Chapter 5 #2
You shouldn’t need somebody to worry about your dinner when you were seventy years old. Unless you were Tean, and you ate a single blade of grass lightly seasoned with the pollen left by a single bee, and Jem had to make sure he ate something or he’d literally evaporate.
“What?” Tean shouted.
For a moment, Jem thought maybe he’d been talking out loud, but then Tean touched his shoulder, and Jem turned.
Behind them, a young man in the lodge’s uniform was smiling at them. He shouted, “Call for you!”
Jem pointed to himself, and the young man nodded.
“Save our spot,” Jem said into Tean’s ear. “Maker’s Mark neat, please, chicken tenders, cheese fries, all the desserts.”
The expression on Tean’s face made Jem think he might not get exactly what he’d ordered.
Getting out of Afterski wasn’t much easier than getting in.
The drunken twentysomething was still sobbing, and somehow, she managed to stumble into Jem’s path again.
When Jem moved around her, he managed to get in the path of a man in a suit.
They tried to twist past each other, but they collided anyway, and Jem almost lost his footing.
The lights flickered, and murmurs and nervous laughs went up throughout the room before everyone got back to their drinks.
An older man in a cowboy hat must have thought he and Jem were running a race because he tried to beat Jem out the door.
But the lobby, in contrast, was cool and spacious and relatively quiet. Jem cast a glance toward the Fjall Club as he followed the bellboy, or whatever he was, toward the front desk. A phone had been set out, the receiver lying next to it. The bellboy made a polite gesture toward it and retreated.
Jem picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”
Nothing.
“Hello? This is Jem Berger.” Still nothing. He would not call her mom, so he said, “Brigitte?”
There wasn’t even background noise on the call. He glanced down. Lights flashed on the phone, but Jem had no idea which line he was supposed to be using, or what the rest of the lights meant. After another moment, he cradled the receiver and pushed the phone back across the desk.
A young woman was watching him.
“They hung up,” Jem said.
The woman smiled politely, and he headed back toward the bar.
Halfway across the lobby, he spotted Maeve and Milo. The kids were not in the arcade. They were, as a matter of fact, hiding behind a massive potted plant. And they were watching him.
He thought about waving. He thought about smiling, going over, saying something like Gotcha.
For the most part, Jem was good with kids.
Not the ones that were too little. And not if there were too many of them.
Not like Tean, who somehow seemed to grow six extra arms when he was around all his nieces and nephews, and somehow the noise didn’t bother him, or the fighting, or that terrifying little arsonist pretending to be a ten-year-old boy.
But in general, with one or two normal kids, Jem was fine.
Which was why he kept walking and pretended not to notice them.
Whatever they were doing, they thought it was more interesting than the arcade.
Maybe they wanted to get another look at this guy who was supposed to be their big brother.
Maybe they just liked sneaking around and thinking the adults couldn’t see them.
Whatever it was, he’d ruin it by going over there.
By the time Jem fought his way through the crowd and reached the bar, Tean had a plate of chicken tenders and cheesy fries in front of him, along with two drinks. He was also trying to guard Jem’s spot, which meant the doc had a gleam in his eyes that was absolutely savage.
“How did you do that?” Jem asked over the shouted conversations around them.
“You have to hold the fork like this,” Tean said. “Then people assume you’re willing to stab them with it.”
“Holy shit.”
Tean gave an uncomfortable shrug. “I probably wouldn’t have stabbed them, but signs of aggression are one of the most effective ways to communicate territorial claims—”
“Stop, stop. I already love you more than I love anyone in the entire universe. Don’t make me love you more. I meant how did you get the food so fast.”
“I told them my boyfriend was hungry.”
Jem groaned, but he was too tired and, yeah, too hungry to ask what he wanted to ask, which was some combination of And that actually worked? and Why didn’t they pay any attention to me? Instead, he grabbed a fry, made sure he got extra cheesiness, and then moved straight on to a chicken tender.
“Oh shit,” he said, “you didn’t pay, did you?”
Tean didn’t answer. But he did look extra guilty.
“Tean!”
“I don’t want you to owe them anything.”
“I don’t owe them anything. I want to get a free meal out of them, though. How much were these chicken tenders?”
Tean’s face got even guiltier.
This time, Jem did groan. “Babe.”
“We don’t need their money,” Tean said stiffly.
“Yeah, we do. And I want it. I want to take all their money. I want to spend it on you and Scipio. And on me, obviously.”
Tean narrowed his eyes, and Jem guessed he didn’t find that idea as appealing—or romantic—as he should have. But then his expression changed, and he said, “There was a woman watching me.”
Jem waggled his eyebrows.
“Not like that,” Tean said.
“Why not? You’re so handsome.”
“I’m actually not that handsome. You’re the handsome one.”
“You’re incredibly handsome. You’re hot.
You’re sexy.” Jem tapped the arm of the man next to him; he must have been in his twenties, and he was clearly trying to pick up the fortysomething woman he was talking to.
“Excuse me,” Jem said, flashing a smile.
“Sorry to interrupt. But this is my boyfriend, Tean.”
And Tean, God love him, gave the most nervous try at a smile, followed by an uncertain wave.
“We’re having an argument,” Jem said. “He says he’s not hot. And I say he is.”
“Jem,” Tean said. The doc was turning red. And then, to the couple, he said, “It’s not an argument. And you don’t have to say anything. And I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”
“We’re not bothering them,” Jem said. And to the couple, he said, “And it is a fight. A really bad one. So, if you could just settle it for us, that would be awesome.”
The guy grinned and glanced at the woman. “What do you think?”
“Oh no,” the woman said. “He asked you.”
The young guy’s grin got bigger as he studied Tean. “Definitely cute.”
Tean’s blush deepened.
“See?” Jem said. “If you want to charge your drinks to room twenty-seven, we’d love to cover them for you.”
“Oh man,” the young guy said with a laugh. “Thanks.”
“You’re very handsome,” the woman put in before they went back to their drinks.
Tean waited until the couple was talking again before glaring at Jem.
“See?” Jem said again.
For several seconds, it looked like Tean was trying to find the right thing to say. What came out was “How does that work for you?”
“How does what work for me?”
Tean grabbed his glass of water. He stabbed the straw around. A lot. Finally, he snapped, “You know what.”
Jem put up his hands in mock surrender.
“If I tried that, do you know what would happen?”
“You’d somehow end up marrying a woman because she got the wrong idea and tried to pick you up, and you didn’t want to be rude?”
“Yes, actually. And then do you know what would happen?”
“God, please tell me.”
“I’d—”
“Make it bloody.”
“Well, it’s not bloody—”
“Can your guts come out your butt or something like that?”
Tean’s mouth made a horrified O. Then he snapped it shut.
Jem made a come on gesture with one hand.
“No,” Tean said. “I’m not going to tell you.”
“Babe!”
“And what I was trying to tell you earlier—” Tean said.
“Babe, that is so unfair. I was giving you suggestions!”
“—is when that woman saw I’d noticed her, she left.”
For a moment, Jem thought about that. “Maybe she was hoping you’d follow her.”
“Jem!”
“I’m just saying, maybe she wanted to hook up.”
More stabbing with the straw. Lots of stabbing.
Laughing, Jem said, “What’d she look like?”
Tean’s hand slowed. He frowned. “Blond, but she had part of it dyed pink. Thin. Thirties or forties, maybe.”
“So, like half the people in this room.”
Tean gave a miserable shrug.
“She’s not here now?” Jem asked.
Tean shook his head.
“What was she wearing?”
“Uh, this top kind of thing. And pants.”
Jem waited. And when nothing else came, he somehow managed to say, “So, she was wearing clothes.”
Behind the glasses, Tean blinked. “Well, yeah.”
“Top and bottom.”
“I mean—” And then his eyebrows did that thing where they get scrunched up and somehow even fuzzier, and he started stabbing the straw into the ice again.
“Colors would be helpful.”
“White shirt. Or a light color, anyway. Dark pants.”
So, maybe colors wouldn’t be helpful. But Jem nodded and said, “Point her out if you see her before we leave. Meanwhile, I hope you’re feeling up to driving, because I have had a super shitty night, so I’m going to have another drink, and I’m going to get super horny—”
“Big change,” Tean muttered.
Grinning, Jem said, “And when we get home, we’re going to absolutely wreck each other.”
“Or we could go straight to bed,” Tean said. “And talk about wrecking each other in the morning.”
“Nope.” Jem caught the eye of the bartender—finally—and reached into his back pocket.
And found nothing.
He said, “Fuck.”
“What?” Tean said. “What happened?”
“My wallet.” He patted his jacket, checked his front pockets, made sure he hadn’t stashed the wallet somewhere else. Still nothing. “Hold on.”
He fought a path through the crowd, trying to scan the floor. Afterski was so busy that it was possible, if the wallet was on the floor, nobody had spotted it yet. But the bigger question was how would his wallet have fallen out? It wasn’t like the wallet was fucking spring-loaded.
By the time Jem got to the lobby, he’d seen no sign of his wallet.
Tean appeared at his side a moment later, his brows doing that scrunchy thing again. “I asked the bartender, and she said nobody’s turned in a wallet.”
“Shit,” Jem said. “Okay. Maybe when I went to the front desk…”
But he couldn’t even finish the sentence because it was the same fucking problem: How? How had it fallen out of his pocket?
He made it two steps across the lobby when he spotted Maeve and Milo.
The kids were still trying to hide behind one of the potted plants, but now they weren’t watching or spying or whatever they’d been doing.
Now their attention was on something small that Maeve held. Milo was taking something out of it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jem said under his breath as he changed course. Then he barked, “Hey!”
Maeve’s head snapped up. Milo froze.
Then Maeve dropped what she was holding, and the kids sprinted out of the lobby.
Jem jogged two long strides, but he slowed again almost immediately. Chasing kids was never a good look, and on top of that, he didn’t want to catch them. He just wanted—
Yep. There it was.
He scooped up the wallet. His freshly acquired—at Tean’s insistence—driver’s license lay on the floor next to the wallet. Milo had also taken out a couple of the credit cards, which were tied to Tean’s account and Tean’s credit score. The cash was still there.
“Is that it?” Tean asked. “Is everything there?”
Jem frowned as he double-checked, but he said, “It’s all there.”
“Was that Maeve and Milo?”
“Yep.”
“Why did they have your wallet?”
Had the Children of the Corn lifted it? He hadn’t seen them anywhere close to him, and anyway, they were kids—could they even do a lift that smooth? All he said, though, was “Great question.”
Tean was quiet for a moment before he said, “I’m glad you found it.”
“Yeah, me too.” But the bubble of good humor had popped. He glanced around the lobby. “Where the hell is she?”
“Maybe Gerald needed her.”
“He’s old, Tean, but he’s not decrepit.”
“He had trouble standing. And he uses a cane.” When Jem flicked a look at him, Tean said, “It was hooked on the back of his chair. Maybe he needed help getting to their room.”
Jem didn’t say anything.
“Let’s go back to the bar,” Tean said.
Jem shook his head.
“I’ll grab you a drink. You stay here where it’s quieter.”
“No, I don’t want a drink. I want to get this fucking night over. I want to go home.”
Tean settled into an unhappy silence.
“Fuck this,” Jem said. “We’re going home.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
“No, she’s dicking us around.”
“I’m sure she’s got a perfectly valid reason. Do you want to call her?”
“No, I don’t. I want to be a petty bitch.” But Jem got the phone out of his pocket and tried to place the call. It started to ring, and then it cut out. “No service—look, down to one bar.”
Tean nodded.
“I’m calling it,” Jem said. “Let’s go.”
This time, Tean didn’t protest, but sometimes he had a way of disagreeing silently, politely, and unrelentingly.
Like maybe you thought Scipio would enjoy a dinner that was all treats—not every night, but once in a while, on special occasions.
And you and Tean had talked about it, like, a lot, and he’d told you all the reasons it wasn’t a good idea, and finally he stopped talking about it, but you knew he didn’t want Scipio to have an upset stomach, and you had to put most of the treats back in the pantry even though it made Scipio sad.
When they stepped outside, the storm had gotten worse: wind whipped under the porte cochere, grabbing at Jem’s jacket, teasing Tean’s hair into a cloud.
When the wind slowed, the thickly falling snow drifted in white curtains, and when the wind picked up again, the fluffy flakes turned into gritty crystals that stung Jem’s cheeks.
The valet emerged from a booth, and Jem held out his claim ticket.
Already shaking his head, the valet said, “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed for the evening.”
“What do you mean you’re closed?” Jem glanced at the ticket, but the print was too small, and it was hard to read. “We need our car.”
“No cars, sir. I’m very sorry. Not tonight.” The valet must have read the mixture of confusion and frustration on Jem’s face, though, because he added, “The roads are closed, sir. On account of the storm. No one’s leaving the lodge tonight.”