Trouble Won't Wait (29 page)

The pretty lady. God, oh God
. “I love you, Ben. I have another call. Bye-bye.”

I’m still sitting in the middle of the floor sobbing when Mark barges in.

“Hope you’re drinkin’ a lot of fluids.” He hands me the box of tissues from the couch.

I blow my nose repeatedly, then sit rocking forward and back, my arms clutched around the middle that so badly wants to convulse.

“Jesus H. Christ!” This I learned from my Grandpa. I’ve always wondered what the
H
is supposed to stand for, but it sure has a smooth ring to it. I scowl at Mark because he’s not in any pain and it pisses me off. “There’s always somebody around here, you know? Is it even
possible
to be a recluse anymore?”

“Nope,” he answers cheerfully. “Come on, I’m gonna feed you.” He stands and advances toward me.

“Mark, I told you I have stomach flu.”

He’s ignoring me, pulling me by the hand. With him dragging me against my will, I might as well be fighting a draft horse.

“Shoes and coat.” He issues his command and stands with his arms crossed, waiting.

If I defy him, he’ll probably carry me out just like I am. So I comply.

He drives me down to the Mexican restaurant, a busy place on a Saturday night. I won’t read the menu before me, so he orders for both of us.

“You’re a weird brother.” I feel insubordinate when I say it. “Guys aren’t supposed to notice weepy girls unless they’re potential conquests.”

“Whatever.” He’s scarfing the chips, and if I want any, I’d better get in there
now
. “Mike been around?”

“Yeah, he came and got some stuff. Caught Brad with his hand in my shirt.” I try to sound flip about it, like I’m livin’
la vida loca
. Men all over town wantin’ a piece of
this
.

I love the way hearing about my physical adventures makes Mark curl his lip with unspoken
yuck
.

“Which doesn’t explain why you’re bawlin’ like that when I walk in.”

“Shut up.”

“Good come-back!”

All right. Silent treatment for him, it is.

“Mister Cheese Singles is not married,” he tells me, as if he’s delivering the hot tip of the year.

I’m not discussing this with him. I’m not. He’s such a smartass, with his know-it-all look and those smug glasses. He’s challenging me, no
daring
me to argue with him. I know the guy isn’t married. He told me he wasn’t. Oh yeah, good basis. Men are so truthful! Got some real concrete evidence there.

I stick my tongue out. It’s the best response I’ve got right now.

When the food comes, I order another margarita, with a tequila shot on the side. I’ve got a ride and Mark’s paying, so why not?

By the time Mark drives me home, I’m pretty messed up. I’m not sure how many drinks or shots I ended up consuming, but I bet I’ll regret it tomorrow.

When we pass Adam’s house, I make the supreme mistake of looking to see if the Mercedes is still there. It’s not.

“That where Cheese Singles lives?” My hulk of a brother has to ruin the small joy by grilling me.

“Quit callin’ him that, butt-head.
No
, he doesn’t live there.” I lie so badly that Mark knows, even about something small like this.

“Sure? Then you don’t mind if I turn around like this, and drive through the pretty circle drive, like this?”

“Mark!
Oh my God
! Stop it!” I hunker down in the seat, as if Adam would recognize me in the dark, in Mark’s car. God, I hate my big bully. I mean, big brother. He’s stopped now, honking in the driveway. When I start screaming and crying hysterically, he drives away. I see Adam at the window of his studio, peering out.

I won’t speak to Mark the rest of the way home. Slamming the door of his successful, still-married, spotless damn Lexus, I flip him the bird and go in through the garage. He puts his window down so I can hear him laugh until the garage door closes.

Inside, I decide to contend with the thirty-four messages on the house machine, while my cellphone rings unanswered on the counter. I pretend it’s not there. I’m using all the powers of my mind to make that phone disappear from existence, poof! I haven’t checked emails, which will probably burn more. He can say
anything
in an email and I can’t even hear if he’s lying. Who am I kidding? I can’t tell if a man is lying when he’s standing right in front of me.

Ten messages from Aunt Clara. Mark talked to her last night, because now she’s not so worried, but very cranky with me. There were three messages yesterday from Mark, before he came to see me. Now he’ll show up instead of calling when he wants to harass me, and ruin my depression.

Several messages from friends who were at Brad’s on Christmas Eve. Some of them truly care; others are looking to get the skinny so they can pass it along to everybody we know. There’s a message from Kenna, inviting me to a girls’ night out. Tonight. Guess I missed that boat. I had a scheduling conflict anyway–this was the night of my lonely little non-party.

One from Mom, calling to let me know they made it safe and sound last night. Two from Mike’s mom, letting me know I’m a fool because he’s a good man, and I’m like a daughter to her–does she hate me
that
much?–and please take Mike back.

One from Mike last night, telling me he loves me and he’s sorry and he knows there’s no going back, but it hurts, it really hurts.
No shit, Sherlock
? Or in this case,
No shit, Sigmund
? From the time stamp, I determine this message was from before he showed up here.

Take a deep breath to call Aunt Clara. Don’t have to–she’s calling me again. “Hello.” I rub my unfocusing eyes and sit down at the table.

“Amanda, it’s Aunt Clara.”

I know, I saw it on the damn caller ID!
Act happy to hear from her. “Hi, how are you?”

“I’m a little put-off right now. Why are you answerin’ your phone?”

“I do that occasionally when it rings.” I know I’m snotty, but I’m in
no mood
.

“You haven’t been. I thought you’d be off with That Adam by now.”

Then why the hell are you calling me here?
“It didn’t work out. He wasn’t exactly…available.”

“Pshaw! I know an available man when I see one.”

She may know everything, but I really don’t need it right now. “You were fooled, just like I was. I gotta go–”

“You gonna mope around that house forever?”

Jesus, old lady, it’s only been what… Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday… Is that four or five?
“I just got back from dinner with Mark. I’m fine.” So fine, in fact, that I’m getting down the rum and coke. Might as well get my money’s worth out of this hangover.

“Are you mixin’ a drink?”

“They ended prohibition seventy years ago.” Oooh, I’m bitchy.

“You need to get with that man. You’re
cranky
.”

“Thanks for your input. Can I go now?”

“Better have tomata juice for tomorrow.”

I hang up, angry with Clara for pestering me, disgusted with myself for being angry with her. And pissed at the world because I’m not with Adam right now.

I down my drink, and being a responsible adult, I’m walking, not driving, around the neighborhood. More specifically, to the cemetery, where I lurk like a creep behind a tree and stare at Adam’s house, trying to hone my telepathic powers so I can divine what he’s thinking.

I often attempt superhuman feats with my mind when I’m drinking. Some people think they can drive. I try to make unwanted things disappear, forget my pain, and read the mind of the man I love more than anything.

It’s not working. The pain down below, in my chest, is keeping me from concentrating hard enough. Pain, and tequila, and rum.

It’s freaking cold out here. I must be retarded. I stumble dejectedly out of the cemetery, first detouring in a less-than-stealthy manner along Adam’s back fence. I barely conquer the urge to sneak in his back gate and peer through a window. Well, with the trusty Lab next door barking, I’d probably get caught anyway.

It seems like a good idea to walk by Mark’s street, see if there’s anything going on in his garage. The lights are on, and I can hear guys laughing, mostly drunk, it sounds like. Hey, who am I to judge?

After entering the garage through the side door, I grab a Fat Tire from the fridge, plopping down between Mark and Danny on Mark’s rugged leather man-sofa before the guys realize what’s happened.

The laughing stops.

They must think I’m fragile and pathetic, and I’ve made them uncomfortable. I feel like I did when we were all teenagers and I busted in on their fraternity-type talk of girls, beer bongs and athletic cups. I shouldn’t have come here, it’s so awkward.

But now the comedian they were watching is coming back on, and they start laughing again.

Mark whispers in my ear, “You
didn’t
drive.” It’s like an order.

“Sir, no, sir!” I salute smartly, slopping beer from the bottle when I turn my hand sideways with it.

Danny finds this wildly funny, and I flash him a shit-eating grin of thanks.

“Have some more to drink.” This is Big Brother’s way of letting me know I’ve had enough, since I’m incapable of deciding for myself.

To prove him wrong, I tip the bottle back and chug the contents, beaming with rebellion when I finish. Dave brings me another, opening it on the way. Mark is clearly vexed, which lightens my mood.

“Kenna back yet?” Maybe I could talk to her awhile.

“No, they stayed over at a hotel in Junction.”

Perfect. I bet they had a blast. I could’ve been out dancing with strangers and sleeping somewhere that wouldn’t remind me of Adam, instead of home, skulking around yards. Now, here I am hanging with Vexed Mark and Beavis and Butthead.

I need to go inside and use the bathroom, and when I return, Mark is snooping in my cellphone.

“Looks like you’ve missed sixty-three calls since, uh, Friday.”

“I haven’t been in the mood to talk,
remember
?” I snatch the phone from him, jamming it back into the pocket it must’ve slipped from. “Gimme a break, huh?”

Dave becomes my ally. “Yeah, Mark. You don’t know what it’s like to get divorced. It’s no picnic.”

Danny agrees. Danny, with his matching golden hair and skin, and liquid jade eyes. He’s knocking on forty-five’s door, and still quite a looker.

Mark looks at me with his know-it-all expression. He’s the only one here who knows it isn’t just my divorce eating at me. We watch stand-up comedians awhile, some of them good and others better. The beer is getting to me. I have a feeling the beer will be my nemesis tomorrow.

Hmm. I’m sitting closer to Danny than I was before, but I haven’t moved. His hand is on my knee and I like it.

When Mark returns from the bathroom and notices, Danny’s hand is knocked away most ricky-tick by Mark’s jumbo paw. Dave watches this from his stool in the corner and laughs out loud. I’m tempted to put Danny’s hand back there myself, but Mark is wearing the Irritated look. Guess I’ve vexed him enough for one night.

I stand and stretch and sway a bit, grabbing my coat from the couch back. “I’m callin’ it a night. See ya guys later.”

“You’re not walkin’?” Danny asks.

I’m nodding yes, when Mark speaks up.

“Neither of
you two
drunks is drivin’ her.”

“It’s only two streets. Sheeesh!” I’m slurring badly now. “Not gonna get mugged in Rifle.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Danny offers.

Now there’s an offer I won’t refuse!

“What am I,
stupid
?” Mark barks. He stands and yanks me by one arm, quite unceremoniously, the way people were always getting yanked from a room on
Three’s Company
. On my way out, Danny holds his thumb to his ear and his pinky to his lips and mouths the words “call me.”

I nod ecstatically and work on catching my feet up to Mark.

In his car, Mark lays into me. “Jesus, Mandy, you need to call that guy back.”

“I just left. I’m sure he won’t ’spect to hear from me ’til tomorrow. He can’t hear his phone from your garage anyways.”

Great, hefty hands grasp Mark’s forehead in frustration. “Not Danny, dammit! Kraft. You could at least talk to the guy, find out what he’s got to say. If he was just screwin’ with you, do you think he’d keep callin’?”

The best I can do is, “You don’t know everything, you know?” before I get out of his car and once again slam the door. I don’t even bother to flip him off this time–he’ll think it’s funny. Maybe. He actually seems upset about this now. Why should he care, anyway? Bossy-ass brother. The old childish standby
you’re not the boss of me
sings through my wavy consciousness.

Inside, I pace around in an uneven, wobbly fashion, thinking of Adam and all his calls. How many did Mark say? I’m sure there are voice mails, but I can’t bear to listen to them.

Was Adam disappointed or relieved when I didn’t show up Friday? He’s probably worried I took Mike back. Even though he has someone else, he wouldn’t want me to be with Mike, a cheater. I have to believe Adam cared for me. If I can’t believe this, then I can’t trust anything from another person’s mouth. He worried about me in the rain, and the cold. He worried about my safety here with Mike.