5. CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 5
Colden
“ D o it again.” From the living room, Aunt June’s laughter tinkles like the bracelets decorating her wrists.
I turn off the beeping timer and pull out the vegetable lasagna. It’s Thursday night, which means Aunt June’s posse—her word, not mine—and Arlo are here for dinner and poker.
“I was closer this time,” Arlo says. “I was trying to move your left leg.”
“Right middle toe is definitely closer.” The sarcasm in Gilbert’s growly comment seems lost on Arlo.
“I know, right?! The practice helps a lot.”
I toss the Caesar salad and call, “Ten minutes until we eat.”
There’s a crash. Then, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”
“Shit.” I grab the extinguisher next to the counter and race into the living room. Flames flicker from June’s fingertips as she holds her arms out, pointing the fire toward the brick fireplace. I spray a couple of spots on the floor, dousing smoldering sparks on the antique rug I picked up at an estate sale after Aunt June moved in and started redecorating. She insisted she would rather live in the burnt down ruin of her old house than live in an empty, soulless shell.
My aunt scrunches her eyes closed, concentrating on controlling her power. Let’s just say her hot flashes are really hot. I pass the extinguisher to Howard.
“Open your hands,” I say to my aunt.
She unwraps her fingers, revealing dancing flames. I call forth my own so-called power, filling her palms with ice cubes. They melt on contact, but I keep filling her cupped hands until the water douses the glowing flares. Face flushed and her breaths coming quick and shallow, her eyes open and she gives me a soft smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” I can always find a new rug, and gluing the vase that tumbled off the end table back together isn’t a big deal. Although my life is significantly less quiet since she moved in with me, Aunt June is the one person in my family who understands what it’s like to be less than super in a family of heroes. Or in my mom’s case, so intelligent, heroes seek her out for her advice and help.
There’s a sudden swoosh , and June and I startle. A puff of powder fills the air.
“Sorry. There was a…” Howard points the hose of the extinguisher at the hem of my aunt’s flowing scarlet skirt.
“I told you to wear clothes that are a closer cut.” Tuesday swirls her Fireball and Coke, the ice cubes tinkle against the crystal from where she reclines on the vintage davenport sofa from the actual A.H. Davenport & Company. I scooped it up at an estate sale for a steal after Aunt June fawned all over it. “It’ll be safer.”
Aunt June plucks her skirt between her fingers and swishes it around like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “Who’s ready to eat?”
“About time,” Gilbert grunts from around the unlit cigar he’s never without.
Tuesday stands and heads toward the kitchen, swatting Gilbert’s arm with the back of her hand as she passes him. But she abruptly halts and grabs hold of the arm, squeezing. Gilbert rolls his eyes, but with her eyes closed, Tuesday misses it. Her expression is one of concentration. The rest of us stand in silence, giving Tuesday the quiet she needs to pick up whatever message she thinks she’s receiving from Gilbert.
She claims she picks up psychic “messages”, but I have my doubts, as do most people in town. Tuesday says her predictions are correct, just not for the person whom she’s reading. According to her, she usually finds out after the fact and from another source that her “sight” was correct. Just for someone else.
“You’re going to be asked to do something.” Dents pierce the skin between her eyebrows, and her closed lids move back and forth. “Let go of your reluctance and take a chance. It’s in taking chances we find happiness.” After a beat, she opens her eyes, her smile wide and inviting.
Gilbert grunts. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”
“Who do you think the message is for?” Arlo, the excitable puppy that he is, holds his arm out and leads Tuesday to the dining room.
She pats his arm. “That’s the mystery of this power of mine.”
“Not much of a power when it could be anyone in the world,” Gilbert gripes from behind the pair.
Aunt June pokes Gilbert in the side with a bony finger. The old guy jumps, then narrows his eyes at her. She gives him a pointed look and mouths, “Be nice.”
“Well, I think it’s good advice for anyone.” Howard follows, still carrying the fire extinguisher. “If I hadn’t taken a chance, I never would have met you lovely people and be living my dream right now.”
Another grunt from Gilbert, and I smother my amusement with a cough. A cactus is less prickly than the old guy, but I know inside he has a soft center. I’ve spotted him leaving groceries on Carmen Walter’s porch when she lost her job and paying Felix Carmella to shovel Mr. Benedict’s walkway when it snows. But I have no problem keeping his secret. We all have secrets.
As June and her friends settle around the mid-century dining table, Arlo and I head into the kitchen to bring out the food.
Some may say the dining set doesn’t belong in a Victorian home, but I don’t give a shit about what others think. When June saw the live edge table, she fell in love with it. Spotting the four bucket dining chairs being sold for dirt cheap on Ebay was kismet. And the velvet cranberry I had them reupholstered in makes them perfect.
“Did you make banana bread?” Arlo lifts the foil from the lasagna and waves his hand over the steam.
I pull the garlic bread from the oven and turn off the timer. “Didn’t I bring you a loaf yesterday?”
He slips on oven mitts and carries the lasagna to the dining room. “If you gave me the recipe, I wouldn’t have to bug you all the time.”
“Never happening.” Making banana bread is the only thing I’m good at. That, and finding killer bargains on antiques. I follow Arlo with the salad and bread, and once the food is on the table, I fill everyone’s glasses with ice.
“Oh, I like the round ice.” Tuesday holds up her water glass, inspecting my latest presentation.
Aunt June stands so she can slice squares of lasagna and places them on our plates as we pass them to her. “He’s been working on different shapes.”
“It’s nothing,” I mumble. My aunt acts like I’m doing something remarkable. I’m not curing cancer. I’m doing something most refrigerators can do.
She narrows her eyes at me. “It’s not nothing. Your power is as unique and lovely as you.” Pointing the spatula in my direction, she shakes it. “Mark my words, one day you’re going to be thankful for it.”
My grunt sounds a lot like Gilbert. Not to be a complete dick, I round the table and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re destined for great things,” she whispers and she pats my cheek. She’s told me the same thing since I was old enough to walk. I think she’s delusional, but I love her and her unyielding support and encouragement.
The meal is the usual chaos when Aunt June and her friends are together. Tuesday teases Howard about his latest menu item, spam pudding, while Gilbert works hard to keep his scowl in place as Arlo and Aunt June trade the latest Eternity gossip. I sit back and take it in, enjoying the peace that comes from being around people who don’t bother me about “living up to my potential” or questioning my life choices.
From the kitchen, I hear One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer. Dacker’s ringtone.
“Dack doesn’t call at this time of night.” Stealthy Spirits is finishing up happy hour and Thursdays are typically busy, even in the summer. I get up, rub my hands on my thighs and stride to my ringing phone. “What’s up?”
“Neo.” His voice is strained and I can hear the edge of panic in the one word. And for a second, the air in my lungs suspends.
Laughter reverberates from the dining room like a thunderclap. I step outside into the soupy heat, to the scratchy song of crickets and the low-pitch of a train horn sounding in the distance. “What about Neo?”
“He’s missing.” Dack’s voice cracks. “He didn’t answer our morning call, and he hasn’t responded to any of my texts. I even emailed him.”
My blood pressure catapults higher and higher, but I keep my tone calm. For Dacker. “Maybe he’s busy. Or hooked up with someone.”
My stomach sours at the thought of some asshole getting sweet, sexy Neo’s attention. For as much as we’ve texted over the years, we’ve avoided any discussion of our dating lives. Not that I would call what I do dating.
Yeah, I could have known what his skin tastes like, what he sounds like when he’s on the edge, what his beautiful face looks like as he reaches climax… but I chose to be a good friend to Dacker instead. And friends don’t mess around with their best friend’s baby brother.
“His roommate called. Neo never showed last night at the bar they were supposed to meet at. He didn’t come home, and he wasn’t at work. He didn’t call out.” With every word, Dacker’s voice gets tighter and pitches higher. “He was supposed to teach a class today. Neo has never missed teaching a class. He got food poisoning after eating shrimp salad from a food truck near campus and he still crawled to class and taught.”
I pace the brick walkway I spent last summer laying and with every step my stomach sinks further and further. “And your dad hasn’t heard from him?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it. He and Katherine left for their cruise this morning.” There’s a tremble in Dack’s sigh that may as well be a noose choking me. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
I stop my pacing and rub the back of my neck, focusing on the pink daisy-like flowers Aunt June planted this year. “Okay. Let’s think… Is his location setting turned on?”
“Checked, and no.”
“What about hospitals? Have you called them?”
“Yes. Nothing.”
Breath whooshes from my lungs, and I shoot a quick text to Neo.
Me: Where are you? Dack is worried.
“That’s good.” Gaze glued to my phone, I chew on my bottom lip. “What about other friends? Professors? Where does he hang out?”
“Hendrix is his best friend. You know how Neo is…”
My phone remains silent. No little dots, no marked as read, just my words staring back at me until the screen goes black. “Yeah. Quiet, unobtrusive, keeps to himself.” Kind, inquisitive, determined, unique, fascinating, resilient, draws people to him because he makes everyone feel like they are the most important person in the room. I swipe the messages open. Still nothing. “Hendrix is the roommate, right?”
I know the answer, and I know Dack is aware that Neo and I text. But I’m unsure if he knows how much. Keeping that between Neo and me feels essential, like texting is our thing .
“Yeah. He’s a fellow PhD student, so they share an office at the university, too. They were supposed to go out last night.” There’s a hitch in his voice and behind it, the muted sounds of the pub.
“And we’re sure this Hendrix dude can be trusted?” From what Neo has said over the years, there’s never been any indication that Hendrix is a threat, but no one is above suspicion.
“They’ve been friends since undergrad. You met him at Neo’s twenty-first birthday bash we had. On the shorter side. Dark hair. He was probably wearing a nerdy math shirt.”
“I remember.” I also remember holding Neo up when I bumped into him coming out of the bathroom. And I remember how he fit perfectly when he pressed into me. The taste of lime and rum from the mojito he was drinking imprinted itself on my brain, never to be forgotten. No matter how many men I’ve kissed since then, it’s Neo’s lips I crave.
The stomp, stomp, stomp of boots hitting concrete echoes through the receiver, and I can picture Dacker pacing in his office. “I’m worried, Cold.”
Me too, but my friend sounds like he’s on the verge of losing his shit, so I go with confident. “He probably got caught up in research and fell asleep in the lab or library. We’ll find him.”
“Hendrix already checked. He’s nowhere.” My friend has lost so much. His biological dad died before his first birthday, then his mom died when we were teens. The possibility of losing his beloved baby brother is more than he can take, and I hear it in everything he’s not saying.
I head back inside, the screen door slamming behind me, and hustle upstairs to pack a bag. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“You don’t—”
“Don’t say it, asshole. I’m coming and we’ll find him.” I throw shit to wear and my toiletries into a duffel and zip it shut.
There’s a thump and a creak, like he’s flopped into his chair, or his legs have buckled under the weight of his worry. Then a quiet expulsion of breath. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
“See you soon.” I end the call and stomp down the stairs. “I’m going to Philly. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Aunt June pops from her chair, her expression lined with concern. “What’s wrong? Is Dacker okay?”
“Neo’s missing and Dack’s concerned.” I lower my voice as my aunt approaches. My friend, who was drafted to play professional football, but only played in two pre-season games before he suffered from a career-ending injury, wouldn’t want others to know how much he feels. Remnants of the masculinity bullshit from so many years immersed in that culture still cling to him. “He’s a wreck.”
June gives my arm a reassuring pat. “We’ll take care of things here.”
“Thanks.” I move to the archway of the dining room. “Arlo,” I bark.
His smile flattens, and he straightens in his seat like he’s a private and I’m his commanding officer. “Yes?”
“You’re in charge. Keep the office running and make sure June doesn’t burn down my house.” My aunt pinches my side. “Just kidding.” I wrap her in a hug and kiss the top of her head while making eye contact with Arlo.
He nods, knowing I’m dead serious about keeping my house from going up in flames. I love my aunt, but there’s a reason she’s living with me and not at her house.
“If you need anything, let us know.” Aunt June squeezes before stepping back.
“Thanks.” I hold my hand up as a goodbye and rush to my car.
The Price brothers need me, and I will not let them down.