And in this moment I hate all men.
That’s not true. Only the men on this street in this moment.
“I’m sorry.”
And with those two words, as much as I’m mad at him, I can’t hate Boone Santos.
Inhaling slowly through my nose, I absorb this revelation and his apology. “Why are you apologizing?”
He slides his fingers into the front pockets of his dark jeans and rocks back on his heels. “I was a jealous bastard.”
I notice the hamburger bun left a stain on his right thigh.
“You were.”
Lips pressed together, he nods. “Right. And there’s no excuse. If a guy spoke to my sister like that, I’d deck him. I don’t know what happened to me back there. Did you show up tonight to rub it in my face? Make me jealous? Shari told me she met you when you were on another date.”
“No, no way. I told you I don’t play games.”
“Then why bring a guy to Pete’s?”
“He picked the place.” I hate that I’m defending my actions. “I didn’t know Alien Autopsies was even playing tonight.”
“Do you like him?” The question has a bitter bite to it.
“Why does it matter?” I have no feelings about Brayden, but I’m not telling Boone because he’s being an asshole.
“It does. All I know is it does.” This realization makes him frown. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I don’t like him. I just met him. And since he didn’t follow me outside, I won’t be seeing him again.” I debate telling him my true motivation for hanging out with Brayden. Misleading guys for research doesn’t make me a good person even if I never lead them on, or go on second dates ever. Except with Boone.
“Good.” He glances at my face and then around us as if noticing our surroundings for the first time. “How are you getting home?”
I bite back the urge to tell him it’s none of his business again, but the fight has left me. My feet hurt and I’m stranded.
“I can text Shari and have her drive you.” He pulls out his phone and taps the screen.
“There’s no reason to bother her. I’m an adult and can find my way home.”
One of his dark eyebrows lifts in question, but before he can ask it, his phone chirps with a text alert. Reading the screen, he frowns, then nods. “Shari can be here in five minutes.”
“What did she say?”
“Want me to read it to you? She asked what asshole move I did now.”
“Is this a habit of yours? Insulting women and having your sister clean up your messes?”
“No. After my behavior tonight you have no reason to believe me, but I swear, this is a first.”
I want to believe him.
I also want to forget this evening all together. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m sure the rest of the band is wondering what happened to you. Don’t you have a show to finish?”
His eyes widen and his mouth pops open. “Oh, shit. I left in the middle of a song, didn’t I?”
His reaction surprises me. “Uh, more like at the end of a song, but yeah, if you’re out here, you pretty much left the gig in the middle.”
“Fuck.” Running his hands through his hair, he blows out a big breath. “I suck today.”
“Should I comment on that?” I ask, attempting humor.
“Please, no. I’m going to go back to the bar and resume playing. Axl is going to rip me a new one. He’d probably fire me if I were an actual member of his band.”
“Axle? Like a car? Poor guy.”
“Worse. Axl like the lead singer of Guns ’n Roses. I guess his mom was a groupie.”
“That is worse. Hold on, what do you mean you’re not in the band? I’ve seen you play with them twice now.”
“I’m filling in for Garcia. He broke his wrist climbing near Taos. Can’t play bass with a cast.”
“So you randomly filled in for him?” Curiosity takes over and I forget to be mad.
“We played in a band together in high school. I’m a little rusty, but bass is pretty simple if you know what you’re doing. I have good rhythm.”
I know he does. The sun set already, but I’m feeling flushed like I’ve been sitting directly in its rays.
“You’re a pervert, Lucy Halliday.”
“Why do you always say my name?”
“Do I? I like Lucy. Lucy Halliday has a good ring to it. Solid, a little quirky, unique. Like you.”
“Solid?” I throw major side eyes at him. Sounds like heavy. Boone needs to work on his compliments.
“If I called you beautiful and sexy, you’d probably do me bodily harm after the manhole stunt I pulled on stage. I’m trying to make amends.”
Shari’s car pulls to a stop next to the curb.
“Oh good, there’s no bloodshed and Boone still has all his appendages,” she shouts out the window. “I worried I’d be too late for the fun.”
Boone groans in reaction to his sister’s comment and interruption.
“Quit scowling at me, dear brother. You’re the one who sent out the SOS text.” She waves at me and pops open the lock on the passenger seat of her Jeep. “You still need a ride home?”
“I do, thanks.” I reach for the door handle but Boone’s hand on my arm stops me.
It’s the first time we’ve touched since the dinner at Shari’s. My skin lights up with a billion tiny sparks of electricity, flashing a welcome message like a roadside motel advertising vacancy.
Out of spite, I resist the urge to be the first to pull away.
“Or we can hang out here all night,” Shari offers, sounding both amused and annoyed.
“No, I’m coming.” I manage to open the door and then Boone swings it wide for me, holding it while I climb in the SUV.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I promise what happened back there won’t happen again.”
Once I’m settled, he closes the door and steps away, pausing for a beat or two when our eyes meet. I want to believe him, but I need to protect my heart. Pretending he isn’t there, I stare out the windshield. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
“You’re a weirdo,” Shari tells him as she shifts from park to drive.
Boone responds with a shrug before turning around and heading back to Pete’s.
At the intersection she takes a left, heading in the direction of my apartment.
“How do you know where I live?” I ask, shifting in my seat to stare at her.
She slows down for a red light, but doesn’t answer me right away.
“Shari?”
“I’m sure you told me. Probably when you came over for dinner.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“Hmm,” she hums to herself. “I don’t know exactly where you live. I guessed you were south of town because of where you work.”
Could be plausible, but also sounds like she’s backtracking.
“Fine. I know where you live. It’s a small town, people are friendly.”
“Did Boone tell you?” My heart squeezes at his name.
“No, I swung by the diner when you weren’t there and chatted up Wanda. She’s a sweetheart, but really needs to learn how to keep a secret.”
I don’t know who to be mad at. “Wanda gave you my address just like that?”
“I told her I wanted to send you some flowers.” She flicks her attention to me, then sighs. “Fine, it was Boone. He gave it to me in the text he sent. You can be mad.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your permission. I’m already mad.”
“Sorry. It comes from a place of caring. We don’t let a lot of people into our circle, but when we do, we get overly protective.”
“You grew up here. You must have tons of old friends and family around.”
“Not really. We mostly keep to ourselves. Close knit, small family. If you haven’t noticed, people are weird in this town.”
“I guess Boone didn’t tell you about our conversation after dinner at your place.” I twist my head
to watch her expression for the truth.
She bites her lip. “He came back inside after you left.”
“I—”
She interrupts me. “We don’t have to talk about it, but since I’m his sister and I feel obligated to tell you, he seemed pretty hurt. He doesn’t open up to new people, especially women.”
“Probably for the best.” I’m still stinging from his bizarre behavior.
“What happened tonight?”
I give her the condensed version while she drives me home.
“Are you sure he doesn’t have an evil twin?”
“He’s going to wish he did.” Pulling up to the curb in front of my complex, she turns off the engine. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Please don’t. You’ll go to jail. At this point you’re my only friend besides Wanda.” The thought makes my eyes sting.
“Boone’s a good guy, Lucy. And he likes you. Even if he can be a stupid caveman idiot like tonight,” she grumbles. “If I can’t kill him, would you be open to serious bodily harm?”
The idea makes me smile. “Just don’t ruin his face.”
Reluctantly, she agrees, “Fine.”
I wipe a few tears from the corners of my eyes. “I’m fine. I swear.”
“Want me to come in? I can stay over and help you make effigies of my brother, then we can burn them in the early light of dawn.” She grins at me. “I’m really enjoying thinking of new ways to torture him.”
“You have a dark side.” I smile back. “I like it.”
“I’m here if you need me. Text me and I’ll help you hide the body.”
I dip my chin and level a serious look at her. “Shari.”
“Fine, fine. Can I give you a hug?” She opens her arms.
Returning her hug, I fight back more tears.
“You’re going to be okay. I know it.” With a final squeeze, she releases me.
BY THE TIME I toss my bag in my cubby by the back door of the diner, I’m officially five minutes late for work. I barely slept at all last night.
Prepared for Tony’s comment, he surprises me by not calling me out on my tardiness.
“Morning,” he says without turning from the grill. “Wanda’s already made coffee. Get yourself a cup.”
That’s it.
Inhaling the combined scents of bacon and sausage sizzling on the griddle, I stand frozen behind him. “No lecture?”
He glances over his shoulder. “You want one? We’re about to be slammed by the early birds, but sure, we can stand around while you give me an excuse about being late. Or how about this option? We move on with our days, and pretend we did.”
I finish tying my apron and dash out of the kitchen. When I pour myself a cup of coffee, I make one for him, too.
“Thank you,” I say, placing the full cup on the little shelf near him.
He grunts his thanks and I know I can stop fretting over being late.
In the dining area, Wanda’s finishing the last of the place settings. I grab the bin of ketchup and hot sauce bottles. After saying hello, we work in silence. She places a paper placement and a mug in front of each chair, me following behind with the condiments.
“Late night?” she asks once we finish.
“Yeah, but not for the reasons you think.”
“Didn’t see your lights on.” She gives me a knowing smile. Today’s lip color is a frosted pink the shade of raspberry sherbet. “How’d it go with Brayden?”
“We didn’t have a connection.” I don’t want to tell her more details and I hope Brayden won’t share his version with his mom’s cousin or cousin’s cousin.
Wanda’s frosted coral lips press into a thin line of disappointment, but her voice is sympathetic when she asks, “Still stuck on Boone?”
I don’t know how to answer her. Not after last night.
The door opens and a group of older oilmen walk through it.
“Showtime,” Wanda mumbles behind her smile.
“I’ll take their table. Make up for being late.” I pat her shoulder, and then pick up both the regular and the decaf pots of coffee.
A young family with a squawking infant sits at table five. Part of me wants to reseat them at another table in the hope he’ll walk through the door soon.
Wanda and I hit our stride as the tables fill and empty with the breakfast rush.
Still no sign of Boone.
Every time the front doors open now, I glance up, hoping for him to walk through them.
He doesn’t.
I’m clearing dishes from a four-top table when the door opens and again I look up. A dirt covered oil field worker stumbles into the room and yells for someone to turn on the local news. “Sinkhole opened up south of Artesia. Brine well collapsed.”
At his announcement, the room erupts into chatter. Oil workers make calls and start talking over each other, one hand covering their ears to hear whoever’s on the other end of the line.
Wanda finds the remote and changes the omnipresent business channel to a local station.
An aerial shot of a hole fills the screen. It’s hard to tell scale given the flat scrubland, but compared to the white pickup parked nearby, the hole must be almost a hundred feet across and who knows how deep. Reminds me of one of the smaller cenotes out at Bottomless Lakes.
“Turn up the volume,” one of the regulars shouts.
“Don’t get your undies in a bunch.” Wanda presses the volume button while glaring at him.
“Anyone hurt?” the guy who ran in with the news asks.
“Doesn’t seem like it.” Another man glances up from his phone. “Not near any roads or buildings this time.”
Once I know no one is missing or dead, I tune out the gossip and the broadcast.
Boone’s not missing because he’s trapped in a hole.
He’s avoiding me. Like I asked him to.
That doesn’t make me feel better.
For the rest of the morning, every local who comes in talks about the sinkhole.
I nod and half-listen to their comments, but I couldn’t care less about a hole in the ground.
When my shift’s over, I’m ready for a nap. A sleepless night and a long morning having the same conversation on repeat have left me with a headache.
Unfortunately, I can’t go home and sleep the afternoon away. Today’s one of my shifts at the Center.
I order a turkey melt for Zed and pour myself a giant iced tea, hoping the caffeine will wake me up.
I can’t even text Boone to make sure he’s okay. I doubt he wants to hear from me after last night.
I assume if something happened to him, Shari will tell me eventually.
Waiting for Tony to make the sandwich, I pull out my phone to check my texts.
Nothing.
“Sinkhole,” Zed says when I walk into the cramped office of the Center.
“Hello to you, too.” I drop the plastic bag on top of a pile of file folders on his desk.
“You hear about it?” He moves the bag to the floor. That’s a first. Usually he begins inhaling his lunch as soon as I set it down.
“Everyone in the diner this morning was talking about it. We even switched one of the televisions over to the local news.” Also a first. “Is there a full moon or something? People are acting freaked out about a random hole appearing in the desert. Don’t sinkholes happen all over the world?”
Zed removes his glasses and folds them before blinking up at me. I’d never noticed he actually has pretty eyes.
“Do you know what a salt cavern is?”
“Huh?” I shake off my thoughts about Zed’s pretty eyes. The moon must be full or some planet goes retrograde today.
“Salt cavern?” he repeats.
“I’m guessing it’s a cave full of salt. Or made from salt.” I feel a lecture coming on, so I lean against the row of file cabinets opposite his desk.
“You’ve heard of Carlsbad Caverns?” he asks, ignoring my simple explanation to his question.
“
I’ve been there. They’re part of an ancient coral reef from a prehistoric ocean that used to cover this area in the Permian era.” My heart twinges as I repeat the lesson Boone taught me about the caverns.
“Impressive.” He bobs his head. “See? I knew you were a smart girl.”
“Woman,” I say. “We’ve gone over this, Zed. Not a child, therefore, not a girl.”
Leaning back in his chair, he rests both hands on the top of his head. “Fine. Between here and Carlsbad are layers of salt as well as other limestone caves. Some of them collapsed and formed the Bottomless Lakes. Years ago, oil companies figured they could fill the salt layers with freshwater and then pump it out for their own usage, creating brine wells.”
“Why?”
“If you haven’t noticed, we’re landlocked around here. No access to saltwater from any existing ocean.”
My feet ache from working a full shift at the diner. Zed’s obviously just getting started so I reluctantly give up and sit in the chair opposite his.
“Go on,” I encourage him, hoping he’ll wrap it up quicker if I show interest. “Wait, skip the details on mining and drilling. I won’t remember them.”
He frowns in disappointment. “This is the third collapse in two years.”
“Is that unusual?” I ask, because who knows what’s the normal rate of sinkholes around here.
“Very. Remember the article I pulled for you a while back? With the perfectly round hole intersected by straight lines?”
Remembering how it recalled the symbol, I sit up straighter.
“You do. Did you pay attention to the one that appeared this morning?”
I shake my head no.
“Same pattern.”
The hairs on my arm stand up straight. It has to be a coincidence. “Doesn’t that make sense? Same area so the roads and terrain are the same. Both were salt cavern collapses.”
“All three of the most recent cave-ins have been on SFT, Inc. owned property.”
Reason and cynicism tell me there’s a simple explanation. “Sounds like SFT is overworking their land.”
“That would be the obvious explanation,” he sneers. “The one the media will latch onto and the public will accept.”
“But?” I add for him.
“What if the answer isn’t to blame an oil company? What if the truth can’t be found below ground?”
Tinfoil Heart Page 17