Chapter 22
At least dearBlinken had the good sense to be waiting for me, right by the front door as I shuffled in and flicked on the light. “Oh, my sweet kitty,” I exclaimed, picking him up even though I knew he hated it, and nuzzling my face into his soft fur. He allowed me to hold him for about five seconds – a record for him – then wrenched himself free, sauntering into the kitchen with an irritated swish of his tail. “I’m sorry I left you,” I said to him, my voice still full of tears. I deposited my purse and coat on the couch and followed him. “But it looks like Sloan took good care of-”
As I flipped on the kitchen light, I saw that I’d spoken too soon. Both of Blinken’s bowls were empty, and he’d tipped over the large bag of cat food (I bought twenty-pound bags at Sam’s to save money) and chewed a hole in the side; that wasn’t usual behavior for him. He must have been starving and desperate to do that. I crinkled my nose, smelling the familiar strong ammonia stench of the litter box. As I pulled the sliding door to the laundry open, my suspicion was confirmed: she hadn’t changed his litter in days. “I’m so sorry, Blink,” I said again, picking up the plastic scooper from the peg with a sigh. From the looks of it, she’d maybe only been over once to take care of him, if at all.
I”d left the front door unlocked when I’d shuffled in the house, bedraggled and exhausted, not giving a damn who followed me in. A serial killer could have crept right up behind me and dispatched me unceremoniously without a fight. I cleaned Blink’s litterbox, gave him fresh food and water, and a few contrite chin scritches, and set myself to making tea. I needed something hot to drink to try and clear my head, to shake off the funk that had settled into me on the long drive home. The feeling of desolation, of rock-bottom, was so strong it made me physically weak.
Sloan slunk into the kitchen unannounced sometime after me, looking like a guilty ghost. “Hi,” she said by way of greeting, sitting down at the kitchen table and regarding me with a wan smile.
I was boiling water on the stove since I”d never owned a kettle. I turned to her, knowing what a mess I was – puffy, irritated eyes, flushed red cheeks, greasy hair- and waited for the inevitable, “You look like shit” - one of her usual greetings. But it didn”t come. She just regarded me with a wariness that put my already frayed nerves further on edge and sharpened my irritation to a fine point.
“What”s up, Sloan?” I said tiredly, turning back to my water. “Sorry the place stinks.” I turned to her with a pointed glare, but if she took any notice of my anger, she didn’t acknowledge it. Christ, did she even remember that she was supposed to be watching my fucking cat? A little contrition would be nice, for once. “You know, since the litterbox was overflowing when I got home.”
I saw a brief flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes, then it was gone. She raised her chin, oddly defiant. It unnerved me; I suddenly felt like we were in a battle I wasn’t aware I was having. I turned back to my pot of boiling water, biting my lip.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Boiling water. For tea.” I rummaged in the cabinet above me, sure I had some bags of black tea leftover from Tess. He had liked his sweet tea like every good Georgia boy.
“Since when do you drink hot tea?”
“Since now.”
“I could make a pot of coffee.”
“Not unless you want some.”
“Okay.” She didn”t get up. There was silence in the kitchen while I poured the boiling water over the tea bag and let it steep, my bleary, tear-soaked eyes watching the dark brown tea pooling into the boiling hot water like ink. I grabbed a spoon and stirred in some sugar; too much sugar. Phillip had barely put any in. I remembered he”d told me if you brew a good cup of tea, you don”t need the sugar. In a mad frenzy, I tossed the contents into the sink and started over, this time with no sugar, watching Sloan regard me silently.
I sat down across the table from my best friend, the two of us in our usual spots where we”d sat with each other for years and years. Didn”t matter the table, this was always our position, across from each other, hands folded, a beverage in front of us – vegan fraps, wine, coffee, and now, apparently, tea – ready to lay our secrets bare.
But something had shifted in the time I was gone. We wouldn”t be sharing any secrets this evening. The person sitting in front of me was brooding, bitter – and for some reason, scared. How had she undergone such a change, I wondered, when it had only been a few days? I could tell by the way she wasn”t looking directly at me, but rather at a point above my eyes.
“Are they jacked up again?” I said, managing a small smile.
“Huh?” She was confused.
“My eyebrows,” I said with a laugh. “You”re staring at them.”
“Oh.” She let her shoulders ease a little and smiled back. “No. They”re fine.”
“Thanks for rushing over,” I said. “I just didn”t want to come back here alone. You know, after...”
Her face softened. “Yeah. I know.” She reached across the table and gave my hand a nudge. “I could tell how much you liked him. I”m sorry. But hey, he was a rebound, right? That”s what rebounds are for. Hot sex, adventures. And then you move on to the next real guy, right?” She smiled at me kindly. “I”m sure he”s just around the corner.”
Her choice of words poked at me. Real? That didn”t even sound like Sloan, but at any rate, it wasn”t comforting and wasn”t welcome. I”d just left Phillip the day before, for Christ’s sake. And she”d known me my whole life. She knew what the man meant to me. Even without the context, she had to know that I”d be devastated. But I kept myself in check. She probably hadn”t meant it the way it sounded. “Yeah,” I said finally, taking a sip of scalding tea, not caring that it burnt my tongue. It was flat and bland, and I wished I had a cup of Earl Grey, Phillip’s tea, with its comforting, floral bergamot. “What about you and…Dan? Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said absently, picking at an invisible crumb on the table. “We were never serious. It was just a few dates. I mean, I liked him but...” She looked at me with a small smile. “He was a total bigot, so. I had to cut him loose.”
She was staring at my eyebrows again. I had known Sloan for twenty something years. I knew when she was lying. But I said nothing. Maybe the pain was simply too great, like mine was, to elaborate on it. Maybe she was trying to be strong for me. “Okay,” I said softly. I didn”t have the energy to push further, and I hoped she felt the same way.
The silence at the table became a chasm. Years of comforting each other and suddenly we felt like strangers. Was it me and all that had happened in the past few days? Maybe it was coming off me like a cancer and she could sense it. Maybe I was the problem. I pushed my cup of tea away and stood. “I”m so tired. I probably should go to bed, get some sleep. I”ll be in much better shape to talk tomorrow.” As lonely as I felt, I suddenly wished I”d never asked her to come over.
“Me, too.” She yawned and threw her arms up over her head. “I”ll bunk down on the couch.”
“You know where the blankets are.”
I was halfway to my bedroom when she called to me from down the hall. I stopped and turned, and her face was sad in the dim light of the living room.
“I really am sorry about Phillip.” she said, and it was almost as if, for a split second, she knew everything.
“Thanks,” I said, and went to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
Before settling down in my old, familiar bed, I pulled out my phone to see if I had any missed calls or texts. There was nothing. Good, I told myself, pulling the covers over my head. I”m glad.
Sloan would have been able to spot the lie easily.
“You only just got back lastnight,” Sloan said, spreading almond butter on a piece of whole grain toast. I poured us each a cup of coffee and sat in my usual spot, pushing the sugar bowl and the creamer toward her. I was in the mood to drink mine black. “Why do we have to rush out to the farmers market?”
“There”s someone I need to see,” I said, pressing the steaming cup to my lips and relishing the burn of the ceramic on my bottom lip.
“Who?”
“Just a person I know.” I wasn”t sure how to explain to Sloan, not without telling her everything else. “Are you coming or not?”
“I will if you buy me a pain au chocolat from that cute Latino guy who bakes all the yummy vegan treats. What”s his name? Juan?”
“Yes, it”s Juan.” I smirked beneath my cup. “And yes, I”ll buy you one. I might buy myself one, too.”
“You should,” she said. “Didn”t Phillip feed you? You look like you”ve lost ten pounds.”
I blanched. She noticed my expression and frowned. “Sorry.”
“It”s okay.” I managed to smile. I must really have looked rough - Sloan never apologized for shit. “I wasn”t gone long enough to have lost weight. Though I had a hard time finding vegan fare. He did make me the most amazing spaghetti one night.” My cheeks flushed as I remembered the spaghetti Phillip had started, then forgotten, because we were upstairs, wrapped up in each other. Jason had finished that spaghetti and he’d teased us about it during the meal. We’d toasted Phillip with good red wine and Phillip and Jason’s wide smiles had both been so genuine, so full of joy, me sitting in the middle, just watching them, deliriously happy, while Phillip’s hand had caressed my thigh under the table. “And anyway, it was Blinken who was apparently starving.” I wasn’t planning on letting it go, whatever she thought.
“Yeah, sorry,” she muttered, having the good sense to look down at her feet. “I did feed him, but I didn’t come as often as I should have. My bad.”
My bad? Really? A few choice words sprung to my lips, but I bit them off with a placating smile, deciding it wasn’t the time to start a fight. Later, though, for sure. The old doormat Stormy was gone for good.
Sloan regarded me with curious eyes.
“So are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked. “With Phillip?”
“Yeah,” I said, letting out my breath in a long sigh, though it was a lie. Sad as it made me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to entrust her with everything that had happened, with all my newly obtained secrets. “Eventually. What about you?”
“Same,” she said. “Eventually.”
And that was that. We finished our coffees, got dressed, and an hour later were in my poor, abused truck heading to Brunswick to the market, back where I’d started. The day was sunny, but the air was cold and windy. I could smell the salt in the breeze. The truck was still making the knocking noise and I made a mental note to check my funds and take it into the mechanic on Monday, if I could afford it. Along with the note that I couldn”t bear to think about, I had also left Phillip”s money sitting on his suitcase. I didn”t want it. I never had.
What I wanted I could not have, not without bringing more trouble to the man who had dealt with enough of it already.
The market was surprisingly dead for a Saturday morning and Sloan and I didn”t even have to stand in line to get fresh, warm chocolate croissants from Juan. Two more steaming hot coffees and a loaf of ciabatta later, we stood over by the picnic tables, wiping crumbs from our mouths. I handed her my little bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “I can”t eat mine,” I said, pushing it at her. “I don”t have any appetite.”
“But these are so fucking good,” she protested.
“You go ahead. I can”t.” My stomach was doing somersaults.
“So who is this VIP we”re here to see? The gluten free lady? Because if you think I”m going to start eating cakes made with chickpea flour-”
“No, it”s not her,” I said.
“Ooooh, I know. That cute avocado farmer you told me about. Yes! Get right back on that horse, that”s the spirit! Where is he?” Her eyes danced. Gone was the weary, abrupt Sloan from the night before. I wondered, again, what was going on with her, why she was being so weird, so flaky.
“No, it”s not him, either,” I said. “But if I”d been smart, I would have jumped on that before...everything.”
“There”s still time.”
“Nah,” I said. “I”m not interested.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fiiiiine. So who are we here to see then?” She popped the last bite of pain au chocolat in her mouth and licked the chocolate from her fingers.
“Her.” I pointed down the middle row to the little table that held the goat”s milk soaps, bundles of sage, bottles of random items – the “Pagan Priorities.” Sitting in a folding chair with a green canvas was a stooping woman with long, red hair with streaks of gray, in two messy braids, and clad in a pink sundress – if I remembered right, the same one she”d been wearing when I”d last seen her, handing a delicate little soap to Phillip. I felt a pang in my chest. “If you want to stay here, I”ll go talk to her. You don”t have to come.”
Sloan craned her neck, looking. “I don”t even see who you”re talking about. That row is so clogged. The lady with the hibiscus jam or the one beside her with the hemp purses?”
“Neither.” I pointed again. “The Goat”s Milk Soap lady – the one with the Pagan Priorities sign.”
Sloan followed the direction of my finger, then went visibly pale. “Uh.” She bit her lip with a little gasp and shook her head.
“What”s wrong?”
She tried to recover herself somewhat. “You go talk to her. I”ll stay here.”
“Do you know her?” I asked. When she didn”t answer, I asked again. “Sloan?”
“I need a bottle of water,” she said, shaking her head again. “That croissant got stuck in my throat. I”ll meet you at the truck.” Then she was barreling out of the market and toward the parking lot, digging her phone out of her purse as she went.
I stared after her, baffled, and then shook my head and moved toward the makeshift table, squaring my shoulders. I”d worry about Sloan later - she was being weird as fuck, but I didn”t have time for it right now. I was here, and I was going to talk to this woman and find out what I needed to know. I swallowed down the butterflies and took a deep breath, telling myself not to take any bullshit. I would take care of this once and for all. For me. For Phillip.
When I reached the table, I had to stand and wait while she bagged up four waxy, fragrant bars of soap for a woman in a hideous long, flowing dress that seemed to be made entirely from burlap. They exchanged a few pleasantries and my brain screamed, ready for this to be over with. If I had to wait much longer, I”d lose my nerve.
Finally, she was free, and turned to me with an impersonal smile, the one reserved for all her customers. Her eyes were the same icy glass blue as Lee Courtenay”s, her face was covered in freckles, and her red hair was like spun gold. The family resemblance was extremely strong. I knew, if I ever met the infamous Guthrie, his evil-ass face would be covered in freckles.
“What can I get for you, hon?” she asked after a moment, those pale eyes fixed on my face.
“Do you know me?” I asked.
Her brow furrowed. “Did I sell you some soap a while back? The hy-absinthe one? Or no, wait. I sold you some sage, right? Not too long ago?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “You did. But I wondered if you knew me...if you recognized...”
She stared at me. She really didn”t seem to know, or she was the best liar ever. I decided to just out with it.
“I know your nephew,” I said. “Lee. And in a manner of speaking, I know your brother, too. We haven”t met, but he and I are...we know of each other.”
“Guthrie?” She blinked dumbly. “You two are friends?”
“We aren”t friends,” I said firmly. “But I have business with him. I need to see him. I know he lives with you – Lee told me. Can you tell me how to get in touch with him? It”s important.”
She shook her head rapidly; her hair flew around her face. “I”m afraid not, hon. I don”t just go around giving out my address and phone number to people. I don”t know you, you see. And my brother wouldn”t appreciate that. He is a very private man.”
“I understand,” I said, trying to be patient. More flies with honey than vinegar. “But as I said, Lee is my friend.”
“If Lee is a friend of yours, can”t you just ask him?” she said.
I didn”t have an answer for that. I decided to try another tack.
“I have things of an, er, delicate nature, that I can”t discuss here.” I gestured around us. “I think you must know what I mean.”
Her dumb stare gave nothing away. Her eyes were as fierce and unwavering as diamonds. Suddenly her face didn”t look half as kind.
“I think they may be in danger. I need to warn them. But I can”t do that if I don”t know how to get in touch with them.”
“The best I can do,” she said, with a conspiratorial whisper, leaning toward me, “is pass on your information to them. Maybe Guth or Lee would call you back. Beyond that, I”m sorry, but I can”t help.”
“I guess that will have to do.” I sighed. They already had my information. They knew where I lived, my phone number, everything about me. They”d followed me all the way to Boston. But I still dutifully scribbled down my cell number on a business card and pressed it into her wrinkled hand. “Just tell them it”s important – and um, tell them -” I thought for a moment. “Tell them I”m on my own. That it”s just me. They”ll understand.”
She stared at me for a moment longer, then put the card into her apron pocket and turned back to her soaps without another word.
I stood there for a second, waiting for some other confirmation, a word of goodbye, anything, but it was as though I never existed. Finally, I turned on my heel and left her table, and stalked out of the market, back toward the truck where Sloan was waiting for me.
I was halfway to the car when I stopped, just before reaching the parking lot, my heart suddenly beating fast.
What had his sister called him? Guth? I”d heard him called by that nickname once before, when Phillip had said it. I hadn”t paid it any mind at the time, but it had stuck in my memory. It was short for Guthrie, obviously, but it was a weird nickname, one you didn”t hear often. It was closer to a term of endearment, something a loved one would use. And it was definitely a rare name for a person, something that you’d not be likely to forget. If someone wanted to hide their involvement with a guy like that, they’d likely change the name to something a little more innocuous.
I stood there, biting the inside of my lip, my blood feeling like ice in my veins, realizing that Guth sounded an awful, awful lot like Gus. And then I was running, as fast as my legs could carry me, back to my truck.