by Elise Noble
“Now, I never had the pleasure of meeting the lovely Edna, but bingo was her favourite game, and I’m sure she’s here with us in spirit. Let’s start with a toast. Everybody raise your glasses to Edna.”
Murmurs of “To Edna” came from around the room, and one old gent had a coughing fit when his champagne went down the wrong way. Once he’d popped his false teeth back in, Bradley declared us ready to start.
“Okay, so each of your cards has a whole selection of items you might find at a funeral. The first person to get a line wins dinner for six at Betty’s Diner, and the grand prize is a weekend for two at Caesars in Atlantic City. Are we ready?”
A chorus of agreement came back at him, and he pressed a button on the bingo machine.
“Aaaaaand…the first item is a priest!” Bradley held up a ball with a tiny cartoon figure drawn on it. “While we’re here, let’s have a round of applause for Father Robert, who did an excellent job with the service today.”
And so it continued in all its cringeworthy glory. Edna’s friend William won the meal at Betty’s, and I thought for a minute that the woman who won the trip to Caesars was going to follow in Edna’s footsteps. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief when she stopped clutching at her chest.
“If I die before you, promise you’ll just stick me into a hole in the ground,” Logan whispered. “No party.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Just sayin’, kitten.”
It really hit me at that moment. Logan trusted me with the big decisions, and this thing, this relationship, it wasn’t just a flash in the pan. It was serious. Real. We’d gone beyond sex and dirty talk and being the subject of office gossip, and I no longer had insecurities about what everyone might think. There wasn’t just Logan and Sloane anymore. There was us. I shifted my seat closer to Logan’s, and he tucked an arm around my shoulders while marking off a casket on his second bingo card with his other hand. We were playing for a customised walking stick now.
“I love you,” I whispered into his ear.
“Love you too, kitten.” He reached over to my card. “Hey, you missed the wreath.”
I thought the shindig was over when the band began to pack up, but as we slunk towards the exit, an elderly man tapped me on the arm.
“Miss Mullins?”
“That’s me.”
“My name’s Sheldon Bernstein. I was a friend of Edna’s, but I was also her attorney. She asked me to give you this if anything happened to her.”
He drew a long white envelope out of his pocket and passed it over, together with his business card.
“Thank you.”
Sheldon patted me on the hand. “We’ll speak soon.”
Back at Logan’s place, I spent an hour that evening staring at the envelope with my name written on the front in Edna’s old-fashioned cursive. It was the second unexpected letter I’d gotten that week—after Logan had had a word with my regular Wednesday-night phone pervert, the guy sent a box of candy and a note saying he was very sorry but he’d just liked the sound of my voice.
I had a feeling Edna’s letter wouldn’t be so easy to digest. Should I open it? I wanted to, but at the same time, I didn’t. Would it reopen old wounds?
In the end, Logan got bored with waiting.
“Want me to read it for you?”
“No, I should do this.”
Maybe it would give me closure? There were still so many things I’d wanted to say to her at the end, some good, some bad.
“Any time today’s good, kitten. Dinner’s almost ready.”
See? Pushy. But sometimes I needed that. I slit open the envelope with Logan’s pocketknife and slid out a single sheet of white paper, spread it on my lap, and began to read.
Sloane,
After Theodore died, I didn’t know what to do with myself before you came into my life. For so many months, I was lost and alone, but you gave your time and your effort to help an old lady live again. I made so many new friends, learned new things, and saw the world in colour once more.
Although I didn’t always make the best decisions, I’m so glad I chose you out of all the people who applied to move in next door. I just wanted to take this last chance to say thank you for everything you did for me. That’s why I’m leaving both houses to you.
We only have one life, Sloane, and I hope you enjoy the rest of yours.
Edna
When I got to the end, I read both paragraphs again, then a third time, trying to take everything in.
“She’s leaving me two houses?”
“Sure seems that way.”
Among all the news and weirdness, I could only think of one thing. “But we said I’d move in with you when my lease ran out. What happens if I don’t have a lease?”
Logan put the letter on the coffee table before my tears made the ink run and scooped me onto his lap.
“I don’t give a fuck about lease or no-lease. You can move in with me whenever you feel ready.”
“I never want to leave.”
“Then don’t leave.” He hugged me tighter. “Are you okay with the rest of what she said?”
“I think so. She didn’t mention the gambling or the catfishing specifically—do you think that’s what she meant by bad decisions?”
“Maybe. Or perhaps she didn’t see what she did as a crime? It’s easy to think that way on the internet. Catfishing, digital piracy, assholes who spew hate on Facebook—people don’t realise there are real people behind the screen who are hurting.”
“I guess. I don’t think she was a bad person at heart.”
“Good people don’t always make the best choices, like she said.”
But for once in my life, I’d made a great choice. Despite all the pain and heartache of the last month, I wouldn’t want to change anything other than Edna’s passing because now I had Logan.
She was absolutely right. We only had one life, and I intended to live the remainder of mine to the fullest.
EPILOGUE - LOGAN
“NICE KNOWING YOU, boys.”
Logan gave his testicles one last glance before he zipped up his suit pants because depending on what happened over the next few hours, he might not have them for much longer. He and Sloane had survived a lot over the past three months—Kenneth, Edna and the dating debacle, meeting each other’s families, moving in together—but this would be their biggest test yet.
“Kitten, are you ready?”
“Almost.”
Which meant he still had at least twenty minutes to change his mind. He paced the living room, stepping over Nickel and their new cat, Quarter, as he went. They hadn’t intended to get another pet, but it had shown up in the front yard at Sloane’s old place one morning last month, scrawny as fuck and crying out for food, and when nobody responded to the flyers she pinned up all over the neighbourhood, she’d decided they were keeping it. Logan didn’t argue. He’d give Sloane anything she wanted.
Thanks to Bradley, Sloane’s two houses were renovated now—repaired, freshly painted, and tidy since some dude with a dumpster had removed all the shit from Sloane’s backyard, including the damned spiders. She was renting out Edna’s former home for extra income, but because Logan’s girl had a heart the size of Texas, she’d decided to offer the other half of the duplex to Emmy’s charity. Three teenagers who hadn’t had the best start in life would now have a roof over their heads until they could afford their own apartments.
And thanks to Mack and Agatha, Blackwood had tracked down all the men Edna had catfished, and Logan made reparations. Well, mostly. He’d paid a visit to Desmond, the guy who’d shown up at the Brotherhood, and threatened to break the guy’s face if he ever breathed air in Virginia again. But for the rest, he’d repaid the money they’d lost and advised that perhaps they be a little more careful in the future.
Sloane certainly would be. She’d even taught a class at the senior centre to warn of the dangers of online scams. Logan was so damn proud of her—she’d bounced back after the dram
a, and every day he loved her more.
He only hoped she felt the same way about him tomorrow.
Footsteps sounded, heels clicking on the wooden floor, and Sloane came into view wearing a bright red dress that showcased those perfect tits. Bradley had chosen her outfit, and Logan owed the man a cigar. Or a sea salt protein massage, which was what he’d been raving about incessantly this week.
“Do I look okay?”
“If you looked any more okay, I’d be tearing you out of that dress and we wouldn’t be going out at all.”
She’d lost weight since they started dating. Over ten pounds so far, and although Logan didn’t care what size she was, he did like the extra confidence she’d gained as a result. When she first started coming to the gym with him in the mornings, she’d only walked on the treadmill, but now she jogged and occasionally went swimming too. Little did she know she’d be spending next week in a bikini. Or out of it—Logan wasn’t fussy.
“Will you tell me where we’re going yet?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Do I have to stand up for long? I don’t know what shoes to wear.”
“Pick something comfortable.” But not too comfortable, because if she decided to run away, he wanted to be able to catch her. “Maybe small heels?”
The limo was waiting outside, complete with champagne and a privacy screen. The latter was very necessary because things would only go one of two ways tonight—either they’d be getting up to some serious filth on the way back, or Sloane would be yelling at him.
For the millionth time, Logan asked himself whether this was a good idea, but too much work by too many people had gone into this to quit. Wheels were in motion now, and there were no brakes.
“Is it a restaurant?” Sloane guessed as she snuggled against his side in the car. “Are we going to that new Greek place?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“The theatre? A concert? Some sort of fundraiser?”
“You’ll just have to wait and find out.”
He kissed those delectable lips to distract her and also because it might be the last chance he got, then she grumbled at him while she retouched her make-up. Nearly there. This was worse than a nuclear fucking countdown.
Logan saw the moment when Sloane realised their destination, and his heart sputtered as her face fell. Her pretty smile disappeared, and the cold dread that replaced it turned his guts to ice.
“Allenvale High? You brought me to my old school?”
“You’ve got one last demon to face. Your high school reunion.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? You know how I feel about what happened here. The last thing I want to do is go back.”
Fuck. Sloane did that twitchy thing with her eyes that meant tears were imminent, and Logan felt like a massive shit. He grasped both of her hands in his, pleading.
“Which is exactly why you need to go inside. You look like a goddess, you’ve carved out a successful career, and nobody has a bigger heart than you do. It’s time to hold your head high and show those assholes what you’ve made of yourself.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What if he’s here?”
It didn’t take a genius to work out who she was talking about. “McManus?”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“Then we’ll face him together. Do you trust me?”
Another nod.
“I love you. Always remember that.”
Sloane was shaking visibly as Logan unpeeled her fingers from the armrest, but they couldn’t give up now. Because McManus was the guest of honour tonight, the returning star set to cast his tarnished glow over all those he looked down on. The invite had come through Sloane’s Facebook profile a month ago, a short message from an old classmate, a cohort from math society according to the note. I doubt you’ll want to go, but I didn’t want you to think you weren’t invited. Sloane didn’t use Facebook anymore, but Agatha kept an eye on her account in case any more men wormed their way out of the woodwork, and she’d told Logan about the reunion. He’d been about to delete the offending words when he had an idea. A stupid, devious idea. Clearly he’d been hanging out with Emmy for too long.
Logan may have trimmed his beard, but he hadn’t visited the barber for a while—other things kept distracting him, and by things, he meant Sloane—so tonight, his hair covered his earpiece nicely. A Stars and Stripes lapel pin hid the matching camera, and Agatha would keep him updated on developments so he could make his move at the right moment. Who knew, maybe they could even enjoy the party while they waited?
The instant they walked through the door, a woman wearing a dress she’d probably stolen from her sixteen-year-old sister rushed up and pressed a glass of something fizzy into each of their hands, her face screwed up as she squinted at Sloane.
“Sloane Mullins?”
Sloane nodded, her mouth a tight little line.
“You look great. I mean, really great.” Bitch seemed surprised. “And who’s this adorable man?”
Logan had been called many things in his time, but adorable wasn’t one of them, even by his grandmother.
“Logan Barnes.” He held out a hand, and the woman clung onto it the whole time Agatha was speaking into his ear.
“Candace Scott. She was dating one of the defensive ends at the time of the incident. Rumour has it, she was the girl who stuck the pictures up in the bathroom stalls.”
Nothing on the internet ever disappeared completely, and Agatha had found social media messages going back years. Now Candace giggled and flicked her hair, still holding onto Logan’s hand. He gave it a tug to free himself, then leaned in close.
“Those are great veneers. I mean, really great. Good cosmetic dentists are so hard to find.”
He steered Sloane away, leaving Candace open-mouthed, unsure whether she’d just been insulted or not. Probably it would take her a while to figure it out.
Sloane still hadn’t spoken when they stopped in front of the next guy. From Blackwood’s research, Logan recognised him as another football player.
Agatha came back again, sounding perky even though she’d been up since five a.m. “Colby Lendowski, wide receiver. Got sidelined by a knee injury in college, and now he works as a host on TKMZ. It’s an internet radio station, broadcasts in Virginia, West Virginia, and Kentucky.”
Logan thumped the man on the back, resisting the urge to laugh when the jackass spluttered beer onto his shirt.
“Colby Lendowski, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Do we know each other?”
“Sloane’s told me all about you. Love your show, man. Keeping my fingers crossed that you survive the cutbacks. Hear they’re gonna be pretty tough.”
“Cutbacks? What cutbacks?”
Logan made an “oops” face. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. Hey, there’s Drew Harvey.”
“Ex-tight end,” Agatha reminded him. “Works as a catalogue model, his wife’s eight years younger, and she’s screwing the pool boy.”
“His name?” Logan whispered.
“The pool boy? Uh, Brett Baker.”
Drew was one of those men who looked down on everyone around him despite his small stature, and Logan took pleasure in standing a little straighter so Harvey was forced to crane his neck back. The sleaze stared at Sloane’s tits first, then her face. Was he actually wearing make-up?
“Sloane Mullins?”
Another nod, and her knuckles had gone white where she clutched the stem of her glass.
“Well, well, well. Haven’t you changed? If you’d looked like that back when we were students, we might have gotten to know each other better.”
Logan forced his fists to unclench. One. Finger. At. A. Time. That took some balls, hitting on Sloane in front of him. Balls Logan would be forced to remove if the fucker tried it again.
Finally, Sloane found her tongue. “I prefer men with brains, Drew, and it seems you still don’t have any.”
“Easy, kitten.” Logan
grinned, relieved that she’d broken her silence at last. “She’s turned into a little tiger, hasn’t she?” No answer required. “Rowr. You’re Drew Harvey, right?”
“Have we met before?”
“We share the same pool cleaner, I believe. Brett Baker? Anyhow, he asked me to pass on his regards to your wife.”
“My wife? My wife barely knows Brett.”
“Sorry, man. I guess it’s true what they say—the husband’s always the last to find out.”
Three down, and a whole roomful of fun still to be had. They left Drew staring after them, wide-eyed, and as Logan led Sloane away, she clutched at his shirt.
“What are you doing? Why are you saying these things?”
“I’m reminding some of these people that they’re not quite as great as they think they are. You’re worth a hundred of any of them, and I don’t want you to forget it.”
“But how do you know who they are?”
“Research.” He tapped his ear. “Plus Agatha’s feeding me intel.”
Her lips flickered at the corners, and the vice around Logan’s chest eased off a notch. He knew then that his balls would survive to come another day.
“Is Drew’s wife really cheating with the pool cleaner?”
“You got it, baby.”
She clapped one hand over her mouth and giggled. “What else do you know? Tell me, tell me.”
Logan spotted a mass of blonde curls in his peripheral vision. “Emma-Jane de Verio, head cheerleader. Got busted for prostitution in her second year at college. Apparently, one of the professors tried to hire her and the cops caught them both.”
“Ohmigosh! And she’s right over there.” Sloane pointed with her pinky finger. “My math group thought she was sleeping with the hockey coach, but we never knew for sure.”
Agatha’s voice came through Logan’s earpiece again. “I’ve just uploaded the McManus video. Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and his own website. Plus I’ve changed his passwords and sent the file to all the major news networks and his boss.”