Dry as Rain (9 page)

With her back to Larry, Danielle fingered the top button of her silk blouse, trying to draw my gaze to her cleavage. “Yea or nay on my proposal, Mr. Yoshida?”

Perspiration dampened my hairline as I fought to keep my eyes off her intended target. Uncertain whether to dismiss her or Larry, I settled on the less volatile choice. “Larry, give us just a second.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

Trying my best to intimidate my friend into saying
uncle
and leaving, I stared him down. The mule didn't budge.

I turned my attention back to Danielle. “Okay, we'll talk then.”

Relief filled her smile. Red lipstick boldly framed white teeth. “Wonderful.”

Larry watched her leave, then turned around. “Man, what's wrong with you?”

I walked to my desk and sat down. “Back off, Larry. I'm trying to let her down easy.”

With lips pressed so tight they puckered, he shook his head. “Let her down, eh? I thought you were innocent on all charges?”

Out in the showroom, someone tested a car horn with two annoying beeps.

I opened my desk drawer and rummaged through the pens, papers, and miscellaneous forms, pretending to search for something. I found an old Post-It with the work number of a client we'd sold an LS 600 to weeks before. Remembering that I'd already transferred the number to my computer database, I crumbled it and dropped it in the mesh wastebasket next to my desk. “I'm not in the mood.”

“Good. Make sure you stay out of the mood.”

I slammed the drawer shut, catching a paper in limbo. I yanked the knob and shoved the paper all the way in. “I thought you came in here to run a deal by me?”

With arms still crossed, he now stood with his legs spread in a wide stance, looking like a nightclub bouncer. “You think you're the only one around here who knows how to make things up?”

Why wouldn't he give it a break already? “What do you want?” An untouched copy of the
Everson Times
lay on the corner of my desk. I slid it over as though I intended to read it. After staring at it a moment, I realized it was upside down. I flipped it over and snapped it open.

Naturally, he didn't take the hint. “I'm just looking out for you, man. Someone has to since you're doing such a sloppy job of it.” His tone softened. “How's Kyra?”

I lowered my paper and stared at a patch of razor burn dotting his cheek, unsure how to answer.
She's great except she doesn't remember that she hates me.
“Confused.”

“I know she
was
, but I thought that doctor said she got her memory back.”

Not having read the first page of the paper, I turned to the second. The headline stated,
Children of Broken Homes More Likely to Try Drugs.
I folded the paper and tossed it on my desk. “Not all of it.”

When Larry uncrossed his arms, I was hit by just how much weight my friend had gained since his divorce. Though I saw him every day, he normally wore larger clothes that hid it a little better. The small white buttons of the dress shirt he sported today looked about to pop against his protruding gut. His ex-wife, Tina, might have been an unfaithful nag, but she did make sure his diet consisted of more than pork rinds and pop.

“At the risk of sounding like a girl, you want to talk about it?” Larry asked.

I squinted at him. “At the risk of sounding like your boss, buy a shirt that actually fits you, and get back to work.”

Glancing down his chin at himself, he flipped up his striped tie and gave it a quick sniff. He scraped off whatever he'd discovered like he was working on a scratch-off ticket. He let the tie fall back to his shirt. “How about lunch?

The phone rang. Thankful for the escape, I picked up.

Larry glared at me. “I asked you a question, brother.”

Pressing a hand over the receiver, I mumbled, “Yeah, whatever.” I uncovered the phone. “Eric Yoshida.”

Whoever it was hung up.

I shrugged and set the phone back in its cradle. “Must have been something I said.”

Larry looked at his watch and grinned. “Hey, whadaya know? It's lunchtime now.”

Looking up at the wall clock, I felt my whole body sigh at the thought of an hour-long interrogation over burgers and fries. Larry was so much easier going before he'd found God. One little altar call had turned Dr. Jekyll into Mr. holier-than-thou Hyde. He was a good guy, but some days the religious routine was just a little too much, even for other Christians.

I searched for an excuse that would let me out of the lunch date, but exhaustion had dulled my mind.

Feeling like a prisoner being led to my cell, I followed him to his Jeep and slid into the passenger seat. “You sure you don't want me to drive?”

Larry sucked his teeth. “You just can't stand not to be the one in control, can you?”

The unexpected jab caught me off guard. “What? I just asked if you wanted me to drive.”

As soon as we turned off the lot onto Main, he adjusted the rearview mirror. “Chill, dude. You've got control issues. So what? We all have something. Look at me.” He waved a hand over his stomach. “I eat too much.”

Heat crept up my neck. “I don't have control issues.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Where was this coming from all of a sudden? We had been friends for six years, best friends for five. I'd have thought it would have come up before now if he had a problem with me. “For example?”

He flicked on his blinker and passed a wagon. “Never mind.”

“You can't even give me one.”

“I could give you a hundred. How about this being only the third time in a year that you didn't insist on driving.”

I made a face. “
That's
your example? I'm just a better driver.”

“And you always have to pay.”

“I make more money.”

“You rearranged the furniture on the second day you moved in with me.”

For crying out loud.
“Your stupid couch was blocking the front door. What if there was a fire?”

Larry glanced at me sidelong. “And you always insist on picking the golf course we play at.”

“Please,” I said. “You picked the very first course we played together. Remember that? 'Cause I do.”

Sudden recognition washed over his face as his skin mottled. “So tell me what's going on.”

Oh sure,
now
he wanted to change the subject. Typical. “That course catered to ninety-year-olds who'd never played a day in their life. Even the caddies used walkers. I was growing old just waiting for the hearse to drive them to the next hole.”

Larry's nostrils flared as he sped up, passing a Buick. “Fine. Let's just drop it. Spill what's up with you and blondie.”

Staring at the back side of his inspection sticker, I said nothing.

Larry shook his head. “You slept with her, didn't you? I knew it.”

I looked out the window, watching strip malls and fast-food joints blur by, as I fogged up the glass with my breath. I braced myself for the inevitable lecture that was sure to follow.

“Does Kyra know?” he finally asked.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Man, she doesn't even know we're separated.”

“What do you mean she doesn't know? How does she not know?”

The traffic light ahead changed from green to yellow. An old Ford Ranger sped up, catching the red light halfway through the intersection. Lucky for him no cops were around to cite him. Larry slowed to a stop and looked at me, waiting for an answer. “The concussion.”

“You're kidding.”

I frowned. “Do I look like I'm kidding?”

When the light flashed green, Larry passed through the crossroad, then pulled into the Wendy's parking lot. He turned off the engine and faced me. “Let me get this straight. Your wife not only doesn't know you've been playing doctor with Danielle, she doesn't even remember you two aren't living in the same house?”

Over his shoulder, I watched a silver-haired man open a car door and help his wife out. I wondered if the woman took him for granted the way Kyra had me. When our eyes met, I nodded, then focused on Larry. “That's right.”

With hands the size of a small continent, Larry rubbed his temple. “What are you going to do?”

It was a fair question. One I wished I knew the answer to. “No idea. I was hoping you might have some advice.”

“Seems to me I gave you advice a few weeks ago, not to move out of your house. Then I gave you advice to stop flirting with Danielle. And then just yesterday, I gave you yet—”

I felt my blood pressure rise. “You know very well Kyra made me move out.”

A dull look met me. “She make you go to bed with Danielle, too?”

The condemnation of a friend cut deep, but not deeper than my own guilt. “I screwed up, okay? I don't need an ‘I told you so.'”

He pushed up his glasses. “What
do
you need?”

The sun stabbed through the windshield. I laid my hand over my brow like a visor, shielding my eyes. “To figure out how to fix this mess.” I couldn't remember the last time I'd asked anyone for help, and it made me feel weak and off balance, like trying to stand upright during an earthquake. Maybe I did have control issues. If I did, I figured they were probably the least of my problems.

Larry laid one of his paws on my shoulder. “The truth shall set you free, my man.”

I shrugged him off. “Oh, come on. Don't start with the God crap. I need help, not saving.”

Larry studied me. “Pretty sure you need both.”

I rolled my eyes. If he only knew how obnoxious he sounded.

It was getting warm with the windows up and the sun bearing down on us. Larry seemed to feel it just as I did. With a touch of a button our windows descended, letting in the smell of French fries. The vehicle was the only thing that cooled off.

Larry took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At the risk of ruining our friendship, I don't know how you can call yourself a follower of Christ and do what you have. I'm not saying you're not, I'm just saying you may want to reevaluate your faith sometime. As far as Kyra goes, you need to tell her the truth. Since you asked, that's my advice.”

I sat there dumbfounded. Did the man who knew me as well as my own family just accuse me of not being a Christian? Kyra and I had been the ones to invite him to church the first time, for crying out loud. I felt my mouth screw up as I pointed a trembling finger inches from his nose. “You can call me a cheater, tell me I'm a terrible boss, but you don't get to question my faith. You don't know what—”

“You're right.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I'm sorry.”

My anger eased with the apology. I supposed if the shoe had been on the other foot, I might be coming to the same conclusion. “Listen; forget it,” I said.

He gave me a weak smile. “I think you're just asking for my help so you can prove you're not a control freak.”

“Is it working?” I asked, glad the tension had broken. We both stared ahead at a young couple walking into the restaurant with their hands in each other's back pockets. I wanted to yell out the window for the man to enjoy it now. Twenty years from now the woman would be more concerned with a clean stove than touching him. “She kicked me out over an innocent e-mail. What's she going to do when she finds out about the real thing?”

Larry continued to watch the couple, and I wondered if he was thinking of his early days with Tina. I remembered him saying that no matter whose fault it was, a breakup always felt like an amputation without painkillers. “I doubt the e-mail was all that innocent,” he said.

Having nothing in my defense, I didn't argue.

The couple disappeared behind glass, and Larry opened the Jeep door. “It don't look good.”

I took his lead and got out. “Yeah, thanks. You're a wealth of help.”

We started toward the restaurant. Larry stopped suddenly, blocking a car from getting into the drive-through lane. The man raised a hand in annoyance and honked.

Stepping back, Larry let him pass. “All I can tell you is just take it one step at a time. Do the next right thing and say a whole lot of prayers. That's all you can do.”

I wasn't sure if the next right thing was what I was about to do or not, but I didn't have much choice. “In order to do that, I may need your help.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to close shop for me tonight so I can leave early.”

He pressed his lips together and studied me. “Is this to help your marriage or so you can be with Danielle?”

“Believe it or not, both,” I said.

Eleven

As I wove my way through hurried travelers, it occurred to me how disproportionately good-looking people at the airport seemed, compared to the general public. Many of the women could pass for models, and a fair number of the men looked like they stepped off magazine covers from
GQ
to
Backpacker
.