42. Dancing on Landmines
dancing on landmines
Strider
If The Gift of the Magi were fucked-up real-life drama, it couldn’t be as dramatic as this moment.
Yeah, that’ll be tough because I’m not in town. Give me a few and I’ll call you.
I switch to Charlie’s contact and start typing.
Remember that whole ‘Next time you come to town, plan to stay at my place’ convo? Did you mean it?
Charlie
Remember the whole not-asking-my-sister-out part?
Vaguely.
Vaguely, my ass. You’re dating her? Why aren’t you staying at her place?
Do NOT answer that question. Do not.
Fine. Come on over.
The petulance in his tone is obvious even via his texts. He’s a grown ass man of nearly forty, and he’s making me wait.
And wait and wait. He’s going to make me do this, isn’t he? I have half a mind to get a hotel. Not being overheard would be a bonus. Not having to ask again would be even better. But I do.
And where should I have the Uber drop me?
{contact card with address}
And there it is. I switch back and find, of all the luck, the same driver to pick me up and take me, not just across town, but across the county to a country road and… a farm.
Charlie, the homebuilder with the cool as shit office in downtown Fairhope, lives with pigs. Literal little oinkers. I can’t explain how insane my last month has been. At this point, if I find a talking dog or discover gremlins are real, I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Woof.” A deep bark comes through the screen door, and as an arm pushes it open, a black lab comes to the end of the porch and starts talking. Fuck me if the gremlins thing comes to pass.
“Millie,” her owner barks, and the gorgeous black beauty shushes. But she doesn’t sit, doesn’t stand down. She’s quiet but on guard.
Charlie stands behind her in jeans and a tee, barefoot. I look behind me. It feels like a setup. This is how horror movies begin. The innocent, overly trusting victim meets a friend in a secluded spot.
“Are the pigs so there are no bones left when you’re done with me?” I say loudly.
Charlie lifts and drops one shoulder. “If required.” He turns and leads the way, holding the door open behind him. “Come on in. Shoes go here.”
Have I entered a parallel universe?
I go with the flow and kick off my shoes at the door, setting my bag down, and walking in my gray socks on his wide wood-planked floors. The warm glow inside his house is in stark contrast to the harsh utility lights I’m used to in Peoria.
He shakes my hand and tells Millie to go to her bed. “Can I get you a beer?”
I nod. “Thanks.”
I’ve just taken a seat when he looks at me stone-faced. “That’s my spot.”
What? I jump up. “Oh, sorry.”
His booming laugh echoes from the walls. “Just fucking with you. No one new comes here, and I’ve been wanting to try that since bingeing The Big Bang Theory again.”
I retake my seat after tapping the neck of my beer bottle to his. “After the week or two I’ve had, nothing would surprise me anymore.”
He falls into a recliner that looks like it’s never met a butt it didn’t like and twists my way. “What’s been going on?”
I give him the rundown of what I’m able to share, omitting meeting his Mom, the fact that the feds think I’m a terrorist, and that his sister is a freaking spy.
Dammit. How did I miss it? June’s car—the 1962 Sunbeam—was a Bond car.
It’s like the clues were all right there, and I was too lovestruck to notice.
It’s also why her mom couldn’t come upstairs that day Mikey and I were watching. I would’ve recognized her from The Prestige. Yup. Right in front of my face.
“So, let’s just say it’s been a shit few weeks. And I came down here to see Mirren, and she’s not here.”
He pulls back in confusion. “Where is she?”
“Peoria. Apparently, she had the same idea to get face-to-face.”
Charlie over-exaggerates a gag. “She told me, you know? Well, I knew. Mikey has a big mouth. But she and I chatted last night and got it all out in the open. I’m not happy with you.
” He points his beer bottle my way and bobs his head.
“But if it had to happen, at least you’re a decent guy.
Don’t make me have to use the pigs, okay? ”
“That’s the second Jones’ brothers threat I’ve received.” Third overall, but I don’t say it.
“Yeah, who? Hambone?”
“Mikey. He threatened to bury me in the desert with only my head sticking out for the birds to eat.”
“Nice.” His grin pulls wide. “I like the imagery. You want another beer?”
“Sure.” I lift my empty. “Do I need to worry about Jamie too?”
“Probably.” He saunters away on remarkably quiet feet for such a big dude.
Pulling out my phone, I text Mirren.
I’ll call you in a bit. I’ve been… delayed.
Mirren
Good to hear. Your mom is amazing. She said you’re out of town? Apparently I’m staying in Lorien’s old room tonight. Didn’t have this on my bingo card.
But you got cookies, right?
Oh my God. Does she put magic in those things? So good. I’ll need to be rolled onto the plane.
Speaking of, where are you?
Charlie’s house. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
Why are you in Alabama when I’m in Illinois?
Things I say to myself every morning and every night.
Mirren
My damn mother.
The churning in my body yesterday was spot on. I should’ve known. Not true. I did know. I had a bone-deep knowing. And when Mom opened her mouth and told me what she did, I booked the first flight—at a ridiculous price, I might add—and brought my butt to Peoria.
And here I am, in Strider’s parents’ house, lying in his sister’s bed, and wondering how things got so crossways with the man whose high school and college pictures, along with his sisters’, dot the hall walls.
Diane and Jim Anderson are exactly who I’d expect would birth and raise a man like Strider. Salt of the earth, down-home, kind people who welcomed me like a long-lost friend and treated me as special as their son does.
It says something that his mom offered me a place to stay. Especially with the happy sadness in her eyes. Those are the only words for it. It’s easy to feel Diane’s welcome and easy to see that meeting me is hard on her too.
When my phone vibrates, I expect to see HoneyBun light up the screen. Instead, it’s Skipper’s picture that flashes.
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby.” It’s as if Strider exhaled saying the words.
We only missed one night and one morning, but the absence has been a gnawing void.
“Hey, honey. I missed you.”
“It’s been a crazy couple of days.”
“About that… Back up. I have to know. Why are you at Charlie’s house on Charlie’s phone?”
“Because you’re not home, and randomly he’d made me promise to stay with him my next trip down. The answer to your second question is because I’m not sure after all I’ve learned that my phone isn’t tapped.”
“Wire taps require a court order.”
“And being a domestic terrorist doesn’t warrant one?” His sarcasm flows through the line.
“She told me she told you. I— I was pissed, but I’m so glad she did. It’s a relief for you to know.” My voice is tentative, and my hesitancy is obvious. I’m not usually timid, but since we’re dancing on landmines, I want to be careful when anything could cause an explosion.
“I wish you had trusted me with it.” Bristles scratch through the line, and I picture him scrubbing the five o’clock shadow on his chin.
“Please don’t leave me.” Desperation laces my tone. When he doesn’t reply, I go on. “It’s my job, not my life. My job is a means to an end. My life is in Alabama.”
“Did you actually go camping with your Army buddies?”
“No,” I admit. “But I never told you I did. That was my cover for my brothers only. I told you I needed a few days and I’d find you after.”
He hums through the line, before asking, “Where were you?”
“Taiwan.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath, but he says no more.
“I never lied, honey. In fact, aside from how we met, the only time I’ve ever uttered a half truth is when I told you I was fine or some other platitude that people offer in polite conversation.”
“And needing a few days and taking a job in Taiwan feel the same to you?”
My temper is rising. My emotions dance on the surface, and my tone goes hard. “What would you have me do, Strider? Quit my job? After a handful of weeks with a man who lives halfway across the country. Just because I’m in love with you doesn’t mean I don’t need to pay my bills.”
“What?”
“I have bills. I have a car note. I have doctor’s appointments when the VA is VA-ing. And I like pretty panties. I take care of myself—”
“You’re in love with me?” he asks urgently.
Oh that. Nothing like making myself vulnerable while everything hangs in the balance. Vulnerability is hard, anger is much easier. “Yes. Are you happy?”
“Fucking elated, Freckles.” His soft laugh bubbles through the phone. “Fucking elated. So, tell me, baby, are you coming to me or am I coming to you, because being apart from you is torture.”
It is. I know from experience.
“When’s your return flight?” I ask.
“I booked a one-way. Yours?”
He booked a one-way ticket. What did I do to deserve this man?
“I’m set to return on Wednesday morning, but I’ll see if I can bump it up.
” Besides, me being here will set off alarms, the repercussions of which could be terrible.
I don’t say that. That’s face-to-face conversation, but I’m playing with fire if Brody discovers either by cell tower or plane ticket that I’m in Peoria.
Then again, Strider’s not here, so maybe this is a small miracle after all.