Gulf, it's a beautiful drive with an ocean view much of the way. Fresh air and sun sounds like a godsend after the dark cave of Eden.
I pack only a small bag, since I'm not planning on staying long, and the most important thing is on the seat beside me. A photograph tucked inside an envelope. Before today, I've never taken it out of my bedroom. The idea of exposing it to the world frightens me. Every time I stop to pee or get gas, I peer inside just to make sure it's still there. As if there was anywhere it could go. Hell, I even strapped the seatbelt over the envelope just for added precaution. Weird, I know.
The loneliness of the road allows my mind to go quiet, and after a while it wanders, peaking into random corners looking for something new to process. Something about what Mark said snags its attention and won’t let go.Ugly fuckling,he said.And dick licking Lara, or something like that. How does he even know? I didn’t tell him anything about Lara, let alone that we were sleeping together. And why wouldshetellhim? No. She doesn’t even know Mark.
And he called herugly fuckling. What a weird term, and what the fuck is he talking about? Lara is stunningly gorgeous.
I don’t know what it means, but something about it feels familiar. It’s like I hear a faint chanting in my head: Ug… Lee… Fuck… Ling… Ug… Lee… Fuck… Ling. And all I can picture is a bunch of cheerleaders jumping up and down to the rhythm, flapping their pompons in the air in harmony with the chanting. Like I’m watching a movie of our old pep rallies at Sawyer.
Halfway to Florida, I can’t stand it anymore and decide I have to try to call Mark again. If anybody can help me decipher this eerie chant, it’s Mark. He’s the one who started it, for Christ’s sake.
It’s almost eleven o’clock, and if I call much later, Jenna will have a shit fit. But I need to find out if Lara told Mark anything when she hijacked our meeting at Wesley’s. I open my phone and touch theMarkspeed dial.
“Fuck.” It rolls immediately to voicemail.
I’m low on gas anyway, so I stop to fill up and grab a sandwich from the convenience store. Before I get out to pump gas, I reach to the seat beside me and pick up the envelope, gingerly sliding the photo out. My thumb goes straight for the right side of the image. Chris Pearl's face is smudged and faded in the photograph, and I hate that I've unknowingly worn out the image of his face over all these years.
I don’t really need the photo, anyway. Chris’s face will always be burned into my mind. I slide the photo back into the envelope and get out of the car.
After filling up and picking through the small selection of sandwiches inside, I get back on the road. As I pull onto the Interstate ten on-ramp, gnawing on my day-old stale salami and cheese sandwich, it hits me.
“Seth,” I mumble to myself.
I haven’t kept in touch with Seth. Things were never the same between us after he found Chris. but he invited me to his wedding a few years back. I couldn’t go, but I still have his number.
I pick up my phone and search. His name pops up. He lives in California; I think. So, it’s not too late. I touchCALL, and the phone immediately connects to the car Bluetooth.
After a couple of rings, “Hello?”
“Seth? It’s Jamie. Jamie Albrecht.”
