by Joseph Souza
Leah won’t come out and say it, but she thinks I drink too much. She smells it on my breath and on my clothes. I try to tell her it’s part of the job, but she doesn’t buy it. And for the most part she’s right. I do drink too much. It’s why I’ve gained ten pounds in the last year. But she drinks too much too, and if I mention it, she becomes irate and says I’m picking on her.
The cops will do nothing if I call and report that my wife has gone missing. Twenty-four hours have to pass before they can declare her a missing person. So all I can do is sit on the couch and watch TV—and wait. I stare at the ashtray sitting on the coffee table. It’s filled with cigarette butts. I must have smoked half a pack last night while waiting for her to come home. I get up and spray the living room until it smells like a bouquet of lemons. If Leah comes home—no, when she comes home—there’ll be hell to pay, especially if she suspects that I’ve been smoking inside the house. She’s allergic to cigarette smoke, among the many other things she’s averse to. I notice a tiny roach sticking up out of the ashtray and realize that I was smoking more than just cigarettes last night. Hopefully, Zack and Zadie didn’t see it. I grab the ashtray and dump it far down into the trash.
I turn up the volume and watch with interest about the death of Cordell Jefferson. I feel sorry for that poor kid. Great basketball player, the reporter says. Chadwick’s career leader in assists. Accepted to Harvard Law and a straight A student. Had the world by the balls. Too bad he had the misfortune of dating Mycah. I wonder if he had any idea what he was up against. Or that I was screwing her behind his back? My biggest fear is the unborn child she was carrying. And I can’t help shaking the sinking feeling that the kid was mine.
LEAH
Friday, October 16, 8:27 a.m.
I OPEN MY EYES AND LOOK UP. I PASSED OUT IN THE BACKSEAT OF MY car. Next to me is a receipt from Applebee’s listing the four mango sangrias I consumed after my meeting with Cordell. What in the world was I thinking? I can’t even remember going back inside after he drove off.
I sit up, my throat dry, trying to remember the events of the previous evening. The morning sun penetrates the windshield and warms my face. My neck feels stiff and creaky. Falling asleep in the hybrid is not the worst thing that could have happened to me. I could have been mugged or taken advantage of by some drunken trucker. I could have driven home and gotten a DUI.
I look behind me and see fast-food wrappers over the backseat and along the floor. Okay, so I did drive somewhere. Across the street is a twenty-four-hour fast-food restaurant that serves the nastiest stuff. My stomach rumbles from the grease. I’m so ashamed. All I want to do is go home and take care of my babies. It’s not up to me to find the missing girl. Let the police handle that. Why can’t I just mind my own business and worry about myself?
Zack and Zadie.
I look at my watch in panic. It’s 8:30 a.m. They’re supposed to be at school. What kind of mother abandons her children? I pick up my cell phone but the battery has gone dead. I can’t call Clay and tell him that I’m all right or that I’ll be home shortly. He must be worried sick. I bet he’s called the police and filed a missing person report. It wouldn’t surprise me if he got in his truck and started driving around looking for me.
I pick up the yellow wrappers, limp stale fries, empty shake cup, and apple pie containers, and stuff them in a bag. My head feels groggy and there’s an intense pressure pushing up behind my eyes. I turn the radio on to the college station as I drive home, and hear the lovely voice of Alicia Keys.
But the song ends abruptly and I hear a student reporting the day’s news. The body of a Chadwick student has been discovered just outside town. I pull over to the side of the road, next to a huge red barn in need of repairs, and let the engine idle. The police have identified the victim as Cordell Jefferson. He was shot in his Jeep as he sat by the side of the road. It can’t be possible. I just met with him last night.
Tears streak down my face.
Did someone see us together? Did Cordell know the person who kidnapped or killed Mycah? Maybe the killer had been following Cordell the entire time. Or maybe the guy who impregnated Mycah wanted Cordell out of the picture. I pull the car back onto the country road and try to make sense of this.
It suddenly occurs to me that I might be in danger too. What have I done? What terrible conspiracy have I stumbled upon? Maybe it’s time I went to the police and told them everything I know.
What will I say to Clay? How will I explain why I didn’t make it home last night? This is completely out of character for me. Should I tell him that I met with Cordell? Tell him that I got so drunk at Applebee’s that I passed out in the backseat of the hybrid?
My pocketbook is open on the front seat. While keeping my eyes on the road, I reach inside and realize that all my money is gone except for some loose change.
Clay’s truck is in the driveway when I pull up and this disappoints me. I notice his empty growlers lying in the bed, growlers that were not there when I left. He thinks I don’t know that he throws them in the bed in order to conceal how much he drinks. He gets defensive when I mention it to him, which is a sure sign that he has a problem. Sure, I have a glass of wine now and then, but other than last night, I’m certainly able to control my consumption.
It disappoints me that he didn’t drive around looking for me. I could have been lying in a ditch somewhere for all he knew. But he didn’t care enough to make an effort. He was probably too drunk to care and passed out on the couch.
I walk up the steps, let myself inside, and see him sitting on the sofa, his eyes closed and snoring. The house looks spotless, which is a telltale sign that he cleaned up his mess from last night. I peek out the window and notice that Clarissa’s already left for work. Do I detect the odor of cigarette smoke? Pot? I tiptoe around, searching for any signs that he’s been smoking. I open the bathroom cabinet and notice that the lemon-scented spray is not on the shelf where I usually put it. I dig around in the trash and find six cigarette butts.
“Clay,” I shout, jostling his shoulder.
His eyelids open and he stares up at me in surprise. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting up all night for you.”
“I stayed in a hotel last night.”
“A hotel? We don’t have money for that,” he says. His expression changes and he stands to his full height, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m just glad you’re home safe.”
I go limp in his burly arms. The scent of mints, cigarette smoke, and mouthwash overwhelms me. I should be angry, but I have other matters to deal with right now. I realize that I can’t stop looking for Mycah, especially after the death of Cordell. I glance over at Clarissa’s house. She may be the key to unlocking all this.
I push Clay off me. “I can’t breathe.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You got the kids off to school?”
“They dressed and made their own breakfast and then walked down to the bus stop.” He grabs my elbow and squeezes it, believing this to be a sign of affection. But he’s hurting me, so I step back and regard him coolly.
“What’s the matter?”
“Why didn’t you go out looking for me?”
“I had a few beers last night. I was waiting for you to come home.”
I shake my head.
“I couldn’t just leave the kids here by themselves.”
“You could have asked the neighbors to watch them.”
“I barely know them.”
“What if it had been an emergency?” I look away in disgust. “Did you at least call the police?”
“Twenty-four hours have to pass before they consider someone a missing person. That’s a known fact.”
“I could have been in a ditch somewhere for all you knew. But you thought it better to lie on the couch and drink beer and smoke cigarettes?”
“I wasn’t smoking.”
“Don’t lie to me, Clay. I can smell the scented spray. And I saw the cigarette butts in the tr
ash.” I pause for effect. “How drunk did you get?”
“Okay, so I smoked a few cigarettes last night, but only because I was nervous about you. And yes, I had a few beers.”
“There are two empty growlers in the bed of your truck. They weren’t there last night when I left.”
He looks at me, unable to defend himself.
“Just go back to your brewery and leave me alone.”
“Cut me some slack. You’re the one who went out last night and didn’t come home.”
“I don’t want to be around you right now.”
He holds his arms out as if to give me a hug, but I hold my palm up to his face.
“I love you, Leah.”
“Whatever.”
“I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“Too late. You’ve already hurt my feelings.”
His shoulders slump around his hangdog face as he stares at me. He looks so guilty, yet I don’t waver in my conviction. He knows from years of reading my body language that I’m being serious. He shuffles out the door, a broken man like he was that day many years ago when I broke up with him. I go to the window and watch him pull out of the driveway. Once his truck disappears, I collapse on the sofa and contemplate my next move.
This is crazy. What in the world have I gotten myself into? I can’t be going out and getting drunk like that, leaving the kids home alone all night with Clay. Drunk and stoned Clay.
I walk over to the window and stare at her house. I’m almost tempted to wander over there and take another peek into her diary. I bet she’s added some new details about Mycah Jones. There has to be another way for me to get this information without committing a crime. I feel as if I’m being dragged into a dangerous riptide and struggling to swim back to shore.
CLAY
Friday, October 16, 9:56 a.m.
THE BREWERY IS COLD AND DAMP WHEN I ARRIVE. I PULL UP A SEAT at the bar and stare at the five taps calling out my name. It’s not even ten a.m. and my head feels like a mash tank where the remnants of my brain are getting sparged through a mesh filter. I can’t believe everything that has happened in the last twelve hours. Leah spent the night away from home, doing who the hell knows what. She knew I’d been drinking and smoking, and the kids will no doubt rat me out as soon as they arrive home.
Cordell Jefferson was murdered last night. A shocking development. Shot in the head as he sat in his Jeep. What in God’s name is going on in this small town?
The hell with it. I reach over and grab a German wheat glass and fill it with Bavarian Hefeweizen. At 3.9 percent alcohol, it’s perfect for when you’re having more than one. A session beer, we in the industry call it. I bring the wheat glass to my nose and allow its redolent head to fill my nostrils. The familiar scent of bananas and clove reminds me why I became a brewer in the first place. Unfortunately, it’s my worst-selling beer. These ignorant asshats keep asking me to jam a lemon wedge onto the rim. I have to educate them, explain that it’s not custom in Bavaria to garnish this style of beer with a lemon. I need to stay true to my mission and not give in to the lowest denominator. Purity is the key. I’ll quit before I ever resort to putting blueberries in my beer or serving them with lemon wedges.
The first Weiss goes down smooth and temporarily lifts the fog out of my head. It’s light and refreshing. I sit back against the wall and stare at the stainless steel equipment in the brew room. It’s quiet at this hour and I’m quite content to sit here by myself rather than be at home, arguing with Leah. I suppose she’s right: I do drink too much. A functioning alcoholic is the clinical term. But I can’t stop myself. If I’m to continue producing quality beer, sampling is an important part of the job. It would be like a chef who refuses to taste his food before it goes out to the customer.
I remember pouring Mycah a glass of Weiss beer and watching her expression as she smelled its glorious odor. Mycah made me feel good about my career choice. She seemed to understand the brewing philosophy of this company. It made me wish that Leah could support me like that. She won’t even try my beers. All she ever drinks is that crappy wine of hers.
Mycah started to visit the brewery late in the afternoon, after Ben had left for the day. We both agreed that it was best to keep our affair quiet, seeing how I was married and she had a boyfriend.
“This beer is amazing,” she said one afternoon in May while we were sitting at the bar.
“I’m so glad you like it.”
“This one should sell like crazy.”
“Education takes time, but they’ll eventually come around.” She pulled my face to hers and kissed me on the lips.
“What was that for?”
“For being a great guy.” She laughed. “As well as a mighty fine brewer and patriot.”
“And a living legend in the bedroom?”
“Yeah, that too.” She laughed and took another sip. “By the way, I talked to my father yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“After looking at your numbers, he’s really excited about the prospects for your brewery. He sees a lot of growth in the industry.”
“Really?”
“Don’t look so surprised. You’ve earned it.”
“How much does he want to invest?”
“He’s thinking about giving you the one hundred thousand dollars in exchange for thirty-five percent ownership, which, for the sake of confidentiality, he intends to put in my name.”
I mulled it over for a few seconds. Thirty-five percent seemed a lot to give up, but for one hundred thousand dollars, I could expand the brewery and get a state-of-the-art canning process up and running fairly soon.
“Sounds like a fair offer.”
“It’s a great offer. He said he’ll have papers drawn up sometime this week.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Well, believe it, Clay Daniels, because it is.”
At eight o’clock that evening, the phone in my office rang. Mycah and I had been having such a good time that I’d forgotten about my daily call with Leah. I sat on the leather couch and placed a forefinger to Mycah’s red lips. We were both tipsy and in a silly mood. Mycah tried to conceal her laughter when she realized who was on the other end of the line. I cleared my throat and answered Leah’s call, trying to sound as serious and sober as I could. I wanted to end this call as soon as possible and get back to partying with Mycah.
“Hi, Leah,” I said.
“How are you, honey? I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too. How are the twins?”
“Good, but they really miss you. We can’t wait for you to come out next weekend.”
“I can’t wait to see you guys too,” I said, watching as Mycah knelt down on the cold concrete floor. I tried to shoo her away, but she pulled off her shirt and smiled up at me, wearing only a black bra.
“We’ll find a house and be a family again?” Leah said.
“Of course.”
Mycah reached for my zipper.
“You sound strange, Clay. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” I struggled unsuccessfully to push Mycah away.
“Clay?”
“Sorry, it’s hard to talk right now. I’m under a mash tank, fixing a broken hose.” I tried not to moan as Mycah unclasped her bra and lowered her head.
“It’s late, Clay. Don’t you think you should be getting some rest?”
“I will.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, my fingers buried in the tangle of Mycah’s thick hair, trying to push her away. “Can I call you back tomorrow night?”
“Of course. Get some rest.”
“I will. See you soon.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I ended the call and pushed Mycah off me. She stared up at me with a devilish look in her eyes, her lips moist and glistening.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Take it easy.” She sat back on her haunches, revealing her perfectly shaped breasts. “Since we’r
e going to be business partners, I want to see how you perform under pressure.”
I grabbed her arms and squeezed. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“You could have gotten me in big trouble.”
“You’re drunk and acting crazy.”
“We’re both drunk. What does that matter now?”
Mycah covered her face and began to cry. I wrapped my arms around her as she wept. I felt guilty about cheating on Leah, but that fell away as soon as Mycah gazed up at me. Mascara streaked down her cheeks. She looked so beautiful that I leaned over and kissed her nose. It didn’t take long before we moved to the couch. Soon we were making love like two savage jungle cats.
After we finished, she rested her head on my chest.
“You’ll understand someday when you have kids.”
“I’m never having kids.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” She raised her head and stared at me.
“I said the same thing when I was your age.”
“I mean it. Having kids will screw up my future.”
“Someday you’ll meet a nice guy and your priorities will change.”
“Nice guys finish last—no offense to you. I want to be rich and famous. I want to be somebody.”
“I thought you wanted economic and social justice.”
She smiled. “They’re not mutually exclusive. Besides, it’s about time us black people got our due.”
“I’m down with that.”
“Do you love your wife, Clay Daniels?”
“Of course I love her.”
“Then can I ask why you’re sleeping with me?”
“I don’t know. Being with you is exciting and much different than being with Leah.” I stared into her eyes. “Do you love your boyfriend?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Then why are you sleeping with me?”
“I didn’t commit myself to marriage. Not yet, anyways.”
“How about we stop talking and just enjoy what little time we have left together?”