One Night Flame

by Beverly Evans

  “Haven't seen you in a while.” Her eyes flick up and down my body. “You look good.”

  “Thanks.” I leave it at that because if I give her a compliment, she'll take it and run.

  “What have you been up to?” she asks. It's vaguely menacing, an accusation.

  “Working. You know the drill.” I stare at the cashier’s hands, fumbling with an avocado. Holy shit. He's young, and probably new, but I can't muster up any patience for him at the moment.

  “Mm.” She digs inside her purse and comes out with cash. “I'm doing great. Not that you care.”

  I dig out my wallet too so I can be ready to pay and get the fuck out of here. If this guy ever finishes ringing me up in the next century.

  “I care.” I do, in the way I care about acquaintances. “Listen, I'm sorry for how I broke it off. We were both busy, and I was starting to see—”

  I stop myself before I slip that I broke it off with her to get with Nadine. But it's too late. I gave her too many words. She's going to freak out. I gave her a thousand reasons why I didn't want to get serious — genuine ones at the time — but now I'm here saying I'm dating someone else?

  I'm fucked. Why can’t I shut up sometimes?

  “That'll be $25.45,” the cashier finally says.

  Thank god. I pay with my card and gather up my groceries. If this kid is as slow as he was with me, then I can get to my car. I'm not a coward, but sometimes I know when to cut my losses. Jade can't be consoled. Unless I fuck her and boost all her endorphins, which I'm not doing.

  “Nice running into you,” I say, gathering my bags.

  “Wait!” She throws down cash and grabs her bread the second he scans it.

  I can't book it out without seeming like a chump, so I walk slowly, backward. She catches up to me and stops us outside. I glance over at the bakery, with its glass front. It's not busy. I'm so close to Nadine, but so far.

  “Okay, I get why you had to text me, I guess,” she says to my surprise. “I'm always traveling, and I hate talking on the phone. But did you dump me because you have another girlfriend?”

  “You were never my girlfriend, Jade. I've said that a million times.” I dig my keys out of my pocket and start to walk toward my car. “And yes, I'm dating someone now.”

  “You sure you don't want to keep hanging out?” she asks, to my surprise. She’s not blowing up on me, but somehow that’s worse.

  She has that look in her eyes, the one that made me take her home the night we met at the bar. At the time, it turned me on, but now I want to turn and leave.

  “I'm sure. It's over, Jade.”

  I try to step past her to my car again, and she presses her whole body against mine and plants a kiss on my lips. With my groceries in one hand and my keys in the other, I can't take her by the shoulders and push her away. And honestly, I'm shocked she would make a move like this. I dip out of the way instead after a second and put the hand with my keys on her shoulder. Now I'm pissed.

  “Don't. We’re done, and I don't know how else to make it clear. I have a girlfriend, she works right there, and I'm going to go see her right now.” My voice is low and angry, and I can tell it takes her aback. She blinks like I’ve just slapped her just hard enough to snap her out of a daze.

  Finally, she shoves me away and flounces to her car. I quickly put my groceries inside my back seat and wipe her lip gloss off my mouth. I hear her little car peel into traffic, and finally, I relax.

  Since it's just across the street, I walk to the bakery. Employees park out back, so I can't see if Nadine is in, but I can pop in. I want good bread anyway. Babs has spoiled us all with her breads that I don’t even consider the shit at the grocery store to be the real deal anymore.

  There's a young woman at the front counter who stares at me like I'm a ghost. I’m not sure why since I’ve never met her before. It’s a little awkward, but she looks like she’s in high school. She’s not the first person to clam up talking to me.

  “Uh, hi. Is Nadine here?” I ask, looking at the case of cakes and whatnot. “I’m Noah. Her… friend.”

  The girl looks over her shoulder at the door leading to the kitchen.

  “She's not,” she finally says. I get the feeling that she's not being truthful it's unsettling.

  Has Nadine been going to work? Does her weirdness, or this girl’s weirdness, have to do with the wedding? That’s the only reason I can think of why Nadine would be cagey — just stress. I wonder if everything’s okay with the cake and desserts. Dad’s mostly been the wallet for the wedding since he just wants Babs to be happy, but it’s still a lot, even for him.

  “Guess I'll text her. Can I get a loaf of that rosemary bread?” I ask.

  The girl wraps up some bread for me and rings me up. As I leave, I text Nadine and tell her I stopped by, and that I miss seeing her. She isn’t always the fastest texter, so I don’t worry about not getting a response right away.

  I head back home, put my groceries away, then walk to the station. Late summer tends to be busy, especially in terms of medical calls, so again, no one’s really around. I slip into the office and have to turn on the lights. My notebook is right where I left it in my desk drawer. I shut it and turn to head out when I hear a click, like a door closing.

  I freeze right away. Who could it be? Probably cleaning staff? But why are the lights off?

  I walk in the direction of the sound, toward the conference rooms and evidence room, and make a right. I run straight into Henry, who seems just as surprised to be bumping into me.

  “Whoa, sorry,” I say, holding my hands up and trying to smile. His expression is dark like I’m the last person he ever wants to see.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, once again crossing his arms. There’s something in his hand. Maybe a phone, but I can’t tell. Either way, he’s on the defense.

  “Picking something I left at my desk. You on duty? Almost everyone’s out on a call,” I say, wondering if I sound artificially upbeat. Something’s off here, so I don’t want to provoke him.

  “Yeah, just… you know, coming in from the heat,” he says, looking past my shoulder like he wants to escape.

  Since I sense he’s on the defensive, I feel like a shark tasting blood. He’s cornered, and clearly lying to me, so I have the advantage.

  “And I was just dropping something off for someone. For Nate,” he adds. Nate is the police force liaison. I don’t talk to him that often, except over email. I don’t know why Nate would ask Henry to do something for him.

  “Oh, is that it? I can do it.” I gesture toward whatever he’s holding.

  “This is just my phone.” He uncrosses his arms, and I’m a little disappointed. I don’t know what I was expecting. “I’ve got it. Bye, Noah.”

  He slips past me and rushes back out. There are only two doors on this hallway where he came from — the evidence room and a conference room. I head into the evidence room first, which has a punch code. There’s a camera up in the corner. Surely, he wouldn’t waltz right in and look inside if he were doing something sketchy. The guy’s a narcissist, but he’s not stupid.

  I take a look around. Everything looks fine, I think. Everything is organized and clean. I wander over to my cases, especially the ones I’ve been tracking on my own. I just looked at my cases yesterday, so I know what’s what. And now, the stuff that was missing is back, just like it never left.

  My heart starts pounding right away. Henry was just here, but he’s hardly the only person to go in and out of here. Since there’s a camera here, there has to be a way to get the security footage. The problem is that I can’t just waltz in and ask for it without revealing that I’ve been doing things that Harry might not approve of either. There are procedures in place for a reason, and as much as I shit on Henry for darting into fires, I’m not exactly sticking to protocol either by taking evidence out of the office without approval.

  Shit.

  I leave and rush home, then immediately hop on my laptop. Between He
nry being in the office at weird times and that he’s connected to those families on Facebook, I feel genuinely suspicious of him. But why would a firefighter light fires? He loves being in the center of attention, yeah, but he’s also always been at the fire station when the fires started. If they were started with bombs or something, then I’d feel more secure in my suspicions. But they weren’t.

  I can’t waltz into Harry’s office and accuse Henry of having something to do with these crimes, but I can’t shake this feeling that I’m on to something.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nadine

  My mom’s house is old, and with that comes old house problems. Namely, the bathroom that Andy and I shared as kids is broken. This wouldn’t be that big of a problem under most circumstances, but I’m trying to hide the fact that I puke my brains out every morning from my mother. Mom can be kind of oblivious sometimes, but she’s not that stupid. The wedding is in two weeks, and she’s in full-on panic mode. Telling her I’m pregnant now would send her spiraling into a tizzy. This is her dream wedding — I can’t screw it up for her. I know she would turn her attention away from the wedding and onto me. She’s been waiting for this kind of moment forever.

  I’m trying to help her as much as I can, but I’m exhausted. She wants the wedding to go perfectly, and in doing so, she’s become the anxious bride that drives us all up the wall when they try to micromanage everything. At least Mom’s nice, but still. She calls me whenever I’m at home, and she’s at the bakery, or vice versa, asking me about flowers or the favors or the venue. Trying to calm her down while I’m hardly holding myself together is killing me.

  At least my bedroom is far enough away that she can’t hear me cry at night. Oddly enough, I had the same issue when I was a teenager, except back then, my problems were so stupid and easy — not getting good grades, dumb fights with friends, things like that.

  Now my problems are very serious and hard.

  I sit back on my heels in the half bathroom downstairs, which I had to bolt to before I exploded. Running down the stairs while holding back barf is not something I wish I experience ever again. It’s not only physically unpleasant, but it’s just a reminder of how I’ve hit rock bottom again.

  I used to think of rock bottom as a place you go to once, but here I am again. Cheated on again, but this time, I’m freaking pregnant.

  Two days ago, I was only depressed about Noah wanting to dump me because I’m pregnant. I ran away to Mom’s because I couldn’t face him yet. Then, yesterday, I looked out the window at the bakery and saw some pretty blonde laying one on him outside the grocery store. I felt delicate enough before I saw him. I went in the back and told everyone to pretend I wasn’t there. Was he buying groceries so he could go cook for her while I’m gone?

  I rest my forehead on the toilet seat, even though I know it’s disgusting. I don’t care anymore. I’d finally, finally started to feel okay, to feel normal. And then I got the shock of my life with this baby. Turns out, I don’t even need to be pregnant for Noah to cheat on me.

  I’m don’t think I’ll be able to trust any man ever again. It’s just going to be me, this baby, and my family — Noah excluded. Maybe everyone will ditch him once they know he’s cheating on me.

  But then again, we never put a label on it. Maybe he thinks that he could see other people. That would explain why he would kiss someone else and technically wouldn’t put him at fault since I was too scared to call what we had anything.

  I regret that, because now I know I was — still am — in love with him. How stupid can I be, to just fall in love like that with a guy who’s actually hurt me in the past? I feel played. I played myself for thinking I could ever be good enough for someone.

  I stand up and rinse my mouth and face. I have to put on an energized face for work, which is difficult. It was difficult before I got knocked up, and now it’s pure torture.

  I sneak back upstairs and get cleaned up. Mom sees me sneaking back upstairs and gives me a confused look.

  “Just forgot a lip balm in my purse,” I stammer. She accepts that answer, but not without some confusion on her end.

  She has to know something is up. I can’t stay here, but where else would I stay?

  I want to text Krissy, but I feel guilty for dumping all my problems on her all the time. She’s got her students and her own dating life. Noah’s partner at the gym asked her out, and they’re going on their first date this weekend. I want to be a good, normal friend, not the crazy mess I’ve been. I want to help her pre-game and get dressed up instead of crying and sipping seltzer. I want to give back to her as much as she’s given to me. I need to lay off the crying in her apartment.

  I put on my work outfit and head out. Mom’s getting some sort of fancy hair removal or treatment (the benefits are vague) that someone suggested she do to look fresh for the wedding, so she’ll be in later. I only have to put on an act for Margie. The rest of the bakery team doesn’t know me well enough to be concerned.

  “Morning,” I say to everyone in the back, trying to sound cheerful despite my exhaustion.

  “Mornin’.” Margie’s elbow deep in some cookie dough and doesn’t give me a second look.

  I wash my hands and throw myself into my work. Unfortunately, it’s Margie’s turn to pick the music in the back, and she chooses some old pop I don’t like. I wish we could listen to a podcast. I wish I could dissociate Noah and my new love of podcasts. I wish I could just throw him and all my memories of him in the garbage altogether.

  Every time I’m left alone with my thoughts, I go into panicked planning mode. I need to set up a doctor’s appointment to make sure everything’s okay. I’ve been Googling way too many things about pregnancy and all of them are freaking me out. I need to figure out what to do about my career. I could work in the bakery for as long as I need to, but I don’t know what Mom wants to do in the future. It’s not a solid, super stable path. But then again, most things aren’t.

  I take a slow, deep breath. Two weeks. After the wedding is over, I can tell Mom, and she can help me out. Maybe by the time the stress of the wedding is out of the way, she’ll be able to appreciate the fact that she’s going to be a grandmother. I bet she’ll be excited about that. I just wish it were a, ‘Yay, I’m pregnant!’ moment instead of a, ‘I’m pregnant, and the father is cheating on me, and I have no career path or any idea of what I want to do in life!’ kind of moment.

  I try to channel Krissy, who rubbed my back at her place and told me it was going to be okay.

  “You okay?” Margie asks me, pulling me out of my stupor. We’re the only people back here now since the others are on break.

  “Yeah, why?” I smile.

  “You’ve been all over the place, girl.” She looks at me sadly, the way Krissy does, like she’s my mom. Margie does kind of feel like my cool aunt, at least, so I’m not offended. “You were happy as a clam for a month, and now you just seem tired and sad. You know you can talk to me, right? I’m a steel trap. Just because I’m your mom’s friend doesn’t mean that I tell her everything.”

  My smile turns genuine.

  “It’s just stress from the wedding. Mom’s going a little nuts,” I say. Not a total lie.

  “Oh, lord. She is.” She laughs like we have a secret together. “I bet she’s taking back every word she’s said about brides who come in freaking out about fondant, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I relax a tiny bit.

  Should I tell Margie about everything? I do trust her, but this is big. And she’s an adult. I mean, I am too, but clearly, I’m a hot mess. I even started using the phrase ‘hot mess’ because of Margie. I need someone who’s closer to my age to confide in.

  We go back to work, and Margie doesn’t say anything to me about my mood for the rest of the day. When I go home, Mom isn’t home, thankfully. I check my phone since I don’t when I’m driving. She and Joseph are going out on a dinner date and will be back home late. I’ll have some time alone, which I usually don’t want lately.
But I feel queasy and sick. Is evening sickness a thing? I don’t want to fall down the Google rabbit hole again.

  I open the garage door since it’s going to storm later and find it occupied by an obnoxious red car. Andy.

  When I go into the house, I find him in the kitchen, digging through all the leftovers. He’s wearing his work clothes, with his shirt untucked and shoes off.

  “Sup, Deen?” he asks with a mouth full of rotisserie chicken. He’s eating it with his bare hands, which is something I only do when I’m alone at night and know that no one else wants the chicken. Of course, Andy’s just going for it.

  “I wanted to eat some of that,” I pout, frowning. I have a strange craving for salty foods, and they’re one of the few things that don’t upset my stomach.

  “There’s still some left.” He holds it up. “Want some?”

  “Your hands were just in it.” I take it anyway and try to find a bit he hasn’t gotten to. I pull off a chicken leg and eat it a little too quickly. “Why are you here, anyway?”

  “Left some clothes here that I need to pick up. Also, I’m hungry.” He shrugs. “What’s up with you?”

  I lean against the counter, my hand on my stomach. I definitely ate that chicken way too fast, and I feel my body rebelling. I hold up one hand and dart past him to the half bathroom where I got sick this morning. I make it, barely, but can’t close the door before hurling half my guts into the toilet.

  “Jesus, you okay?” Andy asks from the hallway. I know he’s just staring and watching me.

  I keep puking.

  Eventually, he comes and rubs the middle of my back from a distance. A small wave of gratitude washes over me before I realize that it isn’t his hand. It’s his socked foot. Of course it’s his foot. I love my brother, but he’s not exactly the best at dealing with things like this. I almost laugh, but I don’t want to laugh and barf at the same time.

  Eventually, I stop and wipe my mouth, feeling warm and sweaty. Once I catch my breath, I stand up again and rinse my mouth. Andy’s still staring at me.