Chapter 11 Ash
ASH
FIRES AREN’T ALLOWED IN the Underground, so the men have set up two camping lanterns and dragged over pieces of driftwood to sit on. Ash misses the flicker of a campfire—that always seems to make things cozier. Here we go, she thinks. We’re really doing this.
“Want one?” The guy named Kevin holds up a six-pack of beer. Ash wonders how much they brought, why you’d choose to pack in that unnecessary weight. But the men are all in good shape, so it probably didn’t affect them that much. “No thanks,” she says, holding up her water bottle. “I’m good.”
Hope takes a can. Caro declines. Spencer, Ash notices, also isn’t drinking. “So, poker,” Hope says, rubbing her hands together. Ash hears a wicked note in Hope’s voice. “I should warn you guys, I’m pretty good. What are we playing for? Cash?”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Spencer gestures to a few cans of Pringles. “We’re using those as chips.”
“Very literal,” Hope says. “I like it.”
“One of us gets too mean when we’re playing for money.” Kevin’s tone is dry but he doesn’t seem to be completely joking. Who? Ash wonders. It seems unlikely he’d be sending himself up, and Spencer appears to be a decent human being. So, Tony?
“I’ll deal.” Tony starts handing out the cards, dropping them onto a striped camp blanket that they’ve spread out between the lanterns. Ash hasn’t played poker since college. She is going to be very, very rusty.
Tony’s sleeve slides up and she sees the tattoo again. “What do the numbers of your tattoo mean?” she asks, and then she wishes she hadn’t. It’s his business, not hers. She always does this—talks too much when she’s feeling nervous.
“A date that’s important to me,” Tony says. “My daughter’s birthday.”
And even though that’s a sweet answer, Ash still feels uneasy about Tony.
She’s not sure what the difference is between him and his brother, Kevin, who is striking fewer chords of wariness with her.
Spencer is by far the most likable of the group, and he’s cute and smart.
He’d have to be, though, if he’d ever dated Caro.
Ash has always prided herself on being a good judge of character.
Lately, though, that’s taken a hit. There was the employee she hired who quit within a week and went to work for another florist, who started copying Ash’s arrangements.
There’s the shift in Wade lately, to someone she doesn’t completely know.
And lately, Ash feels like she doesn’t entirely trust herself.
So what does that say? About her, or her ability to judge character?
And when did the self-loathing begin? She feels like it’s always been lying dormant in her, ready to rear its head when she’s feeling unsafe, like middle school and high school, until she can get it to retreat and lie down again.
So why has it been back the last couple of years?
“Done,” Tony says, putting down the cards. “Let’s play.”
Ash takes a look at her hand. It’s not great; she remembers that much at least. Which is fine.
She doesn’t care if she wins. Also, she hates Pringles.
She gets why Hope wanted to do this, but she still wishes it were the three of them hanging out at their campsite.
She wishes Spencer hadn’t come over with the invitation.
She wishes Caro didn’t know him. This makes everything so much more complicated.
“Did you go to high school in St. John?” Tony asks Hope. “You seem familiar.”
“No,” Hope says. “Juniper City.” It’s a town near here, Ash knows. But she doesn’t know much more than that. Does Hope? And of course Hope wouldn’t want to reveal her real identity, but why wouldn’t she choose something closer to her actual life?
Hope’s still talking like the guys, with a kind of southern Utah accent. Ash finds this fascinating. She knows Hope is a great actress, but she’s never seen her invent a part on the spot.
As they take their turns and the sky darkens by degrees, Ash doesn’t think Hope’s drinking much of her beer—she’s pretending with that, too.
And it turns out that Hope is good at poker, which shouldn’t surprise Ash.
But none of them have cards that can beat Tony’s.
He pulls the pile of Pringles toward him across the camp blanket.
“Don’t break the money,” Spencer says, joking.
Tony pops a chip into his mouth. “I thought you said you were good,” he tells Hope, giving the words a weight that suggests he’s trying to make a double entendre. Ugh.
“Oh, I’m good,” Hope says. Her hair has dried almost as wavy as Ash’s, which is a surprise.
Ash didn’t know they shared that because Hope is always so tidy.
Her fingernails, Ash notices as Hope gathers the cards and shuffles them, are clean but short, not a hint of polish, and there’s no trace of the eyelash extensions Hope usually wears. “But my cards were bad.”
“I’ve heard that one before.” Tony still sounds leery. Ash glances over at Caro and wants to laugh. Caro has no poker face. She’s looking at Tony with an expression that can only be described as unveiled disgust.
“I have an idea.” Hope reaches over, takes one of Tony’s chips and pops it in her mouth. “Let’s make this next round more interesting.”
Don’t say it don’t say it, Ash thinks, but of course Tony does.
“Strip poker?” he asks.
“Even better,” Hope says. “Secret poker.”
“Which is?” Tony asks.
“The person who wins gets to ask anyone in the group one question,” Hope says. “And they have to answer it. Honestly.”
And now Ash specifically does not look at Caro. Because what on earth is happening? Did Caro know this was coming? Ash isn’t going to reveal any real secrets in front of these men. But she doesn’t want to let on that she’s as surprised as the guys. Hope must have a reason for what she’s doing.
“Why don’t we play truth or dare?” Tony asks.
“Because that’s boring,” Hope says. “Because we’ve all done that a million times before.” She grins and takes another chip. Tony reaches out to stop her but she’s too quick. “And because if I win, I promise I’ll ask you a question.”
“You think I might want to tell you my secrets?” Tony asks.
“I do,” she says.
Ash thinks, Hope’s so good at this. And is she leaning even further into her southern Utah accent?
“Okay,” Tony says. “It’s a deal.”
“Do you have any more beer?” Hope asks, and Tony nods. “Go grab some,” he tells Kevin.
“Do it yourself,” Kevin says.
“I’ll go.” Spencer stands up. “Is it in your tent?”
Tony springs to his feet. “Never mind,” he says. “I’ll get it.”
Kevin stands, too. All three of them end up heading for the tents.
“Interesting,” Hope says. “Why did they all feel the need to go? And what do you think Tony has in his tent that he didn’t want the others to see?” She snickers.
“What the hell, Hope?” Caro says. “Why would you suggest secret poker?” She wrinkles her nose. “Is that even a thing?”
“It is now,” Hope says. “And I suggested it because we might find out more about them. Obviously.”
“They’re not going to tell us anything real,” Caro says. “Not like this.”
“Sometimes what people don’t tell you, or how they lie, is just as good,” Hope says. “And I promise that none of us will get picked.”
“How?” Caro asks.
“Because I’m not going to let any of them win,” Hope says.
The men are already heading back in their direction, Tony swinging another six-pack of beer at his side.
“Okay,” he says, handing Hope the cans and sitting down in a spot closer to her than before. “Let’s go.”
Hope takes a can, cracks it open, and hands the pack back to Tony. “Kevin deals this time,” she says. “Let’s see if you can win if you’re not the dealer.”
“Fine,” Tony says. Kevin shuffles the cards with a practiced hand and deals them in. Ash checks her cards. I hope I don’t have to ask a question or tell a secret, she thinks. She wants no part of this game, but she’s in too deep now.
Ash feels a thread of tension looping and tightening around the group as the game progresses, as if an invisible rope is pulling them in.
The sky above hints as to what time of day it is—right now, they’re sliding past sunset.
“So which high school did you go to in Juniper City?” Tony asks Hope. “Juniper High or Canyon View?”
“Juniper High,” Hope says smoothly.
“Nice.” Tony crumples a can in his hand and tosses it to the side. Spencer surreptitiously reaches for it and puts it in the trash bag. Is he too much of a Boy Scout to be real? Ash wonders. And her heart is beating quickly. Is Tony onto Hope?
Caro’s mouth has tightened.
“Where did you go to high school?” Hope asks. “Red Mountain or St. John High? Are you a Panther or a Rattlesnake?”
Nice, Ash thinks, surprised. Hope really does know her stuff. So when was she going to let us in on this role she’d been planning?
“A panther,” Tony says, grinning at Hope. “So, our high schools are rivals. Think we can overcome that?”
“Time will tell,” Hope says, with the perfect amount of slight flirtatiousness and obvious dignity that doesn’t piss Tony off—there’s no clear rejection—but also doesn’t compromise who she is.
Hope’s so good at this, but Ash hates that she has to do it.
That any of them have to deal with guys like this.
Why do the other two put up with him? Ash wonders. They both seem much nicer than Tony. Kevin’s his brother, so he’s stuck for life, she supposes. But what about Spencer?
“I think,” Caro says, putting down her hand, “that I’m going to win now.” The others crane their necks to see her cards. “Can anyone beat a straight flush?”
They cannot.
“Oooh,” Hope says. “You get to ask someone a question. Make it good.”
“Okay,” Caro says. “Let’s see. Spencer.” She glances over at her old friend, who spreads out his hands and shrugs as if to say, Go easy on me. “What’s something I don’t know about you from when we were teenagers?”
“Um,” he says. “Let me think.” He snaps his fingers. “Okay,” he says. “I’ve got it. I stole a CD from the Sound Shop when I was in ninth grade.”
Caro is laughing. “Which CD?” she asks. “Was it Fall Out Boy? Weezer?”
Spencer’s laughing, too, but Tony’s shaking his head. “Come on, man,” he says. “Say something that counts.”
“It counts,” Spencer says. “It’s a crime, and I’ve never told a soul until now.”
“That’s some weak-ass shit,” Tony says. “Say something real.” Why is he baiting Spencer? Ash can’t quite put her finger on the dynamic between the three.
“Tony,” Kevin says.
“It’s fine.” Spencer’s voice is tight. He looks Tony right in the eye, as if daring him to say that he’s weak again.
Ash is surprised that Spencer is taking the bait, that he’s letting Tony get to him.
But she also understands. Patterns play out even when you’re grown.
She’s felt herself doing it when she’s home with her family, slipping into the role of youngest sibling without wanting to in the least. It can happen with longtime friends, too.
Spencer clears his throat. “Caro, when we hung out that summer after your freshman year in college, I was in love with you.”
“There we go.” Tony sits back in satisfaction.
“Oh,” Caro says. “Spencer. I didn’t know. I thought we were—”
“Really good friends with really good benefits,” Spencer says.
“I know. I didn’t want to mess that up. Don’t worry.
I’m not anymore. I’m glad you’re happy and married and all of that.
Seriously.” He sounds like he means it. When he grins at Caro, she grins back, and for a second Ash swears she can see the younger versions of them.
“Thanks,” Caro says. “It’s kind of nice to know, to be honest.”
“No problem,” Spencer says. “It’s kind of nice to say, to be honest.”
“Well, that was adorable.” Hope gathers the cards. “Another round?”
“Absolutely,” Tony says.
This time, Hope wins. She looks directly at Tony. “I pick you.”
Tony folds his arms.
“Okay.” Hope taps her cards against her lips, thinking. Tony watches her with an intensity that makes Ash sit up straight. “What’s the thing you want the most in the world?”
Tony leans back and cracks his knuckles. “That’s easy,” he says. “Money.”
“Nope.” Hope tone is languid, dangerous. “We’re not going to let you get away with that. Not after you put Spencer through the wringer.”
Tony shrugs. “It’s the truth,” he says. “And I have money. But who doesn’t want more of it?”
“What does money mean to you, though?” Hope presses. “Being able to travel? Owning a house? Providing for your family?”
Tony laughs. “I’m already doing all of that,” he says. “And that’s even with my income cut in half thanks to my shitshow of a divorce.”
“Then why do you need more?” Hope presses.
“You can’t have too much,” Tony says. “Like, you can’t be too famous, right?” He holds Hope’s gaze for a second, or tries to. This whole time, she hasn’t taken off her beanie. This whole time, no one, including Ash and Caro, has been able to really see her face.
“I still don’t buy it,” Hope says.
“You don’t have to,” Tony says. “Let’s go again.”
But Hope stands up, stretches into a yawn that she doesn’t try to pretend isn’t at least partially feigned—the exaggerated nonchalance of it, the way she rises on her tiptoes, how she plays up the length of the inhale and the exhale that follows.
“No.” Hope drops her arms and turns away, a smile in her voice. “I think we’re done.”