by Anne McClane
“Well, shit,” Lacey said to no one in particular as she turned on her precarious heels to see where the key had landed.
Fortunately, the pit was bone dry. It had been an unusually parched June so far. Lacey figured she could reach down and grab the key without getting too much of her new outfit dirty. She stepped with her right foot into an innocent-looking part of the crevasse, bent over, and picked up the key. Pleased with the relative ease of the operation, she stood upright and found herself stuck. Her wedge heel must have caught on something.
“Well, shit again,” she said as she strained to see if she could free her foot. She thought of bending down again and unfastening the strap on her shoe, but she began to question her every move. Suddenly the barricade she had previously ignored seemed to heckle her. She was feeling mightily self-conscious as she looked down at her foot, and looked across the street at Patton’s to see if anyone was watching. Preoccupied, she was startled when she heard a voice behind her.
“You look like you could use a hand.”
She whipped her head around and saw a man, alone, at the driver’s side of the car next to hers. He was a little older—maybe ten years older than herself—and looked very sharp, in a summer-casual kind of way. Linen jacket and jeans, like he was dressed for an elegant dinner with elegant friends.
Feeling even more self-conscious than before in her trendy jeans and T-shirt and ridiculous predicament, Lacey didn’t answer at first and just stared. The man removed his hand from his car door and walked toward her, a reassuring smile on his face.
“They always say the potholes in New Orleans are bad enough to swallow a person, but I think this is the first time I’ve seen it actually happen,” he said.
Lacey finally spoke. “Oh, I dropped my key, and now I’m stuck. I feel really stupid. You don’t have to help me.”
“Well, what kind of douchebag would I be if I came over here to help and then didn’t?” He bent his head to look at her foot and gave her a surreptitious once-over as he did.
“This is easy,” he said. “You just need some leverage.” He straightened up and looked her in the eye. “Did you get your key?”
“Yes,” she said as she held out her hand, showing it to him like a child might. “Let me put it away.” She looked down and stuffed the key in her pocket. She averted her gaze for a moment and tried to compose herself. She was afraid she was gawking. The combination of his charm and directness and easy valor was working a number on her.
When she finally looked up, he was smiling broadly at her. She blushed.
“Okay, now turn directly toward me,” he said.
He watched her feet. “Straighten out your left foot. Good. Give me your hands.”
Lacey caught her breath and looked reluctant.
The man laughed. “I promise I won’t bite. And this will get you out of there. Give me your hands.”
She hesitantly held her arms out. The man grabbed her by both forearms, lifting the ring finger on his left hand slightly. As soon as he had a hold, he tugged, and almost immediately Lacey felt her right foot purchase some air. She pulled it out of the ditch and lost her balance, falling right into him as she did.
They both laughed as it happened, and as he released his grip she steadied herself against him, her hands falling to his sides. His waist was rock hard to the touch, no love handles. Lacey quickly removed her hands and righted herself. Even standing straight, she only came up to his chin.
“I’m sorry, I should have given you some warning,” he said to her.
“I’m the one who should be apologizing, for being so stupid,” Lacey said, swiping her hand at the dirt on the right leg of her jeans.
Still standing where she had fallen into him, not looking like he was in any great rush, he held out his hand.
“I’m Nathan, by the way.”
Lacey, most of the time, liked her name. It was unique, and feminine, and had paired well with both her maiden and married names. But there were times when she wished it carried a little more weight, had more of a ring of authority to it, like “Margaret” or “Samantha.”
She sighed and took his hand and said nearly under her breath, “Lacey. And thank you, by the way.”
He smiled. “Lacey,” he repeated, drawing out the two syllables. He held on to her hand for an extra millisecond. “No thanks necessary. Glad I was able to help.” He seemed at a loss for any more words.
“Me too,” she said with a little smile. Lacey was also reluctant to end the exchange. Her sense of embarrassment eventually overpowered that feeling.
“Well, I guess I should be on my way now.” Lacey would have started walking, but Nathan was blocking her passage between their cars.
“Oh, yeah, me too.” He turned and walked toward the backs of their cars, and Lacey followed.
After three seconds, he stopped to face her.
“I had just come out here to get something from my car. Guess I found you instead,” he said.
Lacey blushed again. She tried to stand a little taller.
“Well, I’m glad you did. Thanks again, Nathan.” She paused after saying his name.
They exchanged a glance. Nathan seemed firmly cemented to the ground. Lacey finally moved past him.
“Okay, then. Well, bye.”
She willed herself not to turn around as she walked the length of the neutral ground toward the crosswalk. Maybe she would see him again at Patton’s.
Sitting with Angele out on the back patio of the bar, Lacey tried to keep her disappointment tamped down. The air was pleasant—unseasonably dry with a breeze, and some well-placed citronella candles kept the mosquitos at bay. But she couldn’t help but feel that the anticipation she had reserved for meeting the Dakota Kid had been usurped by her encounter with Nathan.
An hour earlier, Angele had introduced her to a pack of five guys crowded around the bar. The one at the center of it all was Kevin Horner, the Dakota Kid. He was shorter than Lacey had expected, and the skin on his neck was broken out. He offered Lacey a perfunctory greeting, and then resumed holding court with his assembled jesters. If he had star power, Lacey must be immune.
Angele had never said, but Lacey had puzzled out that the Kid’s handlers must have made an arrangement with her to provide some sort of reputation security—to make sure he didn’t do anything now that would haunt his movie-star future. Or if he did, to make sure it was effectively erased. Lacey wondered how much money Angele was making from the deal.
A stocky guy with a shaved head came outside to talk to Angele. Lacey recognized him as one of those who’d been assembled around the Dakota Kid. She watched politely as they spoke, but tuned out their discussion. It sounded logistical.
Whoever he was, he was short but very muscular, the calves of a runner showing from beneath his khaki shorts. His black button-down shirt was utilitarian, full of pockets to hold useful things. A Bluetooth headset peeked out from one of them. Lacey didn’t think he was security, but he definitely looked like movie crew. And someone important.
Lacey turned away and pretended to study the latticework on the patio gate. She whipped back around when she heard her name. Mr. Important Movie Crew must have said it.
“You might consider paying attention,” he said. His eyes were hawklike, but one of them floated, so she couldn’t tell if he was addressing her or not.
Lacey looked to Angele for an explanation. Angele smirked and shrugged her shoulders.
Lacey was on her own. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think your conversation concerned me.”
“If it wasn’t for you to hear, I would have pulled your friend away,” he said.
Lacey couldn’t think of anything to say. She sat, staring, wildly uncomfortable. She couldn’t read his expression. She fought the urge to follow the gaze of his floating eye toward the gate.
“You, especially, will be surprised what opens up to you once you start paying attention. I’ll see you later,” he said.
He turned his back to their table. L
acey was mouthing the words “What the…” when he turned around again.
“They have an outstanding wrestling team,” he said. “But I suspect you have no idea.”
“Who?” Lacey finally said.
He gestured at Lacey’s chest, to her T-shirt of the once-meaningless design.
“Oh,” she replied, looking down. “Okay.” He had disappeared inside by the time she returned her gaze upward. Lacey erupted in nervous laughter.
“Jesus, Lee, who the fuck was that?” she asked Angele.
“That,” she replied, “was Eli.”
“What was all that about?”
“No clue,” Angele said, and shrugged. “But not out of character, for him. He’s definitely a strange bird.”
“What does he do?” Lacey asked.
“Special effects, among other things,” Angele said. “He’s incredibly good at what he does, though.”
“Well, I would think he’d have better things to do than harass me,” Lacey said, crossing her arms, concealing her T-shirt design.
Lacey kept her eyes on the patio doors for the rest of the evening, on guard in case the strange Eli came out again to pick on her some more. But also for another reason. She felt something had begun during her encounter with Nathan, and hoped she might see him again.
At the start of the evening, she had chosen her words carefully when she had told Angele about her foolish misstep and the man who had helped her. She didn’t want Angele to know she was twitterpated. And she had not mentioned him again. On top of that, she had not spoken of Fox even once.
Feeling very proud of herself, Lacey was taken aback when out of nowhere, after a lull, Angele said, “He was probably married.”
“Who?” Lacey asked incredulously.
“The old guy in the dinner jacket you’ve been fixated on all night,” Angele answered.
Lacey pushed back in her seat and took a defensive posture. “What? All I did was tell you the story when I first saw you! I haven’t said boo about him again all night.”
“Please. I know you,” Angele said, perched in her seat, alert but relaxed. “You’ve been watching for newcomers all night, hoping he might magically appear. Did you notice a ring?”
Lacey tried to mask her exasperation.
“No,” she said. “But then I never think to look. Plus, it all happened so quickly, I wasn’t thinking about that.”
Angele smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “It’s a habit you should pick up, but quick,” she said.
“What?”
“Checking for rings. It’s not like college, when you can assume everyone’s your age and not married.”
“Look, I know,” Lacey said. “But it’s not like I was hitting on him or anything. He helped me out of a predicament.”
“That’s how you see it. I think he saw an opportunity to hit on a pretty younger woman and took it,” Angele said.
“Oh, now I’m pretty, huh? That’s rare,” Lacey said.
“Sure. You look good tonight,” Angele said, gesturing toward the clothes she had selected. “I have good taste.”
“Yeah. Not sure what I would do without you,” Lacey deadpanned.
“I guarantee that bastard of a dead husband knew to look for rings,” Angele continued.
Lacey raised her eyebrows. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to talk about Fox tonight,” she said.
“You’re not. But I can. It fits the situation. You are allowed to respond.”
“Wow. Thanks,” Lacey said. “Since you so graciously gave me the floor, yeah, he always noticed shit like that. Why do you bring it up?” Lacey folded her arms again and tried to shrink further into the patio chair.
“I’m sure he chose to fool around with married women whenever he could. It’s easier that way. What do you think the percentage was, of married to single?” Angele made no effort to soften her words as she laid all this out on the table between them. The number and frequency of Fox’s dalliances were no longer secret, but they were still seldom exposed to the light.
“I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about it,” Lacey said, stricken. “The woman he was with when he died was single. As for the rest, I have tried really hard not to dwell. What does it matter, anyway?” she added.
“Those who refuse to learn from history are doomed to repeat it,” Angele answered.
Lacey found herself mired in familiar thoughts. “Say most of them were married. What kind of skanks must they have been? Women of any kind of bearing should know not to mess around with a married man. Now I’m getting repulsed,” she said.
“Good,” Angele said. She was wearing the closest expression to sympathy she could muster.
“Look, you’ve never been one to judge,” she continued. “That’s mostly a good thing, but in some instances, it can be really bad for you. Like this. I just don’t want to see you hurt like that again.”
“I don’t want to be bitter. Ever,” Lacey said. “I don’t want to close myself off to the good things.” She unfolded her arms.
“You don’t have to,” Angele said. “I just think you could stand to be a little less naive when it comes to romance.”
“Point taken,” Lacey answered.
“Just do a better job of paying attention, like Eli said,” Angele said with a smirk.
Lacey shook her head. “Lee, I might be ready to call it a night,” she said.
“But I’m just getting into my groove!” Angele said.
“I know. That’s why I think I’m ready to go,” Lacey said with a smile.
“Hold up,” Angele said, turning businesslike. “We probably ought to wrap up the Kid, too. Give me a few and I’ll walk out with you.”
It was another half hour before Angele and Lacey walked out together.
“Where did you fall?” Angele asked as she looked toward the neutral ground.
“I didn’t fall, I got stuck. Right over there, where that barricade is,” Lacey said.
“You want to put up a plaque or some sort of monument?” Angele grinned.
“Shut up,” Lacey answered. “Thanks for asking me out tonight.”
They parted without touching. Embraces and other signs of affection were reserved for big occasions. They both knew this was not a hug-worthy night.
Feet aching, Lacey kicked off her shoes as soon as she was in the car. In the rearview mirror, she saw Angele wave as she turned onto Harrison headed toward Marconi. She gave a little wave back, but as soon as her eyes were fixed on the road an intense wave of anger came over her. She was angry with Angele for being so blunt, angry with Fox for all the usual reasons, and angry with herself for all those reasons combined. She thought back to the start of the evening, and was mad for letting herself be so charmed by a complete stranger. But…
But it had been so nice to feel attracted to someone. It was the first time it had happened since Fox’s death. Whether it was shock or self-preservation, she wasn’t sure, but in the past fifteen months she had been impervious to flirting. As she drove past the darkened soccer fields and tennis courts on Marconi, she tried to focus on the positive charge of that attraction. Maybe that was all the encounter was supposed to mean—a signal that she was ready to wake up and get on with her life.
As she approached the interstate overpass, something made her slow down. Her eyes might have played a trick on her, but something sent an overwhelming, visceral surge through her, stronger than the anger. She released her foot from the gas.
Her eyes hadn’t played a trick. She could now clearly see someone stumbling about amidst the giant columns. There was something familiar about him. And definitely something very wrong with him. If she had been sensible, she would have continued on to the comfort and safety of her home, called 9-1-1 to report what she’d seen, and remained forever unlinked to the man who appeared to be in some sort of jeopardy under the interstate.
Whether it was Eli’s admonition to pay attention, or something else buried deeper, Lacey could not pinpoint what made her stop the car.
Her heart beating fast, feeling like it was in her throat, she took the keys out of the ignition. Before she got out, she looked again in the direction of the stumbling man, and saw that it was Nathan.
He was about thirty feet away, near one of the concrete picnic tables that dotted the massive structure. Like a zombie, once he saw the car, he turned and started moving in Lacey’s direction. He did not get but five feet before he crumpled to the ground.
No longer thinking, Lacey ran out of the car, barefoot. She barely noticed the gravel as she flew across the roadway. She looked around when she reached Nathan and saw that he was alone. He had passed out cold. He looked in pretty bad shape, like he’d been run over by something.
She got down on her knees and tried to see if he was breathing, or if she could feel a pulse. She felt neither.
4
Thirty Minutes Later
Thunderous hoofbeats approached from the other side of the door. Lacey knew Ambrose would react when he saw the stranger at her side. She needed to let Nathan know before she brought him into her home.
Lacey finally turned around and looked at him, consciously noticing his left hand. Through the darkness, she saw a glint of metal on his ring finger.
Shit, she thought. She hated it when Angele was right, which was most of the time. Then she kicked herself for focusing on that one detail, skipping over the inconvenient fact of his apparent near-death experience. There was still much she didn’t know.
“I have a dog,” she said. “I’ll need to introduce you before you come in the house.”
Nathan nodded. He looked worse from the walk to her house.
Lacey opened the door and let herself in. Ambrose skipped right over his usual greeting, instead aiming one loud, deep bark in Nathan’s direction. Then he planted himself firmly between Lacey and the doorway.
“It’s okay, Ambrose. This is Nathan. He can come in.”
The Saint Bernard sidled and let the stranger in, but kept a wary eye on him.
“His name is Ambrose?” Nathan asked as he walked into the laundry room and closed the door behind him. As soon as he did, his legs faltered, and he caught himself with both hands on the dryer.