Death Takes a Holiday

by Jennifer Harlow

  Kristen is taken aback by my grand gesture. “Um, Corona.”

  “Corona, of course. So four Coronas, and you got the rest.” I whip out my Platinum card. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Mel says.

  “No prob.”

  “Yeah, you keep buying us drinks we might just forgive you for dumping Steven,” says Artie.

  I gulp Steven’s beer. “I live for the day, Artie.”

  On his second shot Steven makes a 7-10 split. “Yes!” he shouts.

  We all applaud at this feat. “Good job!” I call as he struts back over.

  “Lucky shot,” Jawan says.

  Steven falls back into his seat and once again stretches his arm over my seat. “Talent man. Pure talent.”

  I hand him back the beer. “I think you cheated,” I say, mock smugly.

  “Oh do you?” Steven asks in amusement. “And how exactly did I accomplish that?”

  “Why, magic of course. It’s the only explanation.”

  A sharp stab of someone’s nervousness hits me, but I’m not sure whose it is. It’s gone as fast as lightning. Steven smiles. “You got me.”

  Kristen’s eye roll can be seen to Los Angeles. “Excuse me, I have to bowl now.” She stands, rolls those blue eyes again, and picks up her ball.

  “We each have a frame left then we’ll add you,” Steven tells me.

  “Okay.”

  “Babe!” Artie shouts out of nowhere.

  All eyes follow his to a middle-aged woman with teased platinum hair, skin the color of a deer’s from too much sun, and hot pink tank top over jeans carrying a full tray of beers. I remember her from many a night here. Wanda, who always called me Cutie.

  “I saw all these beers and knew they were yours,” she says in a dusky smoker’s voice. She smiles at me as she passes. “And I thought I recognized the name on the card. Hi, Cutie.” She hands everyone their beers, which just goes to show they come here way too often.

  “Hi, Wanda,” I say taking my beer.

  She sets the now empty tray on the table and whips out my card and bill, which I sign. “Almost didn’t recognize you. Been a long time.”

  “Come on, babe,” Artie says, pulling her into his lap. At first he kisses her chastely, then again. The third time they give each other a full oral exam. Some look away, Nick chuckles, but Steven and I glance at each other, both discomforted.

  Nobody notices as Kristen strolls back over. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” she says. “If this is turning into couple’s night, I’m gone.”

  Artie and Wanda break apart, not at all shamed by their PDA. Nick reaches up to Kristen. “Hey, you can be with Mel and me. We can take turns. Or go all at once.”

  Kristen scoffs. “I’m not doing that again,” she says in a way that I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Nobody’s expression gives away the answer either. “Leslie, it’s your turn.”

  Leslie retrieves her ball and bowls.

  “So, whatcha been up to, Cutie?” Wanda asks me.

  “I moved to Kansas and now set up daycare centers across the country.” I’ve been saying this so much I almost believe it.

  “Nice. So you’re just here for a visit?”

  I sip my beer. “Maybe. I haven’t really decided yet.”

  “You’re thinking about moving back?” Steven asks in surprise.

  “Maybe. Things are complicated there. It might be for the best, I don’t know.”

  “Why?” Steven asks.

  “The job. The people. Being away from my family. It’s just been … harder than I thought it would be.” And I make everything exponentially worse.

  “So you’re just giving up?” Kristen asks.

  I look her square in the eye. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well, it must be so hard buying plastic balls for kids to play in. Poor you.”

  “Kristen,” Steven warns.

  “What? Here she is complaining about her cushy job to a group of people who spend all day risking their lives for people like her.”

  “You know nothing about my life.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Then enlighten us, Countess. What is so horrible about your life? Do you wake up every morning not knowing if this is the day some asshole shoots you? Have you had to wait with a decomposing corpse for the paramedics to arrive? Have you had to dress up like a whore and troll the streets for johns? Have you?”

  The answer is yes on all fronts, and it takes all my willpower not to add, “Well, have you hacked up an army of zombies with a machete? Have you killed fifteen vampires in one day? Have you slayed a forty-foot snake? No? Then shut up and choke on your beer.” But I can’t. And that is so freaking unfair I want to scream.

  Instead I push her bottle of beer into her lap with my mind. She breaks eye contact as she jumps up. “What the fuck?”

  Everyone seems confused and watches as Kristen wipes her jeans with her hands. I take this opportunity to collect my purse and walk away with a little dignity. If I wanted to be abused, I would have stayed home with Brian. At least there I could have played with the baby.

  “Shit! Bea, wait!” Steven calls after me, but I don’t stop. As I walk, I take off my shoes and toss them on the counter before slipping my own back on. I’m out the door when Steven touches my shoulder. “Hey, stop.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t go. Please.”

  “Well, it’s pretty darn obvious that I’m not welcome here, so I’m going home.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? She just broke up with some asshole and is taking it out on everyone. It’s not personal.”

  “Uh, yeah, it is. None of them want me there, and I have no desire to be around them either. This was a stupid idea.”

  I take a step to leave, but he grabs my arm. “No. Please. Don’t go.” His eyes plead as strongly as his voice. “Look, let me make this up to you. Let’s just skip bowling and go straight to dinner. Just the two of us. We can go to that place on the Wharf you like. My treat. Please?”

  I really don’t feel like going home yet. And they do have the best ahi in California. “Okay.”

  “Good. Great. Thanks,” he says, almost breathless from excitement. “Let me just tell them I’m leaving.”

  “Okay.”

  With a huge grin that makes him appear even more boyish, he rushes back inside to make his excuses. A flutter of apprehension rides into my stomach. We have officially crossed into date territory. I am on a real date now. What if he wants to kiss me? Or have sex? Should I let him? What about Wil—

  Steven comes back outside, pulling on his jacket. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  We take his car, and to avoid any questions on my part, I barrage him with mine. He always loved talking about himself, so it doesn’t take much. Work’s going well. He was the first responder on a meth lab fire. He pulled a woman out and received a commendation. That story alone ate up half the ride. The Allison-the-ex story took more prodding. Everything was going well until he formed an actual bowling league with Artie and spent a lot of nights with the team. She accused him of cheating and he broke up with her. Low drama ensued.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as we pull into the parking spot we’re paying ten dollars to inhabit.

  He shuts off the Jeep. “It was a sucker punch, you know? The not trusting me thing.”

  I take off my seat belt and get out. “Well, why didn’t you invite her along to the matches?”

  “She hated bowling. And Kristen. They had this big blowout a while ago.”

  We walk almost shoulder to shoulder toward the restaurant. “Why are you even friends with her? She’s always so hostile and rude.”

  “We went to the academy together. Most of the time she’s fine. It’s just with—”

  “You really just need to put her out of her misery,” I butt in. “Ask her out or sit her down and tell her you’ll never be interested in her. Go on from there. It’ll be better for both of you. I know of what I speak.”

  “Yeah
, maybe,” he says as if he’s actually considering it. I know he’s not. When it comes to personal confrontation, he’s a scaredy cat. We can recognize our own kind.

  He opens the restaurant door for me, and we step in. The hostess seats us in the only available table out on the patio, not that I mind with the crashing waves to my left and paper lanterns above. I’m a little cold but after enduring frostbite when running to my car in Kansas, I can survive it. With the waves, the lanterns, and the flickering candles on the tables this place is very romantic for a not-date. The waitress takes our drink order immediately, beer for him and double rum and Coke for me.

  “I haven’t been here since your birthday,” Steven says, scanning the menu.

  “Really?” I keep my eyes on the menu.

  “I bet I know what you’ll order. Ahi with broccoli,” he says.

  “Yep,” I say, putting the menu down.

  “Knew it,” he says with pride. “And I’ll get the crab.”

  The waitress returns with our libations and leaves with our order. Alone again. I gaze out at the black ocean and breathe in the sea air. “I’ve really missed the ocean.”

  “What, wheat and corn not doing it for you?” I glance at the smirking Steven. “I seriously cannot picture you in Kansas.”

  “I was given an opportunity I couldn’t refuse,” I say. “It just happened to be in Kansas.”

  “But you said you might quit.”

  I sigh. “Things are just very, very, very complicated, and I am sick to death of talking about it.” I gulp my drink. “I’m boring. Let’s talk about you.”

  “No, no way,” he says, shaking his head. “I think we’ve covered me. Same job, same apartment, same bad luck with the ladies. Your turn in the hot seat.”

  Ugh. “Fine. What do you want to know, Officer?” I ask with a smile.

  “Tell me about the complicated guy.”

  I gulp again. “Which one?”

  “ ‘Which one’?” he asks with a chuckle.“Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he says, falling back in his chair. “I just always assumed you were a one-man woman.”

  “I am. Or at least I was when we were together, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I hope so,” he says, sipping his beer.

  “And I’m not with either of them. They’re just crushes.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Well, Oliver is my best friend there. He’s a player but a good guy. We hang out a lot.” Kissed once. Saved each other’s lives a few times. “Just the usual friend stuff. But he’s not boyfriend material.” Seeing as how he’s dead and has slept with half the world, both male and female.

  “And the other one hates him?”

  “Yeah. Will.” As I say his name an involuntary smile flashes on my face. Steven’s eyebrow rises. “They’re always butting heads.”

  “Well, it sounds like a no-win situation,” Steven offers, sipping his beer. “I think you have no other option but to move back.”

  “Though you’re not biased or anything,” I say mock seriously. My flirting skills have advanced levels by hanging around Oliver. I am now a master at the lip pout/sideways glance I give Steven.

  The corners of his mouth perk up. “I’m your ex-boyfriend. If the man whose heart you broke wants you back in the state, that should mean something.”

  “Oh please. I hardly broke your heart. You were dating Allison within weeks.”

  “Maybe I hide things well.”

  “Come on,” I scoff.

  His expression loses its air of playfulness, growing serious as the smile falters. “I loved you, Bea.”

  His sadness hits me in the gut. “You never said it.”

  “Didn’t think I had to,” he says, looking away. “If I had, would it have mattered?”

  I try to think of some way to be delicate but draw a blank. “No.”

  “So what … why … ” He shakes his head.

  “Why did I break up with you?” I finish for him.

  “Yeah.” He sits up in his chair and stares at me. “Yeah. What did I do? I thought we had a pretty decent thing going for us. I treated you good. We got along. Just … why?”

  I could lie, tell him I got scared about commitment or my feelings for him, but I owe him the truth. I’m lying enough as it is. “There were a million little reasons. You never wanted to do what I did. We had no interests in common. You never defended me to your friends. I mean, take your pick.”

  “And that’s it? I didn’t want to sit through a poetry reading or whatever so you dumped me?” he asks, sneering. “You could have, I don’t know, said something if it meant so much to you.”

  “I know,” I say, “but then I’d get a guilt trip. Like when Mamma Mia! came to town. I got tickets but they were for the same day as the Chargers playoffs. I had already sat through four games, and you refused to do that one thing for me.”

  “You did not break up with me because of that. That was a year before.”

  “But that’s what always happened! And if we moved in together, and later got married, I would have gone nuts.” I sigh. “But the real problem was … we weren’t friends.”

  “What? We were dating.”

  “It’s not the same thing. For two years, about three times a week, we’d spend a few hours together, but we never really knew each other. We never talked. Really talked.”

  “How can you say that?” he asks, taking offense.

  “What is my favorite book? My first crush? Where did my Mom die? Did you ever ask? Did you even care?”

  “You never asked me those things either.”

  “Because if you didn’t care, then why should I?” I shrug. “We had an okay thing going, but I just couldn’t envision us spending the rest of our lives together. I just couldn’t. And I couldn’t be myself around you. There are things about me that if you knew, you’d judge me for them. I have certain … quirks that you just couldn’t handle. And I’m not blaming you. Most people can’t, but … the man I end up with will. And I knew he wasn’t you. I’m sorry.”

  We sit in silence with only the crashing waves and happy clatter of the other couples around us. I don’t dare look at him for fear of his reaction. He asked though. Instead, I watch as the black water crashes onto the sand. A duo strolls down the beach with their dog, arms wrapped around each other. If they notice the restaurant patrons just feet away they don’t let on. I hate them in this moment.

  “You weren’t exactly the model girlfriend, you know,” Steven says.

  “Okay.”

  “We’d go out, and you’d just sit there. Silent. I could tell you didn’t like it. Or my friends. They all thought you were cold. You never talked to them, and for some reason I felt like I had to watch what I said or did around you. Like you were judging me. And I’m not a mind reader. How could I have known these things?”

  “You could have asked.”

  “Or, if it was such a big deal, you could have told me.”

  “It was both our faults,” I say.

  “So let’s start over,” he says. “Let’s be friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yeah.” He extends his hand across the table, and I shake it. “Hi. My name is Steven Weir. My favorite movie is Die Hard, my favorite food is cheese pizza, and when I was twelve my father left my mother for an ex-Playboy playmate. I haven’t spoken to him in years or met my half-sister Sharon. His favorite song was ‘Hotel California’ so every time I hear it I want to punch someone. I became a police officer because I wanted to help people and be a hero. What about you?”

  “Um,” I chuckle. “I’m Beatrice Alexander. My favorite movie is Gone with the Wind, my favorite food is chocolate cake, and my mother killed herself when we were living in Arizona. My brother blames me for her death and hates me. I was a teacher because I love kids and now set up daycare centers.”

  “And what’s your favorite book?”

  “Jane Eyre. It’s the greatest love story
I’ve ever read.”

  “Well, I will have to check it out. I’m not much of a reader but if you like it, I will make an effort.”

  “It’s a girl book.”

  “But if you love it, it must be good.”

  His smile grows so far across his face the edges could fall off. Mine almost has his beat. This is turning out to be a pretty good not-date.

  “I can’t believe you thought our song was ‘I’d Do Anything for Love’ by Meatloaf,” I say, shaking my head.

  “What? It was playing the first time we slept together.”

  We’re back in his car driving to pick up my car at the bowling alley after a delightful dinner. It was by far the best one we’ve ever had. All it took was a break-up. I know more about him in two hours than the two years before. Like I had no idea the reason he wears those Hawaiian shirts is because his stepfather Keith does. He wants to emulate the man so much he even joined the police force because Keith thought it would be good for him. Two years of dating and I never asked, and he never told me. How sad.

  “Reason number fifty-seven we broke up. Your horrible taste in music!” I laugh.

  “Like ABBA is any better,” he says.

  “It’s peppy!”

  “It’s crap!”

  “But it’s peppy crap,” I point out.

  Still smiling, he shakes his head. I’ve never seen him grinning so much without a bowling ball in his hand. We ride in silence for a minute, the longest we’ve gone without talking all night. I gaze out the side window at the lit-up stores and cars passing, but know he’s glancing at me. I’m actually a little sad the night’s over. We—

  Instead of turning left toward the alley, Steven makes a sharp right toward the park, then a quick left into the empty parking lot, his breath heavy for someone not running a marathon.

  I have no idea what to expect as he shuts off the engine. “Steven, what—”

  He grabs my neck and at the same time leans in, pressing his lips to mine. The kiss lasts only a second before he releases me. He studies my face for a reaction, but all I can muster is shock. I’m breathing as heavily as he is but his face is almost bestial with lust. I’ve never had a man gaze at me like that in real life. It’s amazing. And catching. The shock disappears as the words, “What the hell” ticker-tape through my brain.