40. Velvet Hammer
velvet hammer
Strider
June is… how does one describe a force of nature wrapped up in the guise of a school secretary?
And, after talking to her for even thirty minutes, how do her kids not question her career choice?
They bought the act of the doting admin who simply wanted more time with her kids as they grew up.
I guess she sold it, and they were young.
But looking at the woman across from me, I have no doubt she was as formidable as her daughter, maybe more so, and during a time when women weren’t given half the opportunities.
She’s spent the last hour catching me up. From the case at The Prestige to my own strangulation to Mirren’s job being put in jeopardy. Gene isn’t just looking for a ghost; he’s looking for a man in the wind—one he’ll never find, because he never existed to begin with.
“So, I’ve been told not to leave town. And Mirren’s been told she’s on leave for being too close to a villain?” I offer air quotes on the last word.
“You”—she points at me with a manicured nail—“are no villain. I’ve met golden retrievers with more bite than you.”
“Gee, thanks,” I offer sarcastically.
“You’re missing the point. You’re not the type. They’re barking up the wrong tree, and it’ll take about two minutes for people to see it. But you two being together will make it that much harder to clear your name.”
“We don’t have to worry about that… and not because I’m worried about my name.” I’m innocent. That has to count for something.
“Good. This will die down, and it’ll be best if you two give it some time. You’ll both come out on the other side better positioned, individually and as a couple.”
“Oh, there’s no couple.” I’m shredding from the inside just thinking it, much less saying it out loud.
“I don’t tolerate liars. I’ll keep your secret, and Mirren’s, too, apparently, because I’m an honorable man.
But I’m also honorable enough that I won’t allow myself into the trap of being lied to again.
I love your daughter, June. But I can’t be with someone who willingly lies to me for convenience. Or for any other reason.”
I stand. “I don’t want to be rude, but I need to shower and prepare for an unknowable week ahead.
I appreciate knowing that O’Neill isn’t lurking around every corner and that Mirren is safe and happy.
And that she has the perfect job for her.
That said, losing her was the last thing I expected and, frankly, the final straw. I want time alone.”
June’s mouth is agape, and her hand lifts as if to answer, but my responding look must be enough.
“You’re free to see yourself out the way you came in. I’ll see you around.”
Where, I don’t know. When, again, is unknown. I can’t imagine a visit to Charlie or Fairhope with the memories of Freckles there. Knowing she could be around the corner, or as it turns out, across the globe.
I close the bedroom door behind me and step into the shower roughly the temperature of molten lava. My skin burns, my lungs fight the stifling heat, and I let my mind wander to the last hour of my life.
And the loss that now haunts me.
Mirren
Ants crawl inside me in military precision. My restlessness has turned to anxiety as the day’s progressed. I don’t know why… only that I’m beyond unsettled.
It’s been forever since this has happened, but my gut is the compass I navigate my life by. If it’s off, something’s very, very wrong.
I paced. I did push-ups until my shoulders ached and my biceps and triceps were burned out.
I wanted to go for a run but that’s off the table.
I need to get out of this apartment and away from the house.
I need something to calm the raging sea inside of me…
One I can’t put my finger on, but that churns and roils, nonetheless.
Any chance you’re free? Dinner?
Skipper—Charlie
Been a while since we hit Fat Bottom Grill. Want to go get something coma-inducing?
That’s exactly what I want.
It’ll take me at least thirty. Want me to pick you up?
Nah, I’m good.
Charlie lives out of town by more than thirty minutes. His lead foot has gotten him in trouble more than once. But it mostly gets swept under the rug in Baldwin County. Lots of friends and lots of relationships in the area means he has few consequences for things like that.
Mom and Dad are connected. Charlie is too. I can’t argue its convenience.
I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and put on some lip gloss before throwing on a chunky sweater and beginning the trek to Queenie’s place.
I’ve met the owner a couple of times. She’s a Louisiana transplant and fits in here perfectly. And her cooking is chef’s kiss. Maybe I’ll ask her to teach me a thing or two so I can surprise Strider.
I pass Clary Marice, Vangi, who owns the pharmacy on the corner downtown, and Mona Womboddle on their evening walk.
Seeing Miss Clary Marice for the second time in as many weeks reminds me I haven’t been getting out much.
I’m sure she’s already noted my presence and within the hour, the town will know the hunter green color of my sweater and whether she approved of my gait as I walked.
Clary Marice and Vangi are chatting it up as they set the pace, while Mona hustles double-time to keep up, her hips a metronome to moderate the walk. Mona is an interesting-looking woman, but that’s a topic for another day.
I make a right onto a side street off the main drag and find the old brick building with its New Orleans-style courtyard lit up with dangling lights. The space heaters give a warm glow, and I immediately want to eat outside. Charlie will be fine with it, or he’ll deal.
I’m in the courtyard, a rich, potent drink in my hand, musing as to what has me so unsettled, because it doesn’t make sense.
My period showed. My man is amazing. My job is officially on hold, but the work I’m doing is valuable.
My family is healthy and, while meddlesome, they love me well.
My knee won’t ever be the same, but it’s as strong as any physical therapist can make it.
There’s no reason to feel antsy. Though I am nearing the anniversary of me washing out of the Army. Could that be it? Are my body and mind grieving that loss without me knowing? I assumed I’d be career military. I made the commitment, signed my ticket, and was in.
And then I wasn’t.
Medical or not, it fucked with my head. Even so, I thought I was past it. Maybe it’s still fucking with me and I don’t know it.
Taking another pull on the cocktail Tom put together for me, I’m hit by how good it is. Not too sweet, a hint of bitter orange, full-bodied whiskey, and a spiced rum to smooth it out. It’s a velvet hammer. One too many of these, and I’ll be poured into my bed and wake with a vise around my brain.
“Hey, Scoot.” Charlie leans down to kiss the crown of my head before scraping a chair across the brick terrace.
He grabs my glass, takes a sip from the lip and squeezes up his face.
“Frou-frou drinks aren’t my thing.” But the drink must settle, because he tips his head.
“But that could be the exception. With a hint less syrup.”
“Right?”
He orders one as the waitress takes our order and leans back in his chair, hands clasped on the table. “When do you plan to tell me about you and Strider?”
It’s the wrong moment to ask because I’m sucking a sip through the straw.
Instead of it going down my throat, it’s sucked up into my nose and lungs and sets me off in a coughing fit that damn near makes me puke.
I sputter and choke as my brother continues, “Did you think I didn’t notice? Or that I wouldn’t find out?”
I hold up a finger on the hand not covering my mouth.
He simply relaxes back, slightly amused at me asphyxiating on liquor and fruit juice. He accepts his drink from the returning waitress, whose concern is evident when she takes me in.
“She may need a water.” He continues on a murmur, “And another napkin.”
I slice my eyes to him, but it loses the effect as I sniffle and choke again. To the server, I nod but spend my focus and effort on breathing. I didn’t survive all I have to die inhaling a mixed drink in my hometown.
And Skipper, that fucker, pulls out his phone and snaps a pic of me, turning it so I can see myself looking for the world like I’m holding in violent diarrhea after swallowing a swarm of bees.
“New contact photo,” he offers as he hums and fiddles on his phone. “That’s what you get for hiding from me.”
Oh, Charlie will get his due. And it will be epic.
And we thought Wiggle’s prank on Mom was good. Skipper has no idea what’s coming for him.