Chapter Eight
Gwen
“C ooter!” Dylan laughed wildly, careful not to spill her latte on Angela.
“What?” Lucille feigned innocence from across the booth. “I’m sorry, but if I have to search through a forest to find the tree, I don’t want it.”
Angela crinkled her nose. “I hear some women like au naturel .”
“Not this one,” Lucille replied, lifting her Starbucks cup across the table.
Dylan did not leave her hanging and met her in the middle for a cheers. “Me either! If I have to brave razor burn and ingrown hairs to tame the hairy gremlin, he damn sure better do the same.”
“A hairy gremlin? Really, Dylan? I did not need to know that,” Angela scolded, disgust painted all over her face. Sliding out of the booth, she looked at me. “Do the restrooms still work? I suddenly feel the need to gouge my eyes out.”
I laughed. “Yes, and you’ve got three thrones to choose from too. I ripped out the stall dividers already.”
“Perfect.” Her heels clicked toward the hall.
“Oh, come on, Ang,” Dylan called. “Don’t be such a prude!”
Angela flipped her the middle finger before disappearing into the women’s restroom.
Dylan batted her lashes at Lucille. “She loves me.”
“I get it,” she replied. “You two remind me of me and my sister. I swear she was born with a stick up her ass. She always acts scandalized by a little girl talk, but the woman’s got six kids. She’s no stranger to a dick if you know what I’m saying.”
Lucille leaned into my side as they howled with laughter. Fighting and failing to suppress a smile, I shook my head, debating if they were a match made in heaven or hell. Probably a little of both depending on the day.
An alarm on Lucille’s phone interrupted their hysterics. Never breaking the conversation, she picked it up, hit redial, and put it to her ear. “Razor burn? I got my gremlin hair lasered off years ago. I’ll give you my girl’s number. It didn’t hurt too much until she got to the assh—hey there.” She lifted a single finger at Dylan and then spoke into the phone. “It’s me again. Any update? Uh huh. Yep. Okay, talk to you soon.” She put the phone back on the table and hit the button on her screen to start the timer again. “She says they’re only a few minutes out, but I swear, if they keep this up, they’re gonna be doing this job for free .”
“I’d rather just pay at this point,” I muttered.
It was a full house that morning. Unfortunately, that did not yet include a crew of construction workers.
I’d slept like shit, tossing and turning. My mind had alternated between my strange interaction with Truett and anxiety over what I was going to do if the demo crew no-showed again. Around five, I gave up on sleep and decided to hit the gym. The new trending workout clothes I’d ordered after one too many glasses of wine had finally arrived, and I put them on, hoping a new ’fit would help me kick off the day right.
No such luck. In true TikTok Shop fashion, the legs of my shorts were uneven and my shirt was too big yet somehow simultaneously too short. I wore them anyway. It seemed more practical than tossing them into the graveyard of returns in the back of my car.
I drove to the gym but never got out. As I stared through the windows, watching the early birds pounding out miles on the treadmills, all I could see was Truett running away like he was being chased by demons. And worse, I feared he really was.
After that, I skipped going home to change and went straight to the restaurant so I could squeeze in a quick video call with Nate before school. It was his dad’s long weekend, and that meant five full days without my little man. Nobody made me laugh like Nate, and that morning was no exception. By the time we hung up, I felt more refreshed than a full night’s rest could ever provide.
As promised, Lucille had met me there bright and early with coffee in hand, ready to steamroll a contractor. However, when the crew hadn’t arrived by 7:05, she started blowing up their office. The same woman from the night before assured us that the crew was just running a little late. Ever the bulldog, Lucille called back every five minutes to check their status. I had to give her credit for persistency.
Around eight thirty, Dylan and Angela had surprised me with breakfast. Unwilling to admit my renovation woes already, I’d been avoiding their questions in our text thread. This was their not-so-subtle way of checking up on me. They brought donuts, so I didn’t complain.
It was now past nine, and despite all the promises from the contractor’s office, I was starting to believe the day was a wash.
“Hey, Gwen,” Angela called. “Whose jacket is this?”
My head whipped in her direction as she reappeared holding a black-and-gray raincoat.
Awesome. Just what I needed. The whole clusterfuck with Truett was not a subject I was eager to revisit. I didn’t know what to say even if I wanted to explain it. He’d begged to come inside. Sat in the rain to be nearby. And then, when I’d finally given in, he’d bolted. It made no sense whatsoever. And quite honestly, as he’d raced away, I’d kinda, sorta, maybe, absolutely taken it personally.
Had I done something or said something to upset him?
And if not, what did it say about me that in less than five minutes my potential stalker was already done stalking?
Yeah, okay. Maybe neither of us made sense.
But it was done. Over. He was fine. Or so he’d claimed.
End of story…ish.
“Uhhh. Yeah. That’s mine.” I slid out of the booth and tried to grab his jacket, but she turned, holding it out of my reach.
“You don’t wear a men’s extra-large,” she argued.
“I like my raincoats baggy. So what?”
“You do not,” Dylan said, snapping her fingers for Angela to pass her what had clearly turned into exhibit A in this interrogation. “Do you have a new man you aren’t telling us about?”
“What? No!” I defended. Diving forward, I banged my leg on the corner of the booth and almost knocked Angela over in an effort to prevent Dylan from getting her hands on it. For all I knew, she had an emergency DNA kit in her purse. I’d witnessed her track people down on Facebook with less information. That was one self-proclaimed detective I did not want to challenge.
She eyed me suspiciously. “Then why are you acting like such a weirdo right now?” As if a lightbulb went off in her head, all humor evaporated. “I swear to God, if that is Jeff’s jacket and that asshole was here, I’m going to lose my shit.”
Angela gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth, pure horror showing in her blue eyes.
I swung an incredulous scowl between them. “Seriously? Jeff? I’d rather amputate my own leg and then swim with sharks.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Lucille interjected. “The hot gargoyle’s name is Jeff?”
Dylan shivered. “Not if you’re calling him hot.”
Continuing the cacophony of confusion, Angela inquired, “Who’s the hot gargoyle?”
Lucille smirked. “The piece of man meat who was wearing that jacket last night. Did you happen to take off any more of his clothes? Because that’s the screw-and-tell I’m going to need to hear.”
And because there wasn’t enough chaos in that room, there was a knock at the door. Our heads turned in unison.
“About damn time!” Lucille exclaimed.
A lanky middle-aged man in jeans and a red polo with sunglasses propped up in his sandy-blond hair smiled and waved from the other side of the door. It wasn’t my contractor, but I assumed he was part of the crew. And even if he wasn’t, as long as he could wield a sledgehammer, I was about to put him to work.
As I walked to the door, I dropped the infamous jacket on the seat of Truett’s booth, praying for a little out-of-sight, out-of-mind reprieve.
“Hey,” I greeted, opening the door. “Are you here to start the demo?”
The man’s face was friendly and warm, like a father figure even though he wasn’t much older than I was. “Uh, no. I’m actually here to talk to you, Gwen. Mind if I come in?”
My eyebrows furrowed at his apparent familiarity. “That depends. Talk to me about what?”
He passed me a business card. “My name is Taggart Folly. I’m with Flat Line Productions. I was hoping I could speak with you about a documentary we’re filming on the Watersedge Mall shooting.”
A sharp breath lodged in my throat. It had been years since anyone had uttered those words to me. Most people spent a considerable amount of energy tiptoeing around the subject. Surely, I’d misheard him. “What did you say?”
His smile never faltered. “I’m sorry about showing up like this. We’ve been trying to reach you for quite some time. I went by your old address and Jeff Weaver told me you’d be here. I hope it’s okay that I stopped by.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Of course, Jeff had told him how to find me. What better way to slay me than to send a hitman he didn’t even have to pay.
His gaze lifted over my shoulder. “If now’s not a good time, I’m happy to come back later.”
Now wasn’t a good time.
Later wouldn’t be a good time, either.
Never was probably the only good.
I’d spent too many years clawing my way out of that darkness. Therapy. Meditation. Yoga. I’d done it all. There was no way I was going to risk unraveling the progress I had painstakingly achieved for the sake of a fucking documentary.
Squaring my shoulders, I handed him back the card. “You have the wrong person.”
“See, I don’t think I do. I’ve spoken with other survivors and—”
“I’m not a survivor,” I seethed.
“Everything okay?” Lucille called.
My body shook with anger, but I tamped it down in the name of professionalism. “Yeah, I was just about to see Mr. Folly out.” Stepping over the threshold, I forced him to back away. Waiting until the door was fully closed, I spoke with my voice low and my tongue sharp. “First of all, I find it disturbing that you thought ambushing me about the most traumatizing day of my life would be acceptable in any regard. But to do it when you so obviously have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” I shook my head. “You disgust me.”
His smile changed, or maybe I finally saw through the fa?ade. It wasn’t kind or warm—this man was one hundred percent cold and calculating. “What exactly is it that you think I don’t know, Gwen?”
Every. Fucking. Thing.
“For starters, one Google search would tell you I wasn’t in the mall that day.”
“Maybe not. But you were there. We have the recording of your nine-one-one call.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end—a suffocating mixture of anger and pain filling my chest. I channeled the anger—it was easier to process. “Then you have already received the only statement you will ever get from me. Get the fuck off my property before I have the police escort you away.” With that, I turned on a toe and started back inside.
My fingers had barely brushed the handle when his words hit me like a hand grenade.
There was no deafening blast, no flying debris, no physical destruction. But his question tore through me with devastating effects.
“Do you still keep in contact with Truett West?”
The world shrank around me like plastic wrap, stealing my ability to breathe. Fire flooded my veins, and the pressure in my chest felt like a vortex trying to separate me from my soul. I spun around so fast my head swam. “Excuse me?”
He tipped his head. “We haven’t been able to reach him, either. I just figured—”
“Stay away from him!” I exploded, rushing forward. “Under no circumstance are you allowed to contact him. Do you understand me?”
He peered down his nose at me, his expression neutral but still grotesquely arrogant. “We believe his narrative would be crucial to our film.”
“His narrative?” I hissed. “This isn’t fucking fiction. People died that day. Even the survivors. Nobody walked out of that mall unscathed. Are you seriously standing here, telling me that you want to dredge that up, for what? Morbid curiosity? Entertainment?” I pressed up onto my toes and got in his face. “ Money ?”
His reaction to my outburst was so nonplussed it felt robotic. “We’re trying to raise awareness about gun violence.”
“You don’t need Truett for that! Watersedge happened eighteen years ago. There have been dozens of tragedies since then. Go dig up those graves.”
I didn’t hear the door open before Dylan’s arms circled around my waist from behind, restraining me.
“What the hell is going on out here?” she barked.
He lifted his hands placatingly and aimed his dry response at her. “I was just asking a few questions. I didn’t mean to stir up anything.”
“Bullshit!” I yelled, fighting against Dylan’s hold. “A Goddamn documentary will stir up everything . Some people just want to forget.”
“That is precisely what we’re worried about,” he challenged. “People have already forgotten. This documentary will—”
“Destroy him!” I boomed, finishing his statement. “This fucking documentary will absolutely ruin him , and I’ll be honest there isn’t much of that man left to begin with. Leave. Him. Alone .”
Angela stepped in front of me, blocking my path and more than likely an assault charge. “This conversation is over. You need to go, sir.”
He held my gaze over her shoulder. “Don’t you think a hero should be celebrated?”
“What is there to celebrate?” I shouted. “Forty-eight people died in that mall.”
“There were over a hundred others who escaped because of Truett West,” he countered. “Given the amount of unused ammunition found on the scene, that was a miracle. We believe that’s the story people need to hear.”
“It’s not a story! It was real life and real people and…and—” An onslaught of emotions crashed over me. I sagged against Dylan, keeping my legs under me by sheer force of will as memories shredded me.
How could something that happened so long ago suddenly feel so raw? Agony pierced through my anger, causing tears to fill my eyes. “It destroyed us all. But especially Truett. Don’t make him relive this. He will not come out the other side.”
He stared at me, his posture remaining resolute and uncaring. “Maybe if he cooperates, we can finally get him the help he so obviously needs?” He tipped his chin. “Just think about it.”
“Fuck you!” I yelled.
His slimy grin stretched as he lowered his sunglasses, and then casually strolled to a white BMW in the side parking lot.
Dylan didn’t fully release me until his taillights had disappeared around the corner.
“Jesus,” Lucille whispered. “What was that about?”
Angela turned to face me. “Are you okay?”
I stared at her without seeing, my mind spinning in a dozen different directions, all of them starting and finishing with one man. “I have to go,” I whispered.
Dylan moved into my side, hooking her arm with mine. “Yeah, come on. Let’s get you inside.”
I snatched it away, fear engulfing me. “No. I have to go .”
Her forehead crinkled. “That asshole’s gone. You don’t have to go anywhere.”
Oh, but she was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
“He’s not gone! He’s gonna go to Truett.” I darted inside and snatched my phone off the table and his raincoat from his booth. “I have to warn him.”
They all called my name.
Dylan begged me to wait.
Angela offered to go with me.
But just before I left, I pointed to the booth in the corner and looked at Lucille. “If the contractor gets here, nobody touches that. Do you understand me?”
She gave me a sharp nod. “Loud and clear, Boss.”