by J. L. Salter
Almost afraid to ask, I did anyway.
"Well, I just mean, if I'd spent the night at a pretty girl's house and nothing, ya know, happened… well, I guess I'd be a little sorry too."
"Eric! Why on earth did I call you for advice?"
He probably wondered the same thing. "Well, sorry."
The word caught me flat-footed.
"Ya see what I mean? Guys usually need to toss the sorry flag even when we don't think we did anything wrong. Or if we did, we're not sure what it even was." He took another sip of stolen brew. "Ya understand now?"
Strangely, I thought perhaps I did.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As I briefly puttered before work Thursday morning, I rehashed Eric's folksy insights. My fretting about Ryan's apparent ingratitude wouldn't make him any more grateful. My unschooled baby brother was actually rather wise, in his own simple way.
I checked e-mail, social media, and phone messages. Still nothing from Ryan. Sure wished I knew where he'd gone, and why. Wondered when he was coming back… or if.
The more I thought about it, I could only conclude Ryan was ducking me. Well, I certainly couldn't phone a man playing dodge and leave a pitiful, needy message. But I could send him an e-mail! Yeah, I'd pull the old "I-didn't-get-your-note-or-your-voice-mail" trick. I'd act like I never saw Vanessa steering him.
I composed three versions before I settled on one:
Ryan, how's it going? Hadn't seen you since Monday morning when we didn't really have a chance to talk. Well, I guess I saw you in the bank Tuesday but I was working and you were busy with something.
Wondered how you're doing. How's the head? And, of course, your rear end. Hope you're okay.
It'd be nice to sit down and have some coffee. Or something stronger.
Kris
I closed my eyes and pressed the button to send it.
Either of those other false starts would probably have just caused an argument. My better gambit was to pretend we'd rewound back to Monday morning.
Of course, Ryan might not buy it.
Or he might. Maybe ordinary men couldn't think with such complexity — except for spies and double agents, of course. But one couldn't trust duplicitous agents either. "I knew I couldn't trust him. Him or any other man."
Elvis looked up like I was talking to him.
****
I went to work, which was awful, but only because my mind was occupied with all the Ryan business. Actually, Miss Z was tolerable and the money order creep didn't reappear. In fact, it had become a full week without his sinister sleaziness.
On my way home, I caught Ellen by phone. She'd just reached her own house.
I asked her the same questions about Ryan that I'd asked Eric.
"Sometimes people — men, especially, it seems — have a sense they've offended you or hurt you in some way. Even if you haven't said that you're perturbed, they sense it in your demeanor. They may not be exactly certain how and possibly not even when." Ellen paused to take a breath.
I was amazed as how close her counselor answer resembled my brother's — and Eric had barely conned his way out of high school. "So you think Ryan was apologizing somewhat generically, hoping to hit whatever he thought was bothering me."
"Yes. Of course, I didn't see or hear the exchange." Ellen stopped to respond to Mack. "I'm on the phone, honey. Won't be long." Then her attention returned to me. "Sorry. Mack just got home. What was the other part?"
I decided not to bother Ellen about Ryan's apparent ingratitude. Eric was right; either Ryan appreciated how I'd helped him or he didn't. My worry wouldn't change it. "Oh, nothing. But I do have a quick question about Ryan's voice mail."
"Oh, new development. When did he call?"
"Uh, Wednesday morning. But my phone's always off during my shift, so I didn't hear his message 'til my lunch break."
"So, what did he say, Kris?"
"Well not really anything. He hemmed and hawed and acted like he was explaining something without clarifying anything. He mentioned — rather casually, it seemed to me — that he was on his way out of town. Then, in the middle of a sentence my memory card maxed out."
Ellen made sympathetic sounds. "But he didn't say where he was going?"
"Nope. Or why, or how long."
"Now, Kris, Ryan will be back." Ellen leveled her voice. "Maybe it's Assessor business — you could check that with Reda, who seems to know everything happening in the courthouse."
"I guess so. Yeah. He didn't actually sound like a goodbye. It was more of a 'see you later'."
"Good. That's an important distinction. So, with that out of the way, don't worry about where he went. He'll tell you when he gets back."
"But what if he's got…?"
"It's not somebody else, Kris. He wouldn't leave you a phone message if he was with another woman." Ellen said something to her husband in a muffled voice. "Kris, I've got to go. But look, you need to relax a little. Stop worrying about all the negative possibilities. When he comes back, he'll clear up some of this. Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Ellen."
I wasn't really all that reassured, but I knew Ellen had her own life to tend to. What I didn't tell her was that Ryan had finally revealed a few things, but quickly seemed to regret it and had clammed up again.
In scarcely a minute my phone rang again. I assumed Ellen was calling back. Nope. It was Ryan's number!
"Hi, Kris… Ryan. Did you get my messages?" Slight pause. "I wanted to explain about, uh, Tuesday… in the bank. I wasn't actually with that woman, Miss Karlov." He sounded quite sincere.
I'd waited four days for a conversation with Ryan and I finally had him on the phone. What happened next had to be purely bad hormones gone amuck. "That's odd. The tramp I saw looked exactly like Vanessa."
"No, I mean, we were both there at the same time, but it was on business."
Part of me desperately wanted to put that behind us. "So what kind of business do the D.A.'s mercenaries have with the Assessor's office?"
Ryan paused again. "Well, it's about the county audit. We're trying to straighten out some glitch with the auditing firm and they have offices on the third floor of that building." He should have stopped there, but Ryan added a coffin nail instead. "I thought you just worked at the mall branch."
Ahh. So he didn't expect to see me there, which made it perfectly logical for him to stroll in with his hips practically joined to that Karlov woman's. I suddenly I realized I didn't care if he walked through bank lobbies with the vampire hostess for late-night TV.
"Kris? You still there?"
I was stony silent.
"I, um, got your e-mail. Thought you wanted to talk. You know, about stuff since Monday morning…"
My brain roared like a battlefield with two armies firing explosives. One hemisphere wanted me to listen but the other reminded me I'd sworn off men because they couldn't be trusted.
"Kris? Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Even if I never saw this man again, at least I could be politely cold — women in Greene County society were known for that. "Ryan, you can tell me it's none of my business, but I've heard all sorts of unusual rumors about this Vanessa person… and somebody else."
Pause. "Oh, yeah. I've heard that one — a kinky threesome or even worse."
What could be worse? I struggled to stay quiet. "Well, would you care to reveal any of that?"
Ryan cleared his throat. "I don't like talking about myself and wouldn't bother to explain this to anybody else." Another pause; maybe he was collecting his thoughts. "When I arrived here at my new job, Vanessa was one of the first few people I encountered in the courthouse. Possibly the first woman I met — other than my boss, who I'd interviewed with — and definitely the most attractive woman I'd come across." He left that phrase hanging for several seconds. "That was before I met you, of course."
Good save. But my ice hadn't melted yet.
"So, she was introducing me around. You know, the people I'd need to w
ork with in the other courthouse offices. And spending that much time together, one thing led to another."
So he did sleep with her!
"So we dated. It felt a little weird because we worked in the same building, even though she's in a different section on another floor. You know, still a bit close." Ryan sighed. "Anyway, we were dating more often and… stuff."
I'd like to stuff her stuff! "Uh, just the two of you."
"Of course! Her and me. Well, I assumed she was available and didn't exactly pump her for information about her previous relationships. After all, I wasn't saying anything about my life before Verdeville."
"Yeah, that long story I've never heard."
He ignored my slightly hostile crack and continued. "Well, it turns out Vanessa had an ex-boyfriend who wasn't completely clued-in that he was an ex. Rand something, from Nashville."
"Yeah."
"Well, Vanessa never said a word about a boyfriend. And when I hit town, apparently Rand had already been away for several weeks setting up a new factory or something… whatever he does. Best I can figure — in hindsight — is while Rand was gone, Vanessa decided he was history."
"I'm sure having some new victim in town helped her reach that conclusion."
If Ryan was offended, his voice didn't reveal it. "So Rand comes back home to Nashville after all those weeks and drives over to Verdeville to check on his girlfriend. Oops. Vanessa's out with the new guy in town. Then Rand has a big blow-out with Vanessa at the courthouse, but he's not satisfied to leave it there." It sounded like Ryan switched his phone to the other ear. "Naturally, he blames me and starts following us around. If we're at the steak buffet, Rand's there. I drop off Vanessa and Rand's outside in his truck. It was ridiculous. So, in that sense, it was a 'three-way' — we couldn't get rid of him. Anyway, that explains all the rumors."
Well, not all the rumors — not by a long shot. "And that's the whole story, about Vanessa?"
It was Ryan's turn for a long silence. "Isn't that enough?"
When it's about a scheming woman, there's usually more story. "It feels… incomplete."
Ryan muttered something. "Okay. While Rand was doing all that stalking, Vanessa seemed to cool off… toward me, I mean. I thought it was just because she was frightened. But that wasn't it." Ryan took a deep breath and resumed. "So, one night this Rand idiot showed up at my apartment and banged on the door. It was a night or two before the Festival. Late. I told him to buzz off or I'd drop him with my shotgun. You know, 'castle doctrine' or whatever that law is about intruders."
"I'm hoping he left."
"Nope. Not only is Rand a big ole boy, but he's as stupid as a pole-axed mule. That idiot kicked in my door!"
"So, you shot him?"
Ryan cleared his throat. "Didn't actually have to. When he saw both barrels of my over-n-under, he wet his britches and took off. Never saw him again."
Just hearing about it tripled my adrenalin. His story had thawed me a bit, but I still wondered if we could salvage whatever it was that we almost had going. I had slowly grown fonder of Ryan, but there was no we yet. I was still committed to my plan — get out of debt and stay away from men — and Ryan was just the new guy in town who'd gotten under my skin… a little. For a while. "Ryan, why are you finally willing to tell me this?"
"Because I care what you think."
There was an awkward silence. I wasn't sure who should have the next line. Thought I could wait him out, but I couldn't stand the tension. "So-o-o…"
"So-o-o…" Ryan began an instant after me but the two drawn-out syllables blended together. His was perhaps an octave lower.
I ran with it. "So, it sounds like you're suggesting we forget all the confusion and miscommunication and basically start over."
"Yeah, on a better foot."
I clarified. "On a more positive foundation."
"Right," he agreed. "Quick as I get back to town."
I'd nearly forgotten he was gone. "Travel. Yeah, your voicemail. So when do you figure to get back? And where are you anyway?"
"Not completely sure." He almost certainly gulped. "And it's a long story."
I've heard that if people count to ten before they blow up, that it somehow proves something or other. I only reached about three-and-a-half. "You're still pulling that long story crud?"
Ryan sputtered on his end of the call. Perhaps he didn't realize how maddening it was to have straightforward questions repeatedly ducked. In any case, he didn't get another word in.
If he couldn't trust me enough to tell me a few simple details, how could I trust him enough to start over on his better foot? "Well, you just keep your long stories, Ryan Hazzard. And here's a real short story for you: Goodbye!"
I flipped my mobile shut and wished I had one of those old heavy phones to slam into its cradle.
Then I smoldered.
Elvis seemed concerned enough to stroll over and stare intently. But I rebuffed him as well. "Go away. I can't trust you either — like all the other males I've ever known."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I hadn't really cried myself to sleep Thursday night, but I did soak through several tissues while a silly romantic movie played on television. Typical fare for the Sappy Film Channel: a couple almost became a couple and then something stupid broke them apart. But there was still a slender thread of "whatever" that was enough to bond them through the crisis-of-the-day. As if.
After I'd settled down, I checked my e-mail and looked at some of the idiocy on everybody's favorite social network. I vaguely wondered if I'd ever be so bored that I'd seek comfort there. Hmm. Now that I was completely unencumbered by that new guy in town, perhaps those posts and comments could soon become the center of my social existence.
Before I left for work Friday morning, I stood at my back door and looked out over the distant pond. A large hawk with a white chest soared over the water and then assumed a commanding position atop a tall oak to the north a bit. I wished I knew its name. I wondered what it saw or waited for. If a he-hawk, he probably waited for a gullible female, like me, to stumble into his clutches. Well, I'd already been torn to shreds and spit out. I didn't plan on being a predator's victim ever again.
The mysterious pirate I'd encountered under bizarre circumstances was gone — in my life one day then poof, disappeared. Maybe that's what Ryan did when he'd left wherever and arrived in Greene County. I wondered where he'd gone and why he wouldn't just tell me.
Ryan Hazzard was pretty much as I'd pegged him from the very beginning: a typical male who'd find the right key words to get me abuzz — then he'd steal my honey. And zoom away.
Well, I had no need for that experience again. No sir, not Kristen Prima. There were plenty of other local women who'd be only too happy to swoon for that buccaneer, but not me.
I'd left a window partly open and Ryan pretty much broke the whole pane trying to squeeze through getting inside. There was already enough shattered glass in my life. No more.
"Why wouldn't Ryan tell me anything?" I may as well have asked the hungry hawk outside. Elvis sauntered over and stretched magnificently, as cats do so well. At least I had a correspondent now. "Okay, Elvis, tell me why on earth I should spend another Verdeville minute thinking about a man who gets me interested, busts his head wide open, sleeps on my couch, then stiffs me for days, strolls around with that lawyer tramp, writes stupid notes that don't reveal anything, leaves bizarre voicemails that don't say anything. Then, when he finally calls me four days later, he acts like we should just forget everything, start over, and whatever. Oh, but it'd have to wait 'til he got back. Then I ask him one simple question, 'where are you?' and there he goes back to his standard non-communicative baloney. How can everything about this new guy be a long story?"
Elvis had been rubbing against my shins until that final question. Then he stopped and stared intently into my eyes.
"If you were Pyewacket, I'd be able to understand what you just said. But since you're only Elvis, I'll take that for your c
omplete agreement. Ryan Hazzard is merely one more doodle mark in my book of horrible history."
A glance at the clock reminded me I had to hustle. The last thing I wanted was an extra Friday snarl from Miss Zachery.
****
As soon as I put my key in the back door of the mall branch, I remembered that Aynette would be gone all day, for two medical appointments on the south side of Nashville. She'd explained only one to me; her husband snored so badly that Aynette wasn't getting any rest at night. So their Verdeville doctor referred her to a sleep specialist in the City. The way Aynette explained it seemed to typify her entire life with Dellun the Dullard. "My husband snores so bad that I can't sleep, and they're gonna medicate me!"
****
My entire shift was the pits. Miss Z seemed to have a complete set of extra eyeballs to monitor my every twitch. I felt like I was in high school biology lab — a live insect writhing on a long pin while the sadistic teacher examined me.
During my lunch break I took a chance at reaching Ellen at school. I couldn't remember her schedule, but hoped I'd catch her. I didn't, so I just left a message for her to call me.
Ellen called back while I still had about seven minutes left of my own break. "What's up, Kris? I don't have long before my next appointment."
I hated to bother my good friend, but she was where I often found level ground. "This whole thing with Ryan was just a pipe dream, Ellen." I explained the bizarre phone call Thursday and all my ruminations since.
"Well, maybe that's for the best — a little time might help. Things seemed to move quickly with him on your couch. Now the pace has slowed." She paused, probably to give me time to digest her observations. "If this is more than physical attraction, there's nothing to rush about. It might even be good that he's out of town right now."
I took a moment to think, but didn't really concur. "You know, from the very beginning, something's been fishy about this whole Ryan business."
"You mean the rumors and such?"