“Andy, I can’t--”
“Say no more,” he cut me off, holding up his hands to silence me. “You’re not interested. I get it.”
He smiled and clinked the neck of his PBR bottle against my wine glass again.
“Well, I hope things work out with the guy on the phone,” he said. “He seems… persistent.”
I stared down at my iPhone again. Rory’s text was still at the top of my notifications list, and I kept my eyes glued to the words until the screen faded back to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | RORY
“That fettuccine alfredo was so delicious!” Haley raved, propping her elbows on the kitchen counter and flicking her eyes towards me as I dropped a stack of dirty dinner plates into the sink.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said flatly. I flicked on the sink faucet and let the gushing sound of water drown out the sound of Haley’s words.
Tonight she had joined us for the fourth ‘family dinner’ in a row and, after suffering through four nights in a row of hosting Haley Scott at my dinner table, there were few sounds I wouldn’t prefer over the annoying, pitchy squeal of her voice. A chorus of chainsaws, for example. Or a Taylor Swift album played at maximum volume, on repeat.
Anything would be better than listening to Haley ramble on and on…
Even though she was quickly burning through the tiny bit of patience that was left in my reserve tank, I had to give her credit, she had showed up when she said she would. And even though I really wished she hadn’t, I knew that it meant the world to Charlotte.
It had been years since we had all done anything even remotely family-oriented together, and I was willing to do whatever it took to make my little girl smile… even if it meant putting up with Haley.
“So… how come you never cooked like this when we were together?” Haley asked now. She leaned over the stove and swirled her finger around in the saucepan.
“What are you talking about?” I glared. “I was the only one who ever cooked.”
“Not like this,” Haley said. She ran her tongue over her fingertip, licking away the white alfredo sauce. Then she winked suggestively at me and giggled. I gritted my teeth together and glared.
If Charlotte hadn’t been within earshot, I would have told Haley that she was disgusting. But since Charlie was just a few feet away, working through her math homework, I kept my mouth shut.
Instead, I narrowed my eyes and said,
“Calm down, it’s just Ragu.”
Haley pursed her lips together and shrugged her shoulders.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent, home cooked meal,” she said.
This time, I couldn’t resist hurling out an insult,
“Oh really? Because I remember reading somewhere that you’ve been doing quite a bit of home cooking lately,” I snarled. Then I lowered my voice and added, “Where did I read that again? Oh yeah… your arrest warrant.”
“Wow,” Haley raised her eyebrows. “That’s really low, Rory. Even for you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re making fun of me for having an illness?”
“Is that what you call it? An illness?” I hissed under my breath.
“That’s exactly what addiction is,” she snapped back. “It’s an illness. I learned that in treatment.”
“Hey Daddy?” Charlie called from the kitchen table. My shoulders immediately untensed, and my head shot towards my daughter.
“What’s up, sweetheart?”
“I need help with this story problem,” she said. “I can’t figure it out.”
“Mommy can help you!” Haley offered. Before I could stop her, she had swooped in to take my place next to Charlotte. I sighed, tossing my dish rag over the edge of the sink.
Haley seemed dead set on going through the motions… but she was still just an actress playing a role; she was my daughter’s mother, but that didn’t make her a mom.
I knew it was only a matter of time before the gig was up, and she vanished all over again.
“All done!” Charlotte announced proudly. She stood up from the dinner table and lifted her math homework triumphantly over her head.
“Good job, kiddo!” I said, offering her a high-five. “Why don’t you go brush your teeth and get ready for bed? I’ll come to tuck you in in a few minutes.”
“Ok, Daddy,” Charlie stuffed her homework into her school backpack, then she shuffled towards her bedroom at the opposite end of the apartment.
“Hey, can I use the bathroom?” Haley asked me.
“Umm… of course. You know where it is,” I pointed over my shoulder without thinking.
“Thanks.”
I frowned as I watched Haley shuffle off, and I felt something stir inside of me; something that felt an awful lot like intuition.
I had spent over half of my life living with drug addicts. I knew all of the red flags and warning signs; I had heard every damn lie and excuse in the book.
Maybe it was nothing; maybe she just needed to use the bathroom, and I was being paranoid.
I stepped silently towards the bathroom door. My footsteps barely made a sound as I moved across the floor, shifting from foot to foot. I paused in front of the bathroom and raised my ear to the door.
Inside, I heard silence. Then… the unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking. I heard it flick once, twice… then the soft whoosh of a flame igniting.
My mouth went dry and my body went numb. I didn’t like Haley, but I had wanted to be wrong about her. I really, truly had.
“Daddy!” Charlotte called from her bedroom.
I stared at the bathroom for a few more seconds, then I turned and walked to my daughter’s bedroom.
Charlie should have been waiting for me in bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin… but instead, I found her standing at her dresser hugging a pink envelope to her a chest. I recognized it right away; it was the envelope that Desiree had left behind.
“Charlie, where did you get that?!” I demanded.
“I found it,” she said innocently, blinking up at me. Then she held it up and added, “It’s from Des.”
“I know that, honey,” I said. “But…”
I sighed, letting my voice trail off. The card had been addressed to the both of us, but I hadn’t given it to Charlie yet. I didn’t want to make things more complicated for her than they already were…
Now, I took the card in my hand and glanced down at the design. Des had drawn it herself in red ballpoint pen and, although her art skills were arguably far more advanced than Charlie’s, the picture was very similar to the one my daughter had drawn for Des, it was the three of us, standing hand-in-hand. Charlie and Des were wearing matching dresses, and there was even a Wii Fit in the background.
Along the top of the card, Des had written,
‘Thank you for letting me be your friend!’
“Daddy,” Charlie sniffled. “When are we going to see Des again?”
“I’m not sure,” I said sadly.
“Why did she stop coming? Is it because of Mommy?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure how to answer that one, so instead I suggested, “Why don’t you climb into bed?”
Charlotte obeyed, scampering up onto her bed and crawling under the covers. Then she blinked up at me and said,
“I want to see Des again. I miss her.”
“I know, kiddo. I do, too.”
“Can you read me a story tonight, Daddy?”
“Of course,” I said. “But there’s something I have to take care of, first.”
“What is it?”
I pinched my lips together and forced myself to smile. I couldn’t let her know that anything was wrong… at least not yet. She was too young to understand.
“I promise I’ll explain everything someday,” I said. “But for now… can you just trust Daddy?”
Charlotte nodded slowly, and I gave her an
other sad smile. Then I carried her iPad over towards her bed and handed it to her.
“Why don’t you put the earbuds in and watch a movie for a little while,” I suggested.
“Really?” Charlotte wiggled around eagerly. “Can I watch Frozen?!”
“Whatever you want, kiddo,” I said. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then I sat up. “Just sit tight. I’ll be back in a little bit, ok?”
“Ok, Daddy,” Charlotte said. She poked the earbuds into her ears and smiled as she gave me a small wave goodbye, then she turned her attention to the iPad screen. I forced myself to walk out of the room and shut the door softly behind me.
I’m doing this for Charlie, I told myself.
I took a deep breath, then I stalked across the apartment towards the bathroom. I assumed that Haley would have enough sense to at least lock the door, but when I tried the handle, it swung right open.
And there she was, splayed out on the tile floor with a rubber band tied around her bicep and a needle sticking out of a fat, purple vein in the crook of her elbow.
“Jesus Christ,” I shook my head in disgust.
“Rory…” she murmured, blinking up at me in a daze. “This isn’t what it looks like…”
“You didn’t even lock the door,” I hissed. “Your daughter could have walked in on you. Is that what you want? Huh? Do you want her to see you like this?!”
“Rory--”
“Get out,” I snapped.
“I’m not leaving!” she started to raise her voice.
I pulled out my cell phone and held it up.
“What are you gonna do?” she chuckled. “Call the cops on me?!” Her voice sounded like a dry wheeze, and she could barely hold herself up.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” I said. “But first…” I pulled open the camera app on my phone and snapped a photograph, perfectly capturing the scene on my bathroom floor.
“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Haley said, raising her voice.
“Keep your voice down,” I snapped. “I don’t want her to hear you.”
Haley glared at me, but she said nothing.
“That picture is going straight to your probation officer back in Boston,” I said.
“You’re such a fucking prick,” she muttered darkly. “Why are you doing this to me?!”
“Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you,” I said. “You need to get help. Real help. If for nothing else, then for our daughter’s sake.”
I tapped on my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. It wasn’t 911 or the precinct’s non-emergency line. Actually, it was a direct number… and that number belonged to Chief Darren Rogers.
Eleven some years ago, he had taken pity on me when I was just the bastard son of a junkie. I was hoping that maybe he could help me out again now...
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | DESIREE
‘WELCOME TO HARTFORD HIGH HOMECOMING’
I glanced up at giant hand-painted sign that was hanging over the gymnasium doors and took a deep breath.
I had never really been the ‘school dance’ type, and chaperoning the annual homecoming affair had always seemed to rekindle some of the deeply rooted anxiety leftover from my own time in high school.
It didn’t help that the campus was sprawling with glitzy prom dresses and rented tuxedos.
I felt dramatically underdressed in my black and white dalmatian print Ann Taylor LOFT dress and black blazer, which were accented with my official ‘school dance chaperone’ accessories, a walkie-talkie, name tag lanyard, and bright red whistle -- or, as the principal had called it, the ‘Twerk Alert.’
Apparently one of my dance monitor duties was blowing the whistle if I witnessed any form of inappropriate conduct, which included things like twerking, gyrating and -- my personal favorite -- ‘excessive fondling.’
To help the volunteer committee of chaperones crack down on said behavior, the principal had even played us an assortment of YouTube videos exemplifying the outlawed practices. I still wasn’t 100% sure what I was looking for, but I had the general impression that if I saw anyone dancing in a manner that could give Cardi B a run for her money, I was supposed to blow my whistle.
For now, I let the instrument bob around my neck as I navigated the crowds of students milling towards the gym entrance.
A red carpet had been rolled out leading to the main entrance, and a canopy of red and blue balloons had been built over the doors. A photographer was snapping pictures of the couples as they entered the dance, and a table was set up to solicit votes for Homecoming Queen and King.
Inside the gym, the decorations were even more elaborate. The ceiling was completely hidden under a mess of a streamers and balloons. Disco lights had been set up, flicking colorful strobes and beams across the dance floor. Giant speakers were blasting Top 40s remixes, and a DJ was bobbing his head behind the booth as he clicked through a playlist on his MacBook.
Students had started to trickle into the gym, but instead of venturing out onto the dancefloor they clung awkwardly to the perimeter walls. I couldn’t blame ‘em; the thought of doing anything remotely similar to dancing without the liquid courage from a glass of wine was unfathomable to me.
“Hey, Miss L!” a voice called. I spun around and saw a girl waving eagerly as she pranced across the dancefloor towards me.
She was wearing a black tulle skirt, fishnet stockings, and a pair of hot pink Converse sneakers. Her hair was twisted into an elaborate up-do, her glittery makeup looked professionally done, and she was wearing a smile so bright that it could easily replace the strobe lights and illuminate the entire gymnasium.
She looked like a punk rock Cinderella, and it wasn’t until she was a few paces away that I realized who I was looking at.
“Oh my God, Callie!” I gasped. “You look… amazing!”
“Thank you,” she blushed. Then she gave a little twirl and added proudly, “I made my own dress!”
“I love it!” I said, admiring the carefully crafted tulle. Then I spotted someone lurking behind her.
“Miss L, I’d like you to meet my date!” she glanced over her shoulder and held out her hand, and a guy with shaggy dark hair and an oversized suit stepped forward awkwardly and took her hand in his. I immediately recognized him as the secret crush Callie had pointed out the other day, at the bus lanes.
“This is Louis,” Callie said, flashing another megawatt smile. Then she mouthed silently, ‘I asked him to the dance and he said YES!’
I grinned and gave Callie a wink, then I turned to address her date,
“It’s so nice to meet you, Louis!”
Callie gave me a little wave, then I watched the new couple wander hand-in-hand towards the bleachers at the opposite side of the gym.
Watching them, I couldn’t help but feel reminded of Rory. My heart started to sag in my chest, but I forced myself to ignore it. The gym was starting to fill up with students, and I had to focus on my chaperone duties.
I busied myself by making laps around the dancefloor. I was on my fifth trip when I heard someone call my name from across the gym. This time, it was one of my fellow chaperones; a mousy little woman who taught French and Creative Writing.
“Miss Leduc, could I get some help over here?” she made a point of pronouncing my surname with a contrived French accent a she waved me over towards the corner of the gym, where a long table had been set up with refreshments and a punchbowl.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“We need to replenish some of the snack trays,” she said, pointing down at a partially-depleted plate of cookies. “Could you run to the supply closet down the hall and grab some more snacks for me?”
“I’m on it,” I said, giving her a thumbs-up. I made my way across the gym, then slipped out a pair of double doors that opened out to the hallway.
The sterile white lighting and silence was an immediate relief from the chaos of the gym, and I found myself dragg
ing my feet as I made my way down the hall.
The supply closet door was unlocked, and I had just stepped inside and started to dig around for the package of cookies when I suddenly heard an all-too-familiar noise, the loud scream of a fire alarm, wailing through the cinder block walls.
It’s probably just a homecoming prank, I tried to convince myself as I continued my cookie quest. What are the chances of TWO school fires, within weeks of each other?!
But the longer the siren wailed, the more and more I started to wonder if there really was a fire. By the time I had stuffed a package of cookies under my arm and stepped back out into the hallway, my heart was racing.
I sprinted back towards the gym, but when I threw open the double-doors and stepped inside, I found the entire room deserted. Everyone was gone.
Shit! I started to sprint across the dancefloor, making my way towards the main set of doors that led outside. I was halfway across the gym floor when the alarm suddenly cut off.
I froze, standing perfectly still in the middle of the dancefloor. The bright disco lights were still strobing through all the colors of the rainbow, but gym was completely silent; no music, no siren… nothing.
Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in some teenage slasher movie?!
Suddenly the sound system crackled back to life, but this time it wasn’t some mindless Top 40s hit that drifted from the giant speakers. Instead, it was a track that I recognized right away; a track that -- I was fairly certain -- had never, in the history of Hartford High, been played during a school dance,
It was The Cure’s ‘Lovesong.’
The music flooded the empty gymnasium, and I felt my heart racing even harder than it had been moments earlier, when I thought the school was on fire again. My eyes were spinning around the room, and that’s when I saw him stride out from the shadows, the fireman.
His heavy boots rumbled on the wooden floor as he stepped towards me. He was wearing all-black fire gear and a matching helmet and mask that covered his face. A single pink rose was wedged in the front of his turnout coat, like a makeshift boutonniere.
I already knew exactly who was under that suit… but I still felt all the breath swoosh out of my lungs when he lifted off his helmet and revealed himself to me.
The Complete Firehouse 56 Series Page 77