by T. A. Kunz
I shrug. “All right, I guess. No regrets so far.”
“Well, as long as you have no regrets, I say do what makes you happy.”
“Is that why you play football? It makes you happy?” I ask, and realize I’ve never talked to him about it before.
“One of the reasons, yeah. Though getting to see you on the sidelines at the games had a lot to do with that,” he replies.
I laugh that off, but there’s a war raging on between my head and my heart. “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”
“Yeah, but just think how bad you’ll feel if we lose because I can’t stay focused without you cheering me on.” Before I can give him a snark-fueled reply, he says, “I’m kidding.”
My eyes narrow in a teasing manner. “You better be.”
His expression sobers. “But you will be missed. I’d never kid about that.”
“Oh, really?”
He leans in close to the fence. “Really.”
A whistle blows in the distance, followed by the coach calling Harrison’s name. He slips his helmet back on and pats it down. “Be safe going home, Drea.” He taps on one of the fence posts before taking off to join the rest of his team on the field.
“Thanks,” I say, but it’s lost in a gust of wind.
A droplet of water hits my forehead. I blink and turn my eyes to the sky. The clouds have grown darker and more menacing. Another drop hits the back of my hand. The angered sky looks like it’s about to open up any second, and I decide to make a dash for my car before I get soaked.
The rain intensifies once I reach the parking lot. Just enough to be annoying. I jump into my car and settle into the driver’s seat just as large raindrops start pummeling the windshield in a full downpour.
I really hate driving in the rain.
Unfortunately, my neighborhood has a flooding problem and the roads leading to my house have become miniature lakes, causing me to drive extra careful so I don’t hydroplane. There’s a small break in the rain when I pull into the driveway, so I take advantage of it. I throw caution to the wind and sprint for the front door.
Everyone’s home when I enter the house. My parents are glued to the TV in the living room and my sister’s doing homework in the dining room. I shake off my coat and leave it on the rack by the front door.
“Hey, family,” I announce.
“Honey, could you please come in here?” My mom’s voice sounds off. Uneasy.
“What’s going on?” I ask, still shivering from the cold rain.
My eyes hone in on the television. A news report flashes across the screen. When I see the headlines and accompanying photograph, the rest of the room hazes in my peripherals.
Lori’s picture.
Toxicology report showed poison in her system.
Homicide.
The details process through my mind, confirming some of my suspicions. I knew Lori didn’t do this to herself, either on purpose or by accident. Were the drugs poisoned without her knowing? Did someone actually mean to do this to her?
Regardless of the answers, it isn’t any easier to accept the truth of what happened. My heart still throbs in pain as if Lori’s died all over again. Each passing second still feels like a swift kick to the gut. My eyes dart between my mom and dad as they hurry to my side. Their arms close around me, helping to suppress some of the rage boiling up from within. All I can do is just stand here, motionless.
I’m ready to wake up now.
Donovan
They say all it takes is one thing to look forward to in order to help push through a rough patch. For me, that thing is the prospect of seeing Connor at the café. After a full day wracked with guilt over avoiding Drea yet again, I need something to raise my spirits. Truthfully, I’m beginning to feel I don’t deserve this slice of happiness after the way I’ve treated her. I know we’re not close friends, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she probably needs a friend of any kind now more than ever.
Every time I hear the door chime, my head cranes toward it with the hope of seeing Connor standing there. But it’s never him. Maybe I’m delusional about the whole thing. Maybe I’ve read too much into it.
“Donnie, did you hear?” Marcus whispers from the back-room doorway.
I shake my head. “No. What?”
He releases a heavy sigh and his misty eyes glance up at the ceiling before returning to mine. He’s having a hard time coming up with the words.
“What? What happened?” I press. Then a thought crosses my mind.
Did they reveal the truth about Lori?
“The news said Lori was murdered,” he replies, confirming my suspicion. “Poisoned. It wasn’t a suicide.” Tears trail down his cheeks. “Who would do this to that sweet girl?”
I pull him into a hug, overcome with a mix of emotions. On one hand, it’s a relief to know the truth is finally out there. But now it truly sinks in that this is real. It hits me like a sack of jagged rocks to the chest.
Someone. Killed. Lori.
Ever since I found out the truth, my mind’s been flipping through the details of that night in an attempt to find any clues we may have missed. I’ve yet to come up with anything other than pointing to the obvious culprit. Did Trent really do this? I mean, I know he’s a real piece of work, but is he capable of murder?
“I can’t believe this,” I say into Marcus’s shoulder.
“And to think you found her and didn’t know what really had happened. That’s some crazy scary stuff, man,” he says, leaning back to look at me.
An image of Lori in her car flashes across my mind. “Yeah, pretty damn scary.”
“Do you need to leave work early? I’ll completely understand if you do. I’ll cover for you with the boss. I think this qualifies as a good reason.”
I shake my head. “Work will help keep my mind occupied … give me something to focus on.”
That statement rings true, but there’s also a part of me that wants to stick around long enough to see Connor. He’ll be a bright spot in this otherwise bleak scenario.
“I completely understand, Donnie. Let me know if anything changes. If you don’t mind, I’m going to continue working on stuff in the back for a quick minute to help clear my head. Will you be good up here by yourself?” he asks.
I nod. A line three deep forms as Marcus leaves from behind the counter. None of them are Connor. I ring up each order and begin prepping the drinks and warming up the bakery items.
Drea pops into my mind. When I have a free minute, I start composing a text to her. I type a few words and then my fingers hesitate. What if she doesn’t know yet? Do I want to be the first person to tell her? Right or wrong, I decide not to reach out now, deleting the text and returning the phone to my pocket.
Marcus emerges from the back as the little oven with the pastries in it beeps, signaling they’re ready. He plates them and gathers the drinks on a tray. He sends a wan smile my way before calling out the orders.
The rest of the shift goes by with no Connor sightings. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He probably heard the news about Lori and lost track of everything.
“Hey, Donnie, could you help me take the trash to the dumpster out back?” Marcus asks, poking his head out from the back room. “This is one of the last things we have to do before we close and then I get to head to Mae’s. I’m bartending tonight and I’m already running late. Yippee.”
“Of course,” I reply.
I collect the trash bag from the can behind the counter and tie it up before heading to the back. A sudden crash followed by a high-pitched screech sounds near the rear door of the café.
“Damn it all to hell,” whines Marcus. A pile of trash covers his shoes and there’s a ripped open trash bag clutched in his fist.
“What happened? I thought I heard a little girl scream back here,” I say, sending him a snarky grin.
“Ha, ha, very funny. You’re hilarious. A real comedienne,” he replies with one fist firmly planted against his hip.
He rolls his eyes in dramatic fashion. “Anyway, it’s me. That’s what happened. A walking hazard, I swear.” He throws the tattered trash bag to the floor, adding to the pile at his feet. “I was rushing to get this done so I could get out of here but ended up making more work for myself.” He stares at the mess he made, looking defeated. “And now I’m definitely going to be late.”
“Look, I got this. You go. I’ll make sure to lock everything up.”
He shoots me a squinty-eyed stare. “You sure you can handle closing the store by yourself? You’ve never done it before. And with me being the shift lead here, it’ll be my ass on the line, Donnie.”
“I know. I’ve closed with you several times already. I know the drill. You can count on me. Besides, do you want to be on time for your other job or not?”
He rushes over and goes to give me a hug, stopping short when he sees the look on my face. He sniffs and looks down at himself, remembering he’s covered in trash.
“Air hug,” he announces, and I mimic his motions. “You’re a life saver, Donnie. I owe you big time. I’m gonna go wash up real quick. You seriously are the best.”
When he runs off to the employee bathroom, I set down the full bag of trash in my hand and grab an empty one. A groan leaves my lips when my bare hand grazes something moist amongst the pile. Full body cringe. I grit my teeth and keep chipping away at the mound of mess on the floor.
“Okay,” Marcus says when he returns. “I put the spare store keys in your cubby and I’m heading out now. I’ve already taken care of the money in the register and put it in the safe, so you don’t have to worry about that. Just the trash and locking up is left. Thank you so much again.”
“Don’t mention it,” I reply, continuing to shovel the loose trash into the bag.
I grab the nearby dustpan and broom to sweep up the remaining coffee grounds. The sound of the front door chime signals Marcus has officially left. It’s followed by the sound of the lock engaging, and now I’m officially sealed inside. Alone.
Taking both of the garbage bags in hand, I bump open the door leading out into the alley with my hip and struggle to pull both bags through the opening. I flip up the plastic lid on the rusted mini red dumpster with the assistance of my elbow and toss each bag in one at a time. The sharp noise the lid makes as it falls closed resounds throughout the area, sounding a lot louder than I intended.
While standing there in the silence, I realize how alone I actually am. Usually Marcus and I bring stuff to the dumpster together. Now every single horror film I’ve ever seen bombards my mind with irrational fear.
A second crashing sound emanates from down the alleyway. My heart skips a beat as I suck in air. I try to focus on where the noise came from, but I can’t see anything beyond the light of the lone lamppost’s reach. That doesn’t stop my body’s response to feeling like I’m being watched. Every hair stands at attention. The sound of shoes dragging across gravel comes from the same direction, but there’s still no visual confirmation.
Nope.
I rush inside and slam the door shut behind me. I can’t engage the deadbolt lock quick enough. There’s a competition between my breath and my heartbeat as to which can be louder in my ears. Just like how I felt outside, the café seems quieter now that I’m all alone and on high alert.
I don’t think this plan was thought out very well.
Once I regain my composure, I return the broom and dustpan to their proper spots in the corner of the room before collecting the keys from my cubby. After performing a quick check of the bathrooms, I give the front and back counter a wipe even though Marcus didn’t say I had to. This is all a weak ploy to give my nerves some time to settle.
Plus, I’m safe in here with all the doors locked, right?
I soon find out that choosing to wipe down the counter in my current state is a mistake. My intermittent OCD sets in, and for the next ten minutes I work on getting a spot of a sticky, unknown substance off the surface by the register.
A knock at the entrance startles me from my laser focus. My head pops up to see a person standing there. Their face is shrouded while the rest of their body is highlighted by the limited lighting left on in the café.
The front door is locked, right?
My first instinct is to duck behind the counter to hide and wait for them to leave. For some reason, my mouth decides to betray me. “Sorry, we’re closed,” I say in an elevated voice.
“Hey, it’s me … Connor. Can I come in?” His voice is muffled through the glass, but there’s no denying it’s him.
Marcus’s voice pipes up in my head clear as day. “You better not let that boy in here after we’ve closed.”
But it’s Connor.
Marcus’s voice returns with even more attitude. “I don’t care if it’s Mark Wahlberg himself, you can’t let him in. You just bring him the goodies outside.”
I move to the door and finally take in that wonderful face of Connor’s. He looks weary and forlorn, which is understandable. He flashes me a faint half-smile and my stomach does a little flip-flop. Even at half strength, that smile is dangerous.
“Hey, Connor. I’m not supposed to let anyone in after we close,” I say to him through the glass.
One of his eyebrows lift. “Do you always do what you’re supposed to do?”
That look once again gets my heart pumping overtime. “I’m actually on my way out. I just have to grab my stuff real quick and I can meet you outside. Is that cool?”
He nods. “Sure. I’ll be right here.”
Like a human tornado, I tear through the café, headed for the back room. My fingers fumble with my name tag as I try to pin it to the cork board next to the employee cubbies. I yank off my apron, ball it up, and hurriedly shove it into my backpack to wash at home. I moan when the game of Tetris strikes again and I can’t fit all of my stuff into the backpack along with the apron. I trade out the apron for everything else and sling it onto my left shoulder, followed by my backpack over the right one. I shut off the lights in succession along the way to the entrance before flipping the switch off on the final set.
I think that’s a personal record.
“Thanks for waiting,” I say, trying to catch my breath as I step out and lock the door behind me.
“Of course. I’m a very patient person,” he replies with a soft laugh. He leans against the back end of his dark grey truck. “Sorry I didn’t come earlier.”
“No worries. I figured with the news about Lori that you were processing it or something.”
He dodges my stare. “Yeah, that was pretty damn rough, not gonna lie. I was actually just with the group. We were in the middle of talking about having a little memorial for Lori when we found out what really happened.”
“This whole situation is so messed up. I’m at a loss for what to do. It seems surreal, you know?”
His weary eyes meet mine again. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
I move over to the standing rack near the lamppost beside his truck and dial in the combo on the lock around my trusty transportation. My bike. “It’s scary to think someone wanted to do that to her. I mean, who poisons someone?” I ask while wrestling the bike away from its confines. I rest the bike up against my hip and return my attention to Connor.
He seems momentarily charmed by the whole episode, but then his face grows serious. “A sick-in-the-head individual, that’s who,” he says. “Not to change the subject, but is that how you’re getting home?” He points to my orange and black bicycle.
“Yep. This is my noble steed.”
“Why don’t you let me give you a lift instead?” he offers. “I’ll feel terrible for leaving you to ride that home alone in the dark.”
There are those damn butterflies again. But now they feel like they’re breathing fire.
“That’s really nice of you, but I’m good. Besides, I don’t want you to go out of your way or anything. I’m used to this,” I explain, strapping on my bike hel
met.
How the hell was I able to reject that offer?
“Okay, that’s adorable,” he says, gesturing to the helmet with a grin. “I admire your commitment to bicycle safety.”
Houston … he just called something I’m doing “adorable.”
Silence takes my words captive for a moment before I eventually say, “Can never be too safe, I always say.” My reply has me mentally rolling my eyes so hard.
I don’t think I could’ve given a more Boy Scouts of America answer than that.
“Okay, so if you won’t let me take you home, how about you come hang out with me and the gang tomorrow night. Are you working?” he inquires, pushing himself away from the truck and taking a step closer to me.
My heart thumps a little faster and the bike starts to feel heavier against my hip. “It just so happens I’m off for the rest of the week since there’s that whole Homecoming thing happening,” I respond.
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Our schools are playing each other, huh?” he says, taking yet another step toward me.
I nod, and on the inside, I commence freaking out.
“So, what do you say? Tomorrow night?”
I’m wrapped up in the moment and am about to blurt out a resounding yes when I catch myself and get smacked back down to reality. “I’d like to say yes, but I’ll have to get back to you.”
His brow furrows, then eases into a look of understanding. “Was not expecting that answer, but I can roll with it. Overprotective parents?”
“You could say that,” I say with a small laugh.
He outstretches his hand. “Here, let me give me you my number.” I can’t pull my phone out fast enough and immediately place it in his hand. “I need your cute face,” he says with a smirk, handing it back to me.
“My what?” I murmur, hoping he’d actually said what I thought he did.
“For the phone.”
An anxious snicker escapes me. “Oh, right.”
I unlock the phone and pass it back to him. His thumbs glide across the keyboard. He holds the phone up and smolders like I’ve never seen anyone smolder before, like, ever. He snaps a pic of himself and then does something else with my cell before handing it back.