Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Case
“Twenty days, right?” Jared says, as if we haven't been counting down the days for the last, oh...
Forty-nine.
But who's counting?
We are. We most definitely are.
“Yep. Three weeks to freedom.”
“Retirement by thirty-five? You da man.”
“Not just retirement, dude. You know that. I'll clear out all the leftover bills from Stacey, and make sure Corey and Molly have college fully covered.”
“Told you you didn't need to do that.”
“And I told you I do . Stacey is – was – shit... is my sister, and I promised her on her deathbed that I'd do this. You know it, man.”
“I know. I just feel like an ass.”
“For what?”
“I don't know...”
“For being there with her until the very end? For being superhuman? For going way beyond what you needed to do as a husband and dad? Hell, Jared, why don't you just feel like an ass for breathing, then.”
“Sometimes I do. I wish she were breathing. Not fair that I still am.” He clicks our root beer bottle necks. “I love when you come over. So cheery. Tell me something happy.”
“Had a one-night stand last night. Went to cover for a pregnant yoga teacher and the woman I'd ghosted on turned out to be a student in that same class. I’m having dinner with her in –” I check my watch. “Two and a half hours.”
“Hold on. Hold on . You had a one-night stand – the one from the bar? Last night?”
“Yep.”
“The uptight one who looked like the school secretary from St. Bernard's?”
“Her indeed.” Jared came out with me and our friend Benj last night. Two of us went home with women.
Jared came home early with two orders of mozzarella sticks and California roll from the bar's kitchen so Molly and Corey would be happy.
I'm not judging. My sister died eleven months ago. Jared can do whatever he wants, however he wants, because I cannot fathom his grief. Mine is horrible, but Stacey wasn’t my soulmate. She was Jared’s, and she left a Stacey-sized hole inside the poor guy and both kids. If he wants to fill it with takeout and going home early, then that’s his choice.
“And then she shows up in your yoga studio? What're the odds?” Jared's eyes narrow. I know that look. And he knows I know that look.
I'm busted.
“Want some more chips?” I ask, trying to deflect.
“I want a big old bowl of truth, Case. What's going on?”
“Can't a guy have a great night with a hot uptight young woman who does this thing with her tongue that drives me wild?”
“Except you're not a one-night stand kind of guy. Never. I've known you since we were freshmen in high school. You had ample opportunity. When we were at Penn State, you had a buffet of women before you, and you never took a single bite.”
“I bit plenty of women!” A memory of last night flashes before me, the tender feel of Sarah's inner thigh against my teeth making my mouth water.
“You dated Carly for a year, and Vangie after that until we graduated and you two split up. How is she, by the way?”
“Got a software job in Ireland. Met some dude there, married, kids, the whole bit.” I welcome the topic change.
“And here you are, almost thirty-five, having your first one-night stand? She must be damn special for you to do that.”
“I – ” Any deflecting response is gone. I have no idea how to answer.
“What's her name?”
“Sarah.”
“Sarah what?”
“Sarah Gorenta.”
Jared pulls out his phone and starts typing.
“What are you doing?”
“Googling her.”
“No!”
His finger pauses a quarter inch above the glass screen. “Why not?” Eyebrows arched nice and high, it's clear he's caught me in his trap.
“Fine. Here's the truth: I do know her. Sort of. So it wasn't a blind one-night stand.”
“You've had your eye on her for a while?”
“Something like that.”
“'Something like that' makes you sound like a creepy stalker.”
“Hardly,” I huff. “More like the other way around.”
“ She's stalking you ?”
“Something like that.”
“Quit being cryptic! Tell me what's really going on.”
“Go ahead and Google her. You'll understand then.”
He taps a few times, squints at his screen, and I give him a minute to absorb the results. I know exactly what he's reading because I read it, too, starting a few weeks ago.
The day Sarah began asking Maisie a bunch of questions about my yoga franchise.
“Case?” Maisie had asked me after class, belly prominent as we stood in the employees’ lounge, sucking down cricket protein smoothies. “Have you ever had a student ask a bunch of questions about how Chakroga123 is run?”
“You mean, as in 'who is your manager' so they can complain and get a refund? Sure.”
“No. More like asking how the whole company is structured. Who owns the place, how the franchises work, legal liability. That sort of thing.”
“Is she interested in buying the franchise?”
“I don't know. Just thought I'd mention it to you, though.”
“Thanks.”
After that, I'd found Sarah's last name in our registration system and gone on a hunt for information about Ms. Sarah Gorenta.
And hit hundreds of links.
Freelance writer. English major at Columbia but with so many bylines it’s clear she sees herself as a journalist. Lots of college articles, one in USA Today , one in Wired , and loads in forgettable websites.
Recent bylines attested to a working writer.
What was she working on with Chakroga123?
“She's a writer?” Jared asks, mouth tight.
“Journalist.”
“But last night – we were at the bar. She came in. Did you know she was coming there?”
“Absolutely not. Pure chance. Benj picked the bar, so it was true coincidence.”
“You knew who she was?”
“I recognized her.”
“Did she know who you are?”
“No.
He lets out a small sigh. “This is a dilemma. You're either a genius or a sleazebag.”
“How about we split the difference? I'm a sleazius. A genbag.”
“Sleazius sounds better, but they both suck. And what about her?”
"What... about her?"
"She's investigating you. She clearly knows who you are. And she didn't say a word?"
"Nothing."
"Then how much of this really was a coincidence? Maybe she set you up."
"I considered that, but we didn't plan our trip to that bar. It was spur of the moment with Benj. All I know about her is that she's asked questions about how Chakroga123 is financially structured. It's not like she has a contract out on me."
"You chose not to tell her you knew who she was, and she didn't tell you she's investigating you." He takes a swig of his soda, then frowns. “You've never screwed a woman within hours of meeting her before. And I've never known you to do something like this just to get ahead in business. What's the deal with her, Case?”
“I like her.”
“ Like like her?”
“What are you, in middle school? Yes, I like like her.”
“Clearly. Enough to sleep with her. Was the sex any good?”
His question is simple, but the answer isn't.
Because the sex was phenomenal . Intense. Pure pleasure but wrapped up in more emotion than I expected.
And more fun than I'd ever had in my life.
“It was.”
“Come on, man. Talk. I need to live vicariously through you.”
“You need to live, period. What time did you leave us at the bar last night? Before ten?”
“I was tired. And the babysitter left at eleven.”
“You had another hour and chose not to stay.”
“One-night stands aren't my thing, Case.” A deep, hollow look comes over him. Stacey was his person. His lobster. His soulmate. I have no idea how he feels right now, but if I lost my soulmate, I'd have a gaping chest wound no night out at a bar could fix.
I clap his shoulder and stand. “I know. No pressure. Sorry. Want another root beer?”
“Nah. I'm good. Just let me sit here and breathe a little before Max's mom drops Corey and Molly off.”
“She's been great,” I mutter as I finish my drink and look at the time. Good thing I live a few blocks away and can walk home. It’s four thirty and I have to pick Sarah up at seven.
“She has. Can never remember her name, though. Isn't that funny? Stacey always said she could remember the names of all of our kids' friends, and all the neighborhood dogs, but adult human names escaped her. Now I understand what she meant.”
“I really miss her,” I confess, sitting on the couch in “her” spot.
Jared's shoulders drop, as if my confession gives him permission to grieve, not that he needs it. “Me, too.” He taps his chest over his heart. “It's like my organs keep going, but this one is missing.”
“I hope I find love like that someday, Jared.”
“Maybe this writer, Sarah, is your true love.”
Now, this is the part where I'm supposed to object.
But I don't.
Because that maybe is hanging out in my heart just long enough to get the lay of the land.
And to decide how long to linger.