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Jem suppressed a groan. That wasn’t fair. That was—that was like the universe testing him.
His feet carried him in a loop back to the lounge. The guy in the Sonic tee, oblivious to the loss of his wallet, was already scuttling away. Apparently, his nerve had broken, and whatever he was waiting for—sex, drugs, rock and roll—he’d scared himself out of it. Jem would do the responsible thing. He’d pick up the wallet before some random stranger found it, and he’d take it to the front desk, and he wouldn’t even tell Tean he’d done a good deed.
He most certainly wouldn’t copy down any of the credit card numbers. Even though it pained him. A little. Even after years of being exposed to Tean’s unwavering goodness and Tean relentlessly being an upstanding citizen and Tean sometimes even feeding quarters into other people’s parking meters (while telling Jem he shouldn’t be doing it, he was furthering antisocial behaviors like poor planning and carelessness and disrespect for law and order, all of which would bring an end to civilization as we know it). Even though Jem still remembered what it was like to be hungry, and how to get an easy meal, and to watch his back because, aside from Tean, nobody was going to watch it for him.
So, he didn’t copy down the credit card numbers. And he didn’t take the Missouri driver’s license. But he did take the eight hundred and thirty-six dollars in cash.
“Jem!”
Jem jerked upright, automatically discarding the wallet by tossing it into a potted plant. He scanned the hallway, looking for the source of his name while shoving the cash into a pocket of his shorts (today’s were green nylon with an eye-watering graphic print).
Missy came down the hall toward him, waving both hands like he might miss her. Or like she was directing an airplane. Jem tried again to read her tattoos—on her wrists and on one biceps—but the font was that tiny, curling one girls loved to get, and it was still hard for him to read stuff like that. Especially when it was moving towards him at thirty miles an hour.
“Oh my God, I’m so glad I bumped into you!” She went for a hug, and then she released him almost as quickly and took a nervous step back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask, and I know I don’t really know you.”
“No worries,” Jem said. “But you’re lucky you give good hugs.”
Missy laughed. “The first time I hugged Tean, he literally snaked his way free and walked into a door jamb.”
With a smile, Jem glanced around. “Is he with you? I thought you were going to dinner.”
“Oh, we are.” She gave a little furrow of her forehead. “He said you were going to do your own thing. I promise we’re not that boring.” She laughed again. “Ok, we are, but I still want you to come. I never get to see Tean, and I want to get to know you.”
Which wasn’t what Tean had said to Jem at all.
“Thanks, really. But I want Tean to have a night when he doesn’t have to worry about including me—you know what I mean? If I go, he’ll try to make sure I’m involved, and since I can’t tell, uh, a hawk from…an owl, I guess, I wouldn’t be very good company.”
“We mostly get drunk and bitch about everybody else here. Trust me, after the third round, nobody’s going to be able to tell a hawk from an owl.” Her eyes widened, and in a rush, she said, “Oh, not Tean, though. He’ll probably slide out from under the table and escape—”
Shouts down the hall broke through the stream of words, and when Jem glanced over, a ragged crowd of observers was watching as a woman straightened herself. The cause of her near fall was obviously the man who was striding away, back stiff. Jem only got a glimpse of him: acid-washed denim, one of the heavy belts country boys liked to wear, a stringy mullet flopping over the collar of his western shirt.
Missy made a vexed noise and headed toward the onlookers. Jem thought that might be his chance to get away, but Missy glanced back and waved for him to come. So, he strolled after her.
The woman who had nearly fallen was petite, her blond hair in a pixie cut, and red eyed behind a pair of glasses. She was fighting to plaster on a smile as Missy reached her, and when Missy asked something in a low voice, she shook her head. A few of the looky-loos lingered, hoping something else might happen, but the crowd broke up and drifted away.
“—because he’s an asshole, that’s why,” Missy was saying. Over her shoulder, to Jem, she added, “Rod ran into her on purpose. Jem, this is Kristin. Kristin, Jem. Kristin’s a veterinary anesthesiologist.”
Kristin shook her head, blinking back tears, a wavy smile still fixed in place. “It could have been an accident.”
“It wasn’t,” Missy said. “I repeat: he’s an asshole. He did the same thing to Yesenia the day before, about knocked her over.”
“The guy with the mullet?” Jem said.
“Rod Horton. He’s a redneck son of a bitch, and he thinks he’s God’s gift to the universe.”
“He’s got a bit of an ego,” Kristin said.
Jem glanced down the hall, but Rod was gone. “Why would he run into you like that?”
“Because he hates Kristin,” Missy said.
“He doesn’t like me.” Kristin’s grin sharpened and looked, for the first time since Jem had seen her, genuine. “He hates you.”
“If it were me, he probably would have used a knife.”
“Let me guess,” Jem said. “He’s an ex. Or it’s money. Or both.”
Missy and Kristin shared a look, and then both women burst out laughing.
