No response.
“Miles?” I hissed louder.
He jerked and sharply inhaled. “Huh?”
“It’s been two hours. You’re alive and can sleep again.”
He propped himself up on one elbow, and ran his fingers through his hair, wincing when he touched the staples. “My head hurts.”
I read the clock and rubbed my neck. “I know, but you can’t take more pain meds yet. Do you want some ice?”
“What happened to the last cheeseburger?” he asked with disappointment and heavy lids.
I took a step back.
“Save me a dance?” he asked, his eyes fluttering shut. “The quokkas are amazing.”
“Go to sleep,” I said, but he’d already drifted off and lightly snored. I pulled a blanket over him from the back of the couch and headed toward my bed. Before the sole of my left foot hit the bottom step, I bit my lip. Should I? Of course, I shouldn’t.
Maybe.
After ensuring the deep breathing continued, I tiptoed over to the table by the door and picked up his wallet. I stared at the post office box on the envelope. It took everything I had to not write it down, but I did the right thing and put it away before I went back upstairs.
Two hours later, I tromped my sore body downstairs again, a little after six o’clock. “Miles.” I nudged his arm.
His eyes squinted briefly, and a fraction of a smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “You’re pretty,” he mumbled.
“I…” I looked around the room for anyone else. Nope. Just me.
“And it sucks,” he murmured, “because sadness always finds happiness.”
I stared at him for a few minutes, wondering what other drugs the hospital gave him.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I went back upstairs and came down two hours later to continue my role as Nurse Nash.
That time, he wasn’t on the couch.
“Miles?” I checked the bathroom. Nothing. “Miles?” I said his name louder. Kitchen? Nothing. Porch? More nothing.
“What the…” My shoulders slumped when I noticed the blanket folded on the back for the couch. On top of the throw pillow, I saw a familiar K-7 napkin. The crumpled SORRY was distinct as ever. He’d scribbled a tiny number two at the top right corner of the “y.”
Miles had “squared” away his exit and avoided our chat.
I hated that napkin.
The sucker didn’t even serve its intended purpose. Miles’s messy writing wiped a glare onto my face. “Freaking McCullough.” I stuffed it back into my tote bag and out of sight, hoping the action would erase the memories. Didn’t work. So much for our talk, a talk he’d planned. Not me. I should’ve known better than to trust him to stay.
I made a cup of coffee and stretched out my achy muscles. A high dose of ibuprofen served as my caffeine chaser, but it wasn’t enough. I stared at the roadmap of superficial scrapes. The purpling bruises were the worst of it— or so I tried to convince myself. I ran my fingers across my forearm; Dr. Little was right. I’d lucked out. Doubtful the bride would feel the same way. “Annelies will piss her designer jeans when she sees half the wedding party looking like they got into a mosh pit fistfight.”
I spun the phone around on the tabletop and tucked my knees up to my chin. The night replayed in my head and wouldn’t stop… all starting with round two of the parking lot. Why was Miles out there, anyway? Why didn’t he let me become a pancake? And why did he take off from my house without saying a word?
Charlotte mewed and jumped up on the table, rubbing her face against my arm.
“What do you think I should do?” I asked her.
She answered by batting at my spinning phone with a fuzzy paw.
I set her on the floor. “You’re no help.”
Immediately, she leapt up from the white tilework again and took another hard swipe at the phone, shimmering plastic and metal wobbling a few inches toward me.
“Charlotte, I said you’re no help…” The darkened screen caught my eye, giving me an idea. “Then again… maybe you are…” I picked up the phone and dialed.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
“Hello?” a groggy voice said.
“Rox?”
“Jade?” she replied sleepily. “Is everything okay?”
I read the clock, remembering Maui was three hours behind me. “I forgot about the time difference. Forget it.”
“Go back to sleep, Will,” Roxy sounded muffled, and then I heard a rustle of blankets. “Hang on a sec.”
I heard a door click closed through the phone. “What’s going on?” she sounded concerned.
“Really. It can wait.”
“I know you. If you’re calling me before mimosa o’clock, it can’t.”
I pulled the napkin out of my bag again and studied it. “I have a question, but you can’t ask why.”
“Ooh.” She perked up. “Color me intrigued.”
“No judging?”
“I left my judgment hat in Cannon Cove. Promise.”
“Okay.” I spit out the next sentence quickly, “Tell me everything you know about Miles… Seth McCullough.”
Quiet.
Roxy replied, “I stand corrected. Color me unimpressed.”
“You promised no judgment hat!”
“I prefer to think of this as my common-sense bonnet.”
I stood up and paced. “Rox—”
“Why do we need to discuss this?”
“Should I revisit my ‘why’ rule?”
She sighed. “No, but…”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Are you speaking in code? Cough twice if you need me to call the police.”
I let sheer silence speak for itself.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked.
I assessed my bruises and scrapes again, skipping over everything that’d happened the past few days. “No… no trouble.”
She cleared her throat. “You want honesty?”
“Always.”
“I don’t know much. I mean, we went to the same high school for a while, but we were in different grades and our social circles didn’t overlap. He played a lot of sports. Mostly, I’ve heard rumors about why he moved away.”
“Like?”
She let out a deep breath. “There’s a lot.”
I sank down in the chair again and waited for her to spill.
“Talk of mafia ties.”
“I don’t think he—”
“Are you listening or contesting?”
I rolled my eyes and grumped, “Listening.”
“I’ve heard he needed medical treatment for mono… but I also heard he died from it, so likely not a reliable source. And there’s the one about him running off with Mrs. Kleinfeld, the cheerleading coach.”
Nothing Roxy said sounded helpful.
“Oh! Someone said he led a satanic coven, but in the next breath they said he’s a drug lord. Then, there were whispers about him in the porn industry. Witness protection, too, which totally doesn’t make sense since he has family in town.”
“Hold up,” I said. “Family?”
I thought back to his argument with the nurse at the hospital.
“Sir, it’s standard protocol. I need to list an emergency contact, preferably two.”
His eyes flicked in my direction. “Just my wife.”
“Yes, sir. But she left the phone number field blank. Is there any other family we can—”
“I already told you three times, there’s no other family,” Miles snapped.
“Yeah. That big barn-looking house on Chestnut Avenue between Cannon Cove and Steele Falls. Or so I’ve hear
d.”
“I need to go,” I said.
“Hang on. Did—”
“We’ll talk later.” I ended the call and set the phone down.
Why would Miles say he had no family if they lived nearby? Shouldn’t they know he was in an accident? One that required a trip to the hospital and head staples? Was that where he went?
“Guess I should’ve listened to my instincts and wrote down that post office box,” I told Charlotte. “That’ll teach me to let morals win.”
I showered carefully, wincing at the stinging pain on my arm, leg, and side. Next, I got dressed, grabbed my bag, and locked the door— mission in mind.
When I got in the Jeep, my phone dinged. A message popped up on the screen, an abrupt reminder of the others I’d ignored from the night before. Annelies and Cranston still needed to wait their turn, but someone else moved to the front of the line.
Barry. Coffee. I took my hand off the gearshift and skimmed his text from the prior night. My plan would be delayed.
Squatch BUTT
Let’s meet at Coastal Coffee & Diner at 9:30 a.m. If you need the address, let me know.
Are you here?
Running a few minutes behind. Be there soon. Sorry!
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up in front of the standalone building. Barry’s sensible Volvo was parked outside in the space near the door. Coastal Coffee’s plain black-and-white sign stared at me from overhead. The faded brickwork, oversized outdoor fireplace, and vibrant colors in the planter boxes didn’t welcome me.
My stomach ached, thinking about what’d happened at The Salty Seaman. Why? Why did I act spontaneously? It always got me in trouble. With the wedding a little over twenty-four hours away, it was too late for me to back out of the date without looking like a twatwaffle.
I sat in the parking lot, debating whether to go inside or if I could blow off Barry. I’d already texted him, so he expected me. Plus, we maintained a threesome business relationship, so ghosting him wasn’t an option with Roxy’s involvement. And she’d said it herself. Bartholomew Ulric Tucker-Townsend was the only accountant Cannon Cove had to offer.
“Showtime,” I mumbled.
I put on my big girl pants and opened the front door. The smell of fried potatoes, maple syrup, and coffee united. Usually, I’d drool over all three, but that morning they made me nauseous. I scanned the room. Dominick was at the bar, holding up a pink animal cookie while talking to the waitress behind the counter with gruff growls. She held up a purple animal cracker, making it reply in song.
To the right, I saw Barry at a cozy booth near the window. He skimmed the investment section of The Chronicle, using a highlighter and a ruler to mark strips of the paper. A sea of neon yellow blocks littered the page.
I chose to walk across the room, sucking it up for the next hour. It’s only an hour. If you can slough off layers of Leif for that long, you can handle one coffee with Barry. “Hey,” I said, flopping down onto the firm cushion, expecting it to be more comfortable.
“Jade.” His face lit up. “Is everything all right? It’s not like you to be late.”
“I’m good. Just had to take care of something.” I set my bag down.
He gestured toward my injuries. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” I pushed away thoughts of the hospital and changed the subject. “How are you?”
“Great. Of course, better now that you’re here.”
My forced grin fizzled fast.
His lips immediately puckered before and after his smile, that weird, imaginary kiss being planted nowhere once again. “I took liberty of ordering. It’s a little of everything because I didn’t know what you’d want. Hope that’s okay.”
Coffee morphed to full-blown breakfast? Ugh. I glanced across the room and saw someone with shaggy, dark hair sitting at the bar. My thoughts were whisked away. The person turned around, a bushy beard and pointy nose on his pale face. I mentally returned to the table. “It’s… um… fine.”
“So, I made a list.” Barry sipped his black coffee.
“A list?” I asked, wondering how much product it took to give BUTT’s hair that glossy sheen under the lighting.
He pulled out a legal-sized sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket and unfolded it. “Questions. All of the things I want to know about you.”
List was right. I tried to mask my surprise and could only describe what I saw from across the table as extensive and orderly. Front and back. An ocean of blue ink. Good God, it was numbered. Topics. Subtopics. Bullet points. Roman fucking numerals!
He… was me.
And I was he.
Scratch that. He was who I’d forced myself to become.
Barry’s mouth moved, but focusing became difficult. All I could do was try to process reality and try to reverse it. I’d ranked on my self-imposed list, The Top Ten Habits of Boring People— and I’d hit number one. Crap. I’d just invented a top ten list about boring people while wanting to quit lists! Stop the carousel!
Sitting across from him equated to staring in a mirror, a big, hairy mirror.
And I hated what I saw.
“I thought, you know, it’d be a fun ice breaker.” He pulled out a pen, his lips working their creepy pucker factor again.
Fun? This dude is serious; he’s taking notes.
Breakfast arrived right before I’d decided to excuse myself to the bathroom and not come back. Plan foiled. I had to stay put. With wide eyes, I watched a waitress unload a series of platters from two stainless steel tray jacks. When Barry said he’d ordered some of everything, he’d meant it. Waffles. Bacon. Pancakes. Sausage. Toast. Three types of eggs— scrambled, poached, and a ridiculously large omelet. Hashbrowns. Biscuits and gravy. French toast. A pitcher of orange juice.
“So… questions?” I squeaked. My eyes flicked to the banquet on the table, a trickle of perspiration dripping down my back. Great. I had the meat sweats from staring at a plate of pork products.
“Let’s dig in,” he replied.
I glanced down at the table and back up at him, unsure if he’d meant the food or his job interview material. Evidently, I didn’t get the memo to bring my resumé.
Barry bit into a piece of bacon. He interrogated me from family to friends, from childhood to college. His one-minute timed rapid-fire gameshow-style round of me listing my favorites left me on the brink of an anxiety attack. No topic was off the table, regardless of how many wet egg dishes sat in front of me, but I carefully divulged minimal amounts of information— the rest I skirted around.
“What are your hobbies?” he asked next.
I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Most of my time is spent at The Triple C. Outside of that, I swim. Read. Hang out with Roxy and Bo. Watch movies.” In that moment, I realized how dull my life sounded and how much I’d let go over the past few years.
“That’s… cool.” Barry jotted something down.
Craning my neck, I tried to make sense of his upside-down chicken scratch without seeming obvious. “What about you?”
He sipped his coffee. “Where to start. There’s treasure hunting on the beaches, geocaching out in… well, everywhere, element collecting with an online group I started that spans thirteen countries, traveling anywhere that requires my passport. Oh! And I’ve been volunteering as a model.”
My heart warmed a degree or two at the thought. “I love that. Like a youth role model thing?” Knowing Barry was a math whiz, I envisioned him tutoring school-aged kids.
Barry thoughtfully chewed a mouthful of egg and shook his head no.
“Something with scientific models?” I asked, which would also make sense.
He swallowed the bite and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Neither. There’s a nude figure sculpting class over at Steele Falls Community C
enter on the weekends.”
A nude… My fists balled in my lap to keep my hands from gesturing in surprise. Desperately, I wanted to ask where he stored his pocket protector during class, but I didn’t. “Sounds like… you stay busy.” I diverted my focus by buttering half of an English muffin.
“Well, yeah.” Barry shrugged. “We get one life to live. I think doing anything less would be,” he paused in thought, “just a disappointing existence.”
I dropped the knife, and it clinked loudly against the plate. Miles’s voice sounded in my head.
“Jade. Just A Disappointing Existence.”
“Are you okay?” Barry blinked. “You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.” I set down the muffin, watching melted butter pool in one of the doughy craters.
Escape. I glanced out the window, longing to be outside on the sidewalk. On the roof. On the sun. Anywhere without Barry.
Normally, I’d rely on Roxy to get me out of a bad situation. She’d call and fake an emergency or dramatically enter the room to act out some phony news. I wasn’t going to call her in Maui again and ask for help, not after our last conversation.
“You know, I think you’re right. Maybe I don’t feel well,” I said.
Barry started to stand up.
“No… you sit. Um. Stay. I’m sorry. You went to the trouble of ordering… all the things, and—”
“It’s okay,” he reassured me. “I’ve got this. Do you need me to drive you home?”
“Uh. No. I’ll be… I can drive.” I grabbed the braided handles of my bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Meet up at the wedding?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Should I have the waitress put a doggie bag together?”
More like a doggie duffle bag.
“No!” I blurted. All I could think about was being by myself. “Thanks, though.”
I stood up and hurried toward the door, refusing to look back. It took three tries for my shaky hands to press the unlock button on my key fob. When the sanctuary of the leather cushioned my back, I leaned against the headrest. “What’s wrong with me?”
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