Benny Abbott Day Two
Benny Abbott
Day Two
Luna drives the four of us back over the hill in her twenty-year-old Honda CR-V. It smells the same, like lotion and leather. “I can’t believe you still have this car,” I say without thinking, still trying to process what we’ve just learned.
“What are you talking about? It’s practically brand-new.”
Her house is like this too. Full of worn-but-functional furniture. Never mind that she can afford better. It takes a lot for her to admit when things have run their course. They first have to break.
I stare out the side window.
The moment we hit my driveway, Mallory hops out and makes a beeline for her own car.
“I need a shower,” she says over her shoulder. I think she’s crying.
Quinn looks to me as if asking for help, but I’ve got nothing. “I’ll call you later.”
The sun is bright and searingly hot. Luna and I cover our eyes as Mallory and Quinn drive away.
“Bummer about the tree,” a voice calls out.
We find my neighbor Ted on the curb in his brown bathrobe.
“He has a squirrel on his shoulder,” Luna whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back through gritted teeth.
“What the fuck?”
“He feeds them.”
“Oh my god.”
It’s obvious she’s loving this, but the sight of Ted’s face after everything that’s happened makes me Hulk-smash angry. “Not now, Ted,” I say, already headed toward the house.
“Some detectives came by last night,” he says.
My feet slow, then stop.
“Aren’t you curious how it went?”
I turn around and stare at the squirrel.
Ted is roughly sixty years old, if I’m doing the math right.
I know his only daughter is in grad school at UC Santa Cruz, his wife left him for a podiatrist, and his clay sewer line is clogged with roots.
I also know, based on personal experience, that when sued for defamation, he doesn’t back down.
Clenching my fists, I ask, “How’d it go, Ted? ”
“They seemed to think I might have info on Joy and Xander’s disappearance, but I was out of town.” He sucks on his teeth. “I was sorry to hear about it, though. You probably won’t believe me, but I like Joy.”
“Oh, I believe you.”
He huffs. “I never had anything to do with that number-one-fan business. I told the police as much.”
Luna must be catching on because she grabs my arm. “Come on.”
“Hey, wait! There’s something—” Ted shouts as we slip inside.
Luna locks the deadbolt. “He’s the guy from the video?”
“He’s the guy from the video.”
“I didn’t realize he lived next door.” She shakes her head. “The nerve.”
I agree, but I don’t want to talk about Ted. I focus on the dogs as they whip our legs with their white-tipped tails. “I forgot to walk you, didn’t I?” I say with a heavy sigh.
“I’ll do it.” Luna points toward the back rooms; I can see the residue of elimination-print ink on her fingertips. “Go. Shower.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
“Take your time,” she calls after me.
The shower heats quickly, and I step inside, resting my head on the cool tile wall.
Steam builds around me and I close my eyes, wondering if I should tell Luna the whole truth.
She won’t want to hear it, and I’m not sure I have the nerve to say it, but of everyone involved she’s the most affected by what I’ve done.
The water is cold by the time I’ve worked up the courage.
I towel off, dress, and return with dripping hair, pausing in the doorway at the sound of Joy’s voice coming through Luna’s phone: “And that, my friends, is what to do—and what not to do—when you’ve accidentally dismembered yourself while woodworking.
Thank you, Norm, for writing this one in.
What you went through sounds horrible and gross, and you handled it with aplomb. Far better than Benny would have.”
“Obviously. If any of you out there have a personal survival story you want to share, please go to our website and follow the link to the submissions page. We would love the opportunity to put ourselves in your death-defying shoes from the comfort of our studio.”
“With theoretical swords!” Joy adds. “Isn’t it kind of wild that I still don’t own a sword?”
“Listeners, that is not an invitation to send Joy a sword. I repeat, do not send Joy a sword.”
Joy laughs. “Thank you, everyone, as always, for listening. And remember, what doesn’t kill you…”
Past Me joins in for the outro, “Makes you a survivor.”
Luna closes the app with a sigh. A few seconds pass before she notices me in the doorway. She stares at me with sad eyes, then shrugs. “Mallory told me you were combing through recent episodes. I guess I was just curious.”
I run a hand along the back of my neck. “Remember what Mallory said about me and Joy recording something the other night?”
“You mean when she kicked you out?” She frowns. “Why is your face doing that?”
Luna can read me like an X-ray machine. From day one she’s known if my smile is real or fake, if I’m paying attention or pretending, and if my promises are heartfelt or duty driven.
She’s lived through my griefs and my failures and given me multitudes of second chances I didn’t deserve.
She is a better person than I am, evidenced by the fact that she’s here right now, the fact that she’s been helping Joy navigate her divorce after everything the four of us have been through.
This is the part I’ve been dreading. “I said something regrettable while the mic was on.”
“What do you mean regrettable?”
I press my palms to my eyelids. “I’ve looked everywhere for the file, but I have no idea where it is.”
“You’re not gonna tell me what you said?”
“She asked about our divorce. If there was another reason we couldn’t make it work, beyond what she already knew.”
“Okay.” She crosses her arms.
“I know we agreed on how much to tell them, and I know I should’ve left well enough alone, but I thought she was fishing around for it—which she wasn’t, I can see that now—and…”
“You went there.”
“And it did not go over well.”
Luna blows out through puffed lips.
I run a hand down my face. “I just wanted to be honest.”
Luna nods at the table.
“Say something. Please.”
She stands and tucks her computer under her arm. Without looking back, she says on her way out, “Call me if you have any news.”
I LIE FACE down on my bed for an hour after Luna leaves. I should’ve kept my stupid mouth shut. I told myself I didn’t want any secrets between us, but what I really wanted was for her to tell me I haven’t ruined everything. That everything is going to be okay.
And of course she can’t do that.
I must have drifted off, because the next time I open my eyes, there’s drool on the sheet.
The light outside is searingly bright, my hair is damp with sweat, and all I want is to drink a gallon of water and fall back asleep.
But the second I check my phone I realize this is not an option.
Joy’s disappearance is international news, and messages are flooding in from every source imaginable.
Including—my breath catches—a flurry of messages from Joy’s mother.
11:30 a.m. We just heard. What’s happening?? Is it true???
11:31 a.m. We’re only a day past Azores. We’re hoping we’re still close enough to charter a boat.
12:51 p.m. We’re stuck! There’s no way off! We’re not docking again for SEVEN DAYS.
12:51 p.m. This is a nightmare!
12:52 p.m. Benny, please call me as soon as you can!
Her number goes straight to voicemail, so I text her with Keller’s direct line, then call my sister.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Sarah asks.
Over the next twenty minutes I pace the house, Richie and Potsie at my heels as I tell Sarah everything, including the ugly parts that make me look like an ass. She hums her sympathy multiple times, and when I’m done she’s uncharacteristically quiet.
“What?” I drop to the couch.
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m okay. I promise. Just—just tell me what to do. What should I do? Talk to me like you’re my therapist. What would you tell me if I was your client?”
“Benny—”
“I’m not Benny. I’m Joe Schmoe and my best friend and her husband are missing. Go.”
“Have you slept at all?” Sarah’s tone is soft. “Maybe you should take a nap.”
“I did. I’m fine.”
“You should take a better nap. You don’t sound fine.”
I let out an exasperated huff. “Of course I’m not fine.”
“There’s a seven thirty out of Hartford. I can be there before midnight.”
“Stop.” I imagine her in the wood-paneled office of her hundred-year-old yellow bungalow, searching up flights with a determined frown. “Please just tell me what to do.”
I hear her inhale. Exhale. “Fine. You’re Joe Schmoe?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. If you were my client, I would remind you to breathe. I would remind you that sleep and water are important, and that you can’t help Joy or Xander until you first take care of yourself.
And then I would remind you that your sister loves you very much, and will jump on a plane the moment you say go. ”
By the time we hang up, I’ve gotten seven more texts, a few from people I haven’t spoken to in years. I scroll through them, and then keep scrolling, all the way down to my messages with Joy from that night.
7:37 p.m. I’m so, so sorry
7:37 p.m. I don’t know what came over me
7:38 p.m. Please forget I said anything
7:59 p.m. Joy?
8:30 p.m. Are we still recording tomorrow?
I’m humiliated all over again, but now the humiliation is colored by what I know. Did Joy even see these texts? I swallow back a swell of nausea, and nudge my finger along the screen to scan our other recent exchanges. Seeing the message Joy sent three days ago, my head starts to buzz.
Might need you to piece together some tracks for XYZ, Joy wrote.
A random text, certainly, but in the history of Joy texts, not her strangest. I assumed “piece together some tracks” meant a sizzle reel of some sort, and “XYZ” meant “for various reasons.” Likely this was something Xander had asked for.
More info, please, I wrote back. An hour later, Joy responded with a single emoji:
Mmkay … and…?
Joy never replied, and I forgot about it entirely.
Now I open Joy’s computer and pull up the folder I found last night: XYZ.
I double-check the time stamps. Joy’s texts were sent two minutes after she created the folder. The buzz spreads to my limbs as I open my own computer and do a targeted search. There it is, copied to a TSMSYL cloud folder that only Joy and I share.
XYZ. A title small and innocuous enough to go unnoticed.
Until now. Four files—three raw tracks from our last three published episodes and one password-protected PDF, also called XYZ.
It seems I was right before. There might very well be something to glean from our recent episodes.
I don’t know how all of this is supposed to work, or what it means, but one thing is certain: Joy meant for me to find this.
I think Joy may have left me a clue.