by JA Huss
“His name isn’t Lonnie, Tara! It’s Alonzo. And it’s got everything to do with them. They were part of that smuggling ring. And now… hell, I don’t know. The Dumas family probably runs it. But I don’t care. I miss my home. I miss my friends and my mom! I wasn’t going to come back. I was going to morph into some good little tattoo artist and live my new life like a champ. But…” She looks around. At the ocean and the sunshine. Then she shakes her head. “Now that I’m back, I’m never leaving again.”
“But… Lonnie? So he’s a bad guy?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” Belinda huffs. “I have no clue what that family is into now, but back then… well, I’m sure some people might call them resistance. Or revolutionaries. Or some other romantic word to describe their criminal doings. But the facts are the facts, Tara. I’m pretty sure the Dumas family has been under investigation by the FBI for a long time.”
“That doesn’t make sense. How could they not be in jail?”
“I imagine they are super clever. And this smuggling thing they’re in is a tight little circle of very bad people who know better than to fuck up or talk.”
“You’re telling me that Lonnie Derringer—”
“Alonzo Dumas.”
“—is part of some super-secret… what? Mob?”
Belinda makes one of those ‘if-the-shoe-fits’ shrugs.
“This is just…” I look at Vann. “Just… fucking terrific. We can’t stay here.”
“No,” Vann agrees. “We can’t.”
And that’s when Belinda gets out of the truck and starts walking away.
I jump out, chasing her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m staying. You guys can do what you want, but I’m staying.” She turns to me. Grabs me by both shoulders. “I’m done running, Tara. I can’t do it anymore. I miss my mom, and my friends, and—” She stops and takes a breath. “I know it’s a bad idea. I know it’s a bad idea. But I can’t go back. There’s nothing to go back to, anyway! We’re not safe in Colorado, either. So what is the point? Hmm? What? I was an artist.” She looks at Vann, who has joined us on the side of the road. Cars are whizzing by. Wind is whipping our hair all over the place. “I was a real artist, Vann. And I’m not disparaging what you guys do in Sick Boyz. It’s real art too. It’s just…” She looks at me. “I never wanted to be a tattoo artist. I want to paint murals. I did some! When I was younger. I can show them to you! I can finally be me again. Don’t you guys get it? You have to understand me, Tara. You know what it’s like to walk away from your dream. You’re not a librarian! Don’t you want to live your dream again?”
I take a deep breath and turn away. Stare out at the ocean and the afternoon sun. We have been on the road for three days. I’m tired. I’m confused. I’m scared. I want to go home.
And I can’t. I can’t ever go home again. I don’t even really have a home. Never had a home.
But if I could… if I could… I probably would go home.
“I’ll help you,” Belinda offers. “I’ll show you where he lives. You can ask him why he lied. Maybe he had a good reason?”
“No. It’s too late for me. I’m done with him.” I turn back to her. “But I do get it. And… if you can find a way to go home…” I throw up my hands. “I’m not going to stand in your way.” I direct my gaze to Vann, who is standing quietly by the side of the truck. “We’ll take her to wherever she wants to go. Then”—I shrug—“I dunno. You can drop me somewhere random on your way back to Colorado.”
“Don’t be stupid, Tara. You can stay here with me.” She looks at Vann. “Both of you. Until we figure out a better plan for her, right? My mom owns a hotel. We’re never booked up in January. I’m sure there are extra rooms. Just stay with me until we can figure something out.”
“No. I should just leave. If Lonnie is bad, then confronting him will just make things worse.”
“Well, you can leave if you want.” Belinda tilts her chin up. “But I’m going to confront him. His family ruined my life.”
“They didn’t do it on purpose, Belinda. If the FBI is secretly investigating them, then they probably don’t even know what happened to you.”
She blinks her eyes at me. “You’re the one who just said eight years is too long, Tara.”
“I know. It is… kind of a long time to investigate one crime family. But you’re the one who had that handy-dandy they’re-super-clever come-back.”
She huffs. “I don’t really understand it. I need to know what happened that night. I need some answers and so do you. We should get those answers together, Tare. I’ll have your back if you have mine.”
I think about this even though I know what my answer should be.
No. I should say, ‘Nope. I’m getting on a boat, or a plane, or whatever.’ And just leave quietly. Just slink away and forget about Phoebe 3.0. Because I am in way over my head. There’s not even a tiny sliver of hope left inside me that Tara 2.0 has a chance.
I have to be someone else now. Someone new. But first I need to get away from here.
“Tara.” Belinda takes my hand. She inhales deeply like she’s trying to remain calm. Then lets her breath out slowly. “This will eat you up if you leave without answers. You will fantasize about him for the rest of your life.”
“She’s right.” I turn to look at Vann. “You’ll look back again. Just like you did up in Fort Collins. And one day you won’t be able to help yourself and you’ll blow your cover by contacting him.”
“Yes.” Belinda nods her head at Vann. “Yes. This. Because it’s been eating away at me. And I dated Tony Dumas for two years. I never understood how he could’ve done this to me. He could’ve at least warned me, ya know? Told me something to keep me safe. “Stay away from the beach tonight, Belinda. Shit’s going down and you don’t want to be part of it.” Something like that, ya know? Now I’m looking back and I can’t stop myself. I need to know what the fuck those boys were doing that night. I let it go for eight years and I’m done now. I need answers. One day you’ll be me, Tara. One day you’ll be me if you don’t get those answers today.”
I sigh.
“I’m right. Even Vann agrees. And he’s here. He’ll help us. Won’t you, Vann?”
Vann looks like he lost his best girl and his best friend all in the same moment. It’s pretty clear he was hoping for some kind of chance with Belinda and this road trip was more about her than it was me.
It’s also pretty clear that a chance with Vann has never once crossed Belinda’s mind.
But he manages a smile anyway. “Sure, B. Whatever you need.”
So I agree.
And I’d like to say it was against my better judgement, but I’m tired of lying. Especially to myself.
There is no way I’m leaving Key West without seeing Lonnie in the flesh first.
As we make our way across the island Belinda perks up in a way I haven’t seen before. And I get it. If I was going home—well, if I had some kind of home to go to—I’d be unbelievably excited. She directs us through the narrow streets, marveling on how things have changed in the eight years she’s been gone, and sighing when she sees something that has stayed the same.
She takes us down a street to show us a mural she painted back when she was a teenager. But it’s gone now. Painted over with whitewash.
That makes her a little sad, but she puts on the brave face and chats excitedly about her mother and how happy she will be once they reconnect.
I’m a little bit jealous, to be honest.
I never had this kind of connection to my Long Beach neighborhood. I certainly wouldn’t want to go back there.
But everything changes about Belinda when we pull into the parking lot of the Conch Shell Hostel. “What the fuck?” She whispers this, clearly talking to herself.
Vann pulls into a parking space and shifts the truck into park. “What’s going on?”
“This…” Belinda looks confused as she turns in her seat to try to see the whole building. It’s yo
ur typical crappy hotel with an extra dose of colorful Key West flair. But there are backpackers and teenagers by the dozens milling about. Lots of luggage piled up against the side of the office and picnic tables filled with surfers who are drinking and smoking in the glow of a low-hanging, late afternoon sun. “This can’t be the Conch Shell.” She looks at me. “We didn’t run a hostel. It was a motel. A pretty crappy motel. A very cheap motel, all things considered. But my mom has owned this place since before I was born… I’ll be right back.”
She gets out of the truck. And I want to grab her by the arm and pull her back inside. Keep her from learning the truth. Because I see what’s coming.
Whoever owned this place sold it. Or died. Doesn’t really matter. Whatever connection Belinda had with this motel—it’s gone.
Vann and I are silent as we watch her approach the office. She tries the door to go inside, but it’s locked. So she waits in line behind several other young people at the little screened window until it’s her turn.
I cringe as I watch this interaction take place. I see her shoulders drop. Her hope die. Her extreme sadness as she nods her head and walks back across the parking lot to the truck.
She gets in. “Let’s go.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just… let’s go.”
Vann starts the engine. “Where are we going?”
“Go left. The Dumas family owns a whole street of cottages. We’ll stay there.”
“We can’t stay there, Belinda! I’m not staying in Lonnie’s family cottages!”
“Well, we’re sure as fuck not staying here, OK?” She yells this. Way too loud. “We’re not fucking staying here.”
Vann backs the truck out without comment and goes left. Belinda looks out her side window, absently directing Vann through the narrow beachy streets until we find ourselves at the top of a cul-de-sac in front of a house with a small sign that says ‘Dumas Street Cottages.’
“We don’t even have a reservation,” Vann says.
Belinda sighs. “Just stay here. I’ll be right back.” She gets out of the truck, walks up the short walkway to the front of the house, and disappears inside a screened-in porch.
“What do you think happened to her mother?” Vann asks.
I lean forward between the seats and keep my eyes locked on the screen door. “Something bad, Vann. It doesn’t really matter what it is, it’s just… bad.”
A few seconds later I hear screaming inside.
“Holy fuck.” Vann looks at me. “What’s going on? Should we go see if she’s OK?”
“No. Just stay put.” Because it’s the good kind of screaming. The kind of screaming when someone comes back from the dead and upends your whole world.
She knows these people.
She knows my Lonnie.
What are the chances of that?
“I don’t like this,” Vann says. “Something feels weird.”
“Yeah. I know.” I look over my shoulder and see two men walking towards the house. Talking as they look at each other.
One is shirtless, one is not.
One of them is…
“Holy fucking shit, Vann. Oh, my God, there he is.”
I lean back in my seat and then slink down.
“Who?” Vann asks.
“Don’t look! Don’t look!”
He looks. His window is rolled down so Lonnie and his friend glance at Vann as they walk by the truck and nod their heads. Both of them say, “Sup?”
Vann does that nod thing guys do. “Sup.”
There’s more excited screaming from inside the house.
I catch Lonnie saying, “What the hell?” as he and his friend climb the porch stairs, throw open the screen door, and disappear inside.
I’m here.
He’s here.
He’s real.
We’re together. In the same town. Practically in the same fucking house!
This is my daydream, right?
This is my chance.
This is everything I’ve been longing for.
So why am I suddenly so fucking pissed?
I don’t know. Belinda, maybe? She lied to me too. She’s not who she said she was. She kept that secret all the way down here. She knew who Lonnie was and didn’t say anything for three days.
But that’s not really it.
It’s him. Lonnie. Walking down the street with his buddy. Some friend I didn’t even know about even though we’ve been phone-fucking for two years. Talking, and shirtless, and all fucking hot and sexy in his cute tropical neighborhood filled with family-owned cottages. The ocean is so close, you can smell the salt in the air. Hell, I can practically feel the mist wafting in through my open window.
“Is anything in my life not a lie, Vann?”
He looks over his shoulder at me, sad. And he’s just about to say something when the screen door bangs open and… yup.
There he is.
And his eyes are locked right on mine.
Lonnie Derringer. AKA Alonzo Dumas.
Finally, we meet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - ALONZO
Jesse isn’t such a bad dude, I guess.
I spent all day yesterday wondering about the sausage-making he showed Emma when they first reconnected. It took my mind off the fact that Tara never returned my call. For a few hours, anyway. But then I couldn’t think of anything but Tara.
Jesse explained the girl game to me. Rule number one: “Do not, under any circumstances,” he said yesterday afternoon, “call her back again until she calls you first.”
“So… when Emma gets mad at you, you don’t call her back and play nice?”
“That’s different.”
“Different how?”
“She’s the boss.”
I laughed. “OK. But in my case, I’m the boss?”
“Sure. You can be the boss.”
“I know I can be the boss. I’m asking you if I am the boss. Because typically the boss doesn’t stare at his phone for three days straight willing it to ring.”
“You’re the boss. Until you two get serious. Then she’s the boss.”
“I never understood that. Why bother being the boss in the beginning if you’re only going to surrender your power later?”
“Because women who date guys like you and me like us to be the boss. And we are always the boss, we just boss them in different ways after we get serious. Haven’t you ever had a real relationship?”
“Define real.”
“Did you ever date a girl for longer than six months?”
“Yeah. Tara.”
“She doesn’t count.”
“She does so count. She’s the only one who counts.”
“Besides her?”
I pretended to think about this for a moment. Like there was maybe, possibly, some off-chance that I did have a long-term relationship, and it just slipped my mind.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“I dated Kraken Karen in high school for a little while.”
“OK. So who wore the pants in that relationship?” I opened my mouth to speak, but he pointed to me. “Don’t lie to me, Alonzo. We all know Kraken Karen cracks a whip.”
“Fine. Then no. I’ve never had a long-term relationship in real life and I’m not sure where you’re even going with this, other than I think your advice is stupid. She’s not calling me back. I should call her. What if she’s in trouble? What is she’s been kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped?” He raised one eyebrow at me. “Really? Do people in your social circle regularly get kidnapped?”
“It could happen. Or”—I pointed back at him—“she got in some car accident. There was a snowstorm that day she disappeared. Maybe she’s in the hospital?”
Jesse placed both his hands on my shoulders, gripped them tight, looked me in the eyes and said, “She ditched you, bro. You scared her off. That’s just the truth. But all hope is not lost if you just heed my advice.”
“You didn’t give me any advic
e. You just told me to leave a suck-up message and never call her again.”
“Because we need to wait for her to make contact with us. Then the real game begins.”
“What if I never hear from her again?”
“Then…” He shrugged. “It’s over. And it was never meant to be.”
That was yesterday afternoon. And by the time last night rolled around I was starting to face facts.
We’re done. She’s out. It’s over.
And this morning I started to imagine life without Tara. I started to picture myself making a new dating profile on some other site. Maybe all the sites. Start this whole catfishing expedition thing over from the beginning.
But I couldn’t do it. I just can’t give up on her yet.
And just as Jesse and I were walking up towards the parents’ house to grab some family dinner I made a decision. If Tara didn’t call me back by tonight, I was borrowing my little sister’s jet and going to Colorado to hunt her down.
But that was before I heard my mom screaming inside her house.
That was before I rushed inside to find Rosalie Thompson in the kitchen being hugged to death by my mother.
That was before Rosie told me that Tara Tanner—my Tara Tanner—was outside my family home sitting in the back seat of a black truck.
She came here.
To me.
Jesse grins and points his finger at me. “What did I tell you? Eh? Was I right or was I right?”
All the words Rosie just blurted hang in the air for a moment and I forget all about how she disappeared eight years ago. I forget all about what happened to her family and friends just a week later.
Then my feet are moving of their own accord. I don’t even know how I make it to the front door. I just end up on the porch, pushing the screen door open with a bang.
And when I look down at the black truck and find her—Tara—staring back at me from the back seat, my heart begins to thump erratically inside my chest. So hard and so loud, for a moment I think the whole street must surely hear it.