Chapter 43
43
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was... God, this sounds so stupid, but I was going to surprise you,” Josh says, looking around the room. “But, er, looks a bit like you’ve had quite enough surprises around here...”
I see the chaos anew through his wide brown eyes. The string lights are still twinkling cheerily above us, but every table is on its side, roses litter the floor, and there’s a motionless monster at the edge of it all. Ana is gently examining Rosie’s hand, which the gunman twisted when he grabbed her phone. Sasha and my mother are eyeing Josh and me. Bruised and bewildered guests are checking in on one another, divining for signal with their phones, trying to pry the golem-bent metal from the main entrance and side door.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, remembering the exits being cut off.
“Kitchen,” Josh says, indicating behind him with a jerk of his thumb. He doesn’t seem to notice the golem slumped up against the wall near the no-longer-guarded door. “I tried both of the main doors, but they were locked, then two blokes in a sports car told me to try the kitchen door ’round back...”
Two blokes in a sports car?
Bryan and Carlos!
I wonder how much Sasha had told them before making them schlep her out to summer camp. There are probably a hundred thousand things I’ll be left wondering about for a long, long time.
“So what happened here?” Josh asks. “Is everything—Is everyone—Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Who’s this guy?” he asks, gesturing toward Paul Mudd. “Is he pissed?”
It takes me a moment to realize by “pissed,” Josh means drunk .
“He’s... Don’t worry about him,” I say, clutching Josh’s hand and leading him away from the fallen golem. “You wanted to...surprise me?”
“Er, yeah,” Josh says, adorably sheepish. “But if you’ve another date—”
“I don’t,” I say, a little too quickly. And then my stomach rumbles again, somehow even louder than a minute ago. Honestly, it sounds louder than it ever has in my whole damn life.
“Hello, tum,” Josh says, unfazed. He gives me a brief smile, then knits his brow again. “Eve, I...”
“Got out of your appointment early and just decided to pop by the camp in the middle of nowhere?” I suggest helpfully.
“What? No. Well...sort of,” he says. “My appointment got a bit shifted around, and since you mentioned the wedding was at Heller-Diamond, I figured, well, that’s not a bad drive—”
“Wait...you know Camp Heller-Diamond?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“But you didn’t go here,” I say. Because if he did, Rosie would know him. And besides, he grew up in England. There’s no way he went to summer camp in rural Illinois.
“Nah, I didn’t,” he says, then hesitates and adds, “but my kids do.”
It takes a moment for these words to sink in.
I am, as the Brits might say, gobsmacked.
“Your...kids?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “My girls. That was—that was my appointment. They were coming in from Milwaukee for the weekend. I’ve been going to see them every weekend these last few months, while we all got settled in the new situation. This was going to be their first time staying with me at the new apartment. Which is why I had to do all that damn laundry—had to get the sheets and towels all cleaned and ready, had to clean up all my bachelor-flat mess, even rented a damn minivan... Anyhow, indoor soccer, last-minute game, and their mum wanted to take them, so...”
“You’re a dad,” I say, still incapable of processing the latest in an evidently never-ending list of unexpected revelations.
“Seems to be my situation, yes,” says Hot Josh, reddening. “I’m a dad. I didn’t know how to mention any of it—I never quite know how to bring up the divorce, or my girls, but... Well, let’s just try this: hello. Single dad here. Nice to meet you. Sorry to show up uninvited.”
“Technically, you were invited,” I say.
My bantering muscles feel weak, like they’ve atrophied over the last few days. But cracking wise makes me feel like my old self again. I wasn’t always a temperamental monster, and I don’t have to be one now. It feels surreal, flirting with my neighbor in the messy aftermath of this overturned wedding reception.
But is it any more surreal than waking up to find a golem in my bed?
“Technically, I was indeed invited,” he agrees. Then he looks around again. “Christ, though. You sure you’re all right? It looks like a bloody war zone in here. Is this some mad, American-battle-themed wedding party? Because I’m not quite dressed for it...”
“There was a...situation,” I say. “But everyone’s okay.”
As I say these words, I realize they may be overly optimistic. With a sinking feeling, I remember Ethan in the bathroom, and Rosie’s stalker still lying motionless on the floor.
Just then, I hear the blessed wail of sirens approaching.
“Is that an ambulance?” Josh asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Actually... Sorry, but things here are...kind of a mess. I have to go talk to the EMTs, you’ll probably just want to head home, so—”
“Nothing of the sort,” says Hot Josh, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, a little old and faded, but still flattering. “I’m here. Let me help.”
“Okay,” I say, and we go to meet the ambulance.
My stomach is rumbling the whole time as I lead the medic team to Ethan. To my relief, he’s still conscious; even manages to crack a thought-you-forgot-about-me joke. I smile weakly, unable to explain the delay. I feel awful, knowing this guy took a thrashing because of me.
But the golem didn’t kill him.
He could have, but he didn’t.
I wonder if it’s because Ethan wasn’t actually a threat—not to the community, not even really to me. I wonder if the golem really was just jealous. The thought reaffirms how dangerous he really was, but also sends a sharp stab of guilt through my heart. What if he really had feelings for me, and I betrayed him?
“You all right?” Hot Josh asks, and I make myself nod.
Everything’s a blur of flashing lights and EMTs calling out questions and numbers. But I hold on to the important takeaways: Ethan’s vitals are good as they load him into the ambulance. He didn’t pay the ultimate price just for being kind of a drunken douchebag, and I’m glad about that. No one deserves to be killed just for being an idiot. If they did, well, I’d be a dead girl walking.
AltMight07 is also going to survive. Turns out his name is Tim Reeves, and he’s only nineteen years old. There’s no doubt he’ll be facing some serious consequences when he gets out of the hospital. But at least he’s alive, which keeps the blood off my hands.
The better angel within me hopes he’ll have the chance to get better—hopefully not just physically, but also that he can unlearn whatever twisted lessons taught him to carry so much hate around. Meanwhile my darker angel hopes he has chronic pain, is too scared to ever start shit again, and also that his stupid broadcasting of how it all went down in the end will discourage any would-be copycat artists out there.
The police take statements from everyone, and I’m sure they’re getting conflicting accounts of the night’s events. Hopefully no one’s able to pin me as the unhinged woman who brought a golem to her sister’s wedding.
When all the hubbub finally dies down, only a small handful of us remain: Rosie, Ana, my mother, Sasha, Josh, and me.
“Well,” Rosie says. “I always wanted my wedding to be memorable.”
“So now do we just...go home?” Ana asks, kissing Rosie’s cheek.
“I’m going to need a ride,” Sasha says, having sent poor Carlos and Bryan home an hour earlier with very little explanation.
“I’ve got a van,” says Josh helpfully.
“We could light the candles before we go,” says my mother, and we all stare at her.
She’s holding the delicate silver menorah from the bridal party table.
“Are you serious?” Rosie asks.
“Why not?” Mom says.
“It’s not even actually Hanukkah yet,” I point out.
“Lighting the lights early would honestly be the least weird thing about tonight,” Rosie says, almost-smiling.
“It actually...kinda sounds like a suggestion Dad would make,” I add.
“Are you kidding?” Mom huffs. “You know I love him, but you girls always give him all the credit. I’m the one who made sure we lit the Hanukkah lights every year. Your father always wanted to go out driving around looking at the damn Christmas lights.”
Rosie laughs first.
Then I laugh, and finally, Mom joins in, but her laughter swiftly dissolves into tears. I feel my own shoulder shake dissolve into sobs, and Rosie puts her hand on the small of my back to join in.
Then all three Goodman women are crying.
And it feels really, really good.