22. Pinch Point
TWENTY-TWO
PINCH POINT
Ian
My exhaustion is on another level.
And my anger.
But if it weren’t for my anger to boost the caffeine in my system I would’ve dropped hours ago.
“I need an appointment with Judge Milton.” Mitchell’s voice is calm as he talks to whoever is on the other end of his office phone, but his eyes keep cutting nervously to me. “It’s urgent.” He presses the ice pack his secretary got him tighter over his right eye.
I clench my bruised fist, remembering how disappointed I was when Mitchell dropped after the first right hook. My left fist was primed and ready for the follow-through punch to the solar plexus, but, sadly, it went unused.
Anger surges again when I think about his stupid look of surprise when he finally came to a minute later with me hovering over him. Almost like he couldn’t believe someone had actually raised a hand to him.
Mitchell hangs up the phone. “Tomorrow morning.” He writes something down on a notepad. “I can see the judge first thing and get the process started.”
“Why didn’t you do this sooner?” I shake my head. “I can’t figure that out. I mean, you had Ranos look for her, you were aware of your father’s deception, of her innocence. So why did it take me coming here for you to start the process to revoke Trish’s warrant?”
Mitchell looks out the window and shrugs. “Ranos said Trish was working in Houston. Had a job, going to school, even had friends. Thought maybe it didn’t matter anymore.” He says this all without once looking me in the eye. A dead giveaway that even he knows what he’s saying is bullshit.
“I think it’s more probable you didn’t want to take the chance to mar Daddy’s name, even with him already in the ground.”
No reaction. I glance at the framed family picture on the shelf behind his desk.
Mitchell and his wife standing in the back, two kids sitting in front.
The stiff setup reminds me of the family portrait I took just a few weeks ago at my father’s fundraiser.
Except in this one, it’s the woman whose hands lie authoritatively on her children’s shoulders.
“ Or your wife found out what you were doing and convinced you to stop.”
A flinch tells me I hit upon the truth.
“How long have you and your wife been married?”
The turn in the conversation has him glancing back my way. “Right out of college.”
I nod, the pieces falling into place. “Let me guess. After the judge succeeded in running Trish off he then managed to introduce you to the pretty daughter of a well-connected acquaintance.”
Mitchell clenches his jaw.
I’m annoyed when a wave of sympathy hits me. I understand living under the thumb of a powerful man. Of taking the path of least resistance.
“Why are you doing all this?” It’s the first time he’s questioned me about my motives.
“Because I love her.”
“What if she really had stolen the ring?”
“Doesn’t matter. I love her.”
He nods, and his dejected, regretful expression almost makes me regret punching him. Almost.
A fissure of horror runs through my chest before I have a chance to quell it. I realize if not for Trish, I might’ve actually become like Mitchell.
I’d like to think not as easily swayed, but unhappy nonetheless.
Standing, I stretch out my muscles, sore from inactivity. Man, I could use a swim right now.
“We done?”
Mitchell stands as well, tossing his ice pack in the trash. “Yeah, there isn’t anything we can do until we meet with the judge.”
“All right, I’m heading out. You have my cell phone if anything changes.
” I pause at the door, feeling like I should say something.
Something encouraging. But I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound condescending.
He’ll just have to figure out how to move out of his father’s shadow on his own. Or not.
In the elevator, I try calling Trish again. No answer. I try Jules and Jackie. No answer.
Please God, let them behave themselves until I can sort this shit out.
Trish
“Drink up, bitches!” Rose holds her shot glass high while standing on the bottom rung of the bar stool. “My sister is marrying my brother tomorrow!”
Silence and some awkward glances get thrown our way.
Not that there haven’t been awkward glances since we entered the place two hours ago, what with Jackie’s white tulle veil headband, and Jules, Rose, and me rocking neon pink trucker hats with Bride’s Bitches emblazoned with rhinestones across the front.
Then there’s the full body glitter Rose insisted she spray on us in the limo.
“Sorry.” Rose shakes her head, body still perfectly balanced on the arch of her heels, her body glitter making her look like a disco ball under the rotating lights.
“I meant that I’m getting a sister tomorrow when this girl marries my brother.
” She points at Jackie, who reaches under the swath of tulle to push her glasses back in place.
This announcement is met with cheers and smiles.
“All right, Rose. Sit down.” I tug on the hem of her shirt until she plops back down on the wood seat.
Once steady, she lays a hand on my arm. “Calm yourself, TD. I got this.” She elongates the s a few seconds longer than normal.
I cock my brow, too amused to be worried over intoxication levels. “TD?”
“Trish the Dish.” She waves thanks to a group of people passing by to congratulate Jackie.
“Trish the Dish is too cumbersome to say all the time.” Grabbing the shot glass meant for me, she downs it, holding her fist to her chest like she can somehow punch the burn of alcohol sliding down her gullet. “Especially after I’ve been drinking.”
“I don’t know. TD?” Jules’ arms are draped over the back of her seat, empty shot glass dangling from her fingertips. “Sounds like something you’d pick up after a Tinder date. You know, like VD, but T for Tinder.”
Rose’s expression blanks. “Thank you for that cheerful analogy.”
Jules smiles, ignoring Rose’s tone. “You’re welcome.”
“The math isn’t working.” We all look at Jackie, whose tiara is crooked in the opposite direction of her skewed glasses.
I glance at the table, but it isn’t near time for us to get our bill. “What math, sugar?”
“ The math.” Eyes wide behind the haze of sheer white fabric, she brings her hands to either side of her face, Home Alone style. “Oh no. The math isn’t working.”
“Hooker.” Jules runs a palm down her face. “Why the hell are you doing math? It’s your bachelorette party, for God’s sake.”
“I thought it’d be beneficial to keep track of my alcohol levels,” Jackie states like it’s the most obvious thing. “But for some reason, the solution isn’t coming out right.” She tries to take a sip of her drink, but her veil blocks her straw. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Rose flips Jackie’s veil up for her. “What doesn’t make sense?”
Jackie uses her pointer finger to write what must be numbers on the table, then shakes her head.
“I keep running the numbers, but according to my calculations I should be intoxicated by now.” She tries for her drink again, the straw poking her nose.
“But I feel fine.” Frowning at her glass, she attempts to drink again, this time chasing the straw around with her tongue.
“Uh, huh. Sure.” Jules plucks the glass from her hands. “I think it’s time to get a round of waters.”
“Ugh.” Rose drops her head in her hand. “You guys are lightweights.”
I say nothing. As usual, I’m sober. I’m excellent at giving away or switching my drinks out without anyone noticing.
When you’re on the run, it’s dangerous to get drunk.
And though it’s never bothered me before, tonight the lack of alcohol running through my veins makes me feel even more distant from my friends than normal.
“Relax, co-ed, this isn’t a rave.” Jules flags down our waitress. “It’s still early, and we don’t want Jackie hungover for her wedding.”
Rose blinks. “Rave? Oh my God. You’re so old.”
Jules’ eyes narrow, and she points one of her fingers holding the shot glass toward herself. “I bet this old woman can whip your ass on the dance floor.”
Just then, Trace Adkin’s “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” starts playing, and all the single girls rush the dance floor.
“You are so on.” Rose hops off her stool. Her plaid, button-down shirt has silver thread running through it and is tied at the waist. With her Daisy Duke shorts and black snakeskin cowboy boots, the current song fits her to a T.
Motorcycle boots clomp as Jules stands, her tight, black leather pants making her look like a Blade extra. It doesn’t quite match the country vibe, but looks sexy as hell nonetheless. “Winner gets to make this song their ringtone on the other’s phone.”
“Damn it.” Rose’s nostrils flare. “You know I like the one I have for you.”
I’m too curious not to pipe up. “And what ringtone did you assign Jules on your phone?”
Rose shoots me a smug smile. “‘I’m a Bitch’ by Alanis Morissette.”
I try to stifle my laugh, but I’m not all that successful. Jules yanks Rose’s arm and hustles her over to the oval wood dance floor in the middle of the large saloon.
Jackie finally hooks her straw, only to suck up air. “Dang it.” She lowers the glass to the table with a thunk and pouts. “Now the math really isn’t working.”
An hour, and a lot of waters later, Jackie seems on the mend. Now my concern is aimed at my two friends about to throw a hip out in their contest for best dancer.
“When are you planning on leaving?” Jackie asks, her eyes still on the dance floor.
“Whenever you want, sugar.” I reach out and push the tulle way from her face for the umpteenth time tonight. “This is your party.”
“No.” She shakes her head, opening and closing her eyes slowly when she stops, like she’s trying to recalibrate. “I mean leaving town. You’ll at least wait until after the wedding, right?”