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I can’t make it out of the church basement without having four exceedingly lengthy conversations that cause me to lose track of Brittany for good. I assume she dipped out with a couple of her friends to have brunch or she took her black Volkswagen ‘round the back roads to her dad’s place. It’s only been three days since I’ve seen Harry, but I still feel guilty as hell. Work has kept me busy. There are more opioids than last year in this town and more kids getting hooked on pills and all types of shit.
The sheriff wants us to get this shit off the streets, but we don’t know where it’s coming from. You can’t look at the average kid and tell if they’re hooked – not at first – so the pills on our small town streets could be anywhere. I’ve learned from my time on the force that there’s no such thing as an average addict. I’ve been to crime scenes with fifty-something year old construction workers and responded to tragic overdoses by teenage girls of about fifteen.
The pills doesn’t discriminate, and it’s here in our streets. Everyone wants to talk about the latest announcement that we’re cracking down on pills.
I work up a big sweat by the time I get out of the basement and finish a couple more cups of hot chocolate.
Brittany mustn’t have stuck around long. She’s gone by the time I leave the church basement. Outside, I see Viola and her husband Terran playing across the street with their dogue Rogue. Cyrus Miller and his sister argue in the parking lot and Conan helps his older mother into his car so he can take her home.
Rob has his girlfriend pressed against her car and her tongue halfway down her throat. She sings in the choir and she must have been in Brittany’s year at the high school, but I don’t know her name. I scan the parking lot for Brittany, but she must be long gone.
I drive over to Zed’s place to help him move some beams like I promised and then I take some groceries over to Kane’s elderly mother’s home. By the time I finish all that, the sun’s about to set, meaning I’d better take my ass over to Harry Reddick’s place. We’re supposed to have dinner together since Harry ain’t exactly in the condition to make it to church these days.
While they wait for test results, there’s nothing we can do but hold on to each other and pray, right? Brittany Reddick is a tough cookie. I just can’t stand to see a bastard like Rob messing with her head. She doesn’t deserve this right now when Harry’s health keeps getting worse. He complains he can’t sleep at night and one night his heart stopped, just like that.
The thought of losing him scares the crap out of Brittany and hell, it scares the crap out of me too. I don’t want her to be hurt like this.
Later in the evening,I take my personal car over to the Reddick property on West Court Street with Pistol, my retired K9 in tow. He’s a good old boy, but because of his hip dysplasia and blindness in one eye, he can’t work anymore. Keeping our county safe is up to Kort now. Pistol’s mine until then.
He hangs his head out the window, enjoying the breeze as I take the car up to Harry’s place.I wonder if she’ll be home yet and if she’ll still be mad. I can’t stay mad at her. Not even over that idiot, Rob.
Before he retired from the force in Syracuse, Harry bought a giant house on top of the hill and restored it with my help. The tudor-style home stands out at the best kept historical property on the street. Britt’s car’s parked outside by the time I get there.
I get to see her again. I always want to see her, but every time I do, I worry I’ll screw up. She’s Harry’s girl. I’ve got no right to be looking at her or noticing how pretty she is, or fucking with her relationships. I’ve got no right at all… In the depths of my heart, I can’t control how I feel about Brittany Reddick, even if it’s wrong.
As long asI don’t touch her. That’s all I have to do–stay away.
I ringthe doorbell to their house, and of course, Brittany answers the door.
* * *
Chapter2
A Guy Like Fletcher
Brittany Reddick
Ihate running into Fletcher at church. I don’t need him coming over to talk to dad later and opening his mouth about what’s not going on between me and Rob.
Rob is a lost cause, but I can’t get him out of my head. Boys. I’ve never been great with boys and they’ve never really liked me much, but that doesn’t mean you stop trying, right?
Men appreciate effort. You want a guy to know you like him, you just keep trying and trying until he figures it out.
That’s how it should work, right? Romance isn’t supposed to be complicated and guys are simple. Well, Rob isn’t. But most guys are simple — like my dad and his best friend, Fletcher. I don’t know what that annoying asshole Fletcher was thinking, showing up at church like that and interrupting my conversation with Rob, but aside from that, Fletcher is normal.
He’s proof that normal men at least exist.All the normal men are gay, too old for you, married, or they live on another planet. Fletcher falls into the “too old for me” category and possibly the “gross” category since I’ve known him since I was a kid.
I open the door to my dad’s place once I get home from church — my mom died shortly after giving birth to me, so he’s all I’ve got — and greet my dad loudly. I slip off my shoes as I wait for him to answer. Fletcher is one of the few guys I’ve ever met taller than me in heels. As I slip them off, I can’t help thinking about how he’s the only man I’ve ever felt small and feminine around.God bless the 6’6” men.
I slip off my cardigan and throw my hair up into a messy pineapple, calling my dad’s name again. He has to be asleep, but his lack of a response worries me immediately considering his lack of sleep, the constant coughing and his inability to keep certain foods down which has only recently cropped up.
I bound upstairs barefoot, panicking myself completely before I get there.
He’s fine, Britt. He’s fine. Dad’s asleep upstairs listening to the baseball game on the radio. He listens to the playoffs instead of watching, which takes an impressive amount of dedication, but he’s passionate about the Yankees. The medication they’re giving him makes him tired, and he’s not exactly the man he used to be.
He would always go to the gym with Fletcher after church on Sundays. Now, he can’t even make it to church.
I hear a hacking cough from dad’s bedroom as I push the door open, a grim reminder that he might not be that guy ever again. I’m relieved he’s alive, but concerned that he’s so far from himself.
