Twelve
Austin
After meeting with the police today, I was not able to focus on work, so I’m calling it a day. And my house in Alamo Park isn’t where I want to be tonight. It’s just a backdrop for tourists and their incessant photography. Instead, I crave the anonymity of my loft, a nondescript building tucked away in a quieter part of the City.
Steve drops me in front of the building, and I fish my keys from my pocket as I approach the entrance. I take the elevator to my floor, and as the doors slide open, I almost collide with her—my neighbor. Her eyes blaze with a fury that chills my mood like a bucket of ice water.
“Why the hell did you have my car towed?” she demands.
“Whoa, slow down.” I raise my hands in defense. “I didn’t tow anything. A car was in my spot. All I did was tell River Phillips, the head of the homeowners’ association, that someone was parked in my space.”
Her features contort with confusion and anger. “I pay five hundred dollars a month for that space. I rent it from the owner.”
“I don’t think so. I’m the owner of the space, and I’m certain I haven’t rented it,” I say, slipping past her into the dimly lit hallway. My escape is short-lived, though. She follows, heels clicking angrily on the wood floor.
“I’ve rented that space,” she huffs, clearly not ready to let this go.
“Goodnight,” I reply curtly, turning away from her glare and the problem she presents. I need food and rest, not a debate.
I fumble with the lock, but finally, the quiet sanctuary of the loft envelops me. But before I can collapse onto the couch and let the spinning room steady itself, there’s a solid knock on my door. With a groan, I know it’s round two, and the night isn’t over yet.
I drag myself up and swing the door open to find her standing there, arms crossed. “Look, I rented this spot fair and square,” she asserts, thrusting the documents at me. “That Jetta is mine, and so is the parking space.”
“I’m the owner,” I tell her firmly, “and I haven’t rented it to anyone.”
Her face reddens, and with a huff, she turns on her heel and storms off. I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose before retreating into my unit. But peace doesn’t come. Within minutes, there’s more insistent rapping at the door.
“Persistent, isn’t she?” I mutter as I reopen it to find her fuming figure. She shoves the paperwork under my nose, and I take it reluctantly.
“I’ve rented it for a year at five hundred a month,” she says through gritted teeth. “And every time you park there, I end up on the street and get slapped with a ticket. You owe me money.”
A glance at the agreement tells me everything I need to know. It’s got all the markings of authenticity, except for one glaring problem. It’s not my signature at the bottom.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but whoever rented you this spot took you for a ride,” I say, handing back the fraudulent contract. “This isn’t my doing.”
She snatches the papers from my hand, her eyes darting over the document and then back to my face, searching for some hint of deceit. But there’s none to find. I watch as the fight leaves her, replaced by a dawning realization that she’s been scammed.
“Sorry,” is all I manage before she pivots and disappears down the corridor. I close the door with a soft click, leaning against the solid wood, feeling a twinge of sympathy for her plight. But I’ve got my own problems to deal with, and what I need is a quiet evening.
Down the hall, a door closes behind her, a definitive end to the confrontation. I let out a long breath, my mind still churning. As I turn to head back into my apartment, my phone buzzes in my pocket, shattering the quiet.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, bracing for whatever’s coming my way. It’s after ten her time, so she must be worried about something to call so late.
“Darling, how are you?” Her voice is warm, but there’s an undercurrent of worry that’s been there since Justin vanished. “Have you heard anything about Justin?”
I lean against the cool wall, staring at small a crack in the exposed brick. “No, nothing yet.” My words feel heavy. “We met with the police today. They’re still looking. Everyone is.”
There’s a pause, and I can picture her frowning, twisting a lock of hair around her finger, a nervous habit she’s had as long as I can remember.
“Anyway,” she says with forced cheerfulness, “I’m planning a little getaway with the girls. Some shopping, maybe catch a few Broadway shows in New York City. A change of scenery, you know?”
“Sounds fantastic, Mom.” I push away from the wall, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “You deserve a break.”
“And darling, about the credit card…”
“Use it,” I tell her, cutting off any hesitation. “The American Express Black? There’s no limit on it, so go ahead, and it comes with some perks. You should be able to get concierge service for show tickets, reservations for any restaurant, and whatever you need. Treat yourself.”
“Are you sure?” Even through the phone, I can hear the smile in her voice, her excitement. “I don’t want to—”
“Mom, really, it’s fine. Have a great time,” I tell her, forcing a smile into my tone. It’s easier this way, keeping things light. She doesn’t need to know about the disarray swirling around me, the weight of a company teetering on the brink.
“Thank you, Austin. I love you so much.” She sounds genuinely touched, and I warm at the thought of her happiness.
“Of course, Mom. Anything for you.” After everything she’s done, it’s the least I can do. Then there’s another knock at the door, pulling me back to reality. “Someone’s at the door. Hold on a second, please?”
What does that crazy woman want now? I wonder. This is ridiculous. I’m not going to answer it.
“Anyway, Mom, you really don’t need to check in with me about the credit card or the trip. You know I want you to enjoy yourself,” I say.
There’s a pause on the line, and when she speaks again, I can almost see her pursing her lips in that familiar way. “Well, it seems checking with you is the only chance I get to talk to you these days,” she says.
There’s knocking on the door again. Can’t she get the hint?
I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache start to bloom. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve just been swamped with work. You know how it is.” I keep my tone even, resisting the urge to let frustration seep into my voice.
“Swamped with work,” she repeats, her tone softening slightly. “Yes, I understand. You know, Gina’s been asking about Justin too. The police didn’t give her any peace of mind. She’s worried sick.”
“Yeah, I can imagine,” I mutter. I can relate. “I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything new.”
“Please do. And try to call more often, Austin. I miss you.” Her voice is gentle now, coaxing, but beneath it lies an unspoken command.
“Of course, Mom,” I promise.
After we say our goodbyes, I sit for a moment on the couch, phone in hand. I know she’s probably dialing Gina’s number by now. Mom’s love for gossip is both a blessing and a curse. She keeps the family ties strong, but secrets are hard to keep. And right now, the last thing I need is speculation running wild.
I’m about to slide into the abyss of my own racing thoughts when yet another solid knock at the door jars me back to the here and now. I have a feeling this woman is not the type to give up easily. I’m going to have to deal with her, though I really don’t know what else there is to say.
I shove the phone into my pocket and head toward the door. With everything that’s going on, I don’t need any more complications. But life has a funny way of piling it on when you least expect it.