by Gregory Ashe
Somers stood too, the movement automatic as he clutched the hard drive. “Darnell, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I’ve seen the two of you together; I know you don’t encourage him.” Darnell looked at Somers with new intensity. “You said you and Emery didn’t break up?”
Somers shook his head.
“Good. I know it’s selfish, but I thought if you and Gray . . . I thought I’d go crazy. I want you and Emery to be happy too, but I just can’t stand the thought of you and Gray.” He chuckled. “Talk about being a horrible person.”
“No, you’re not horrible. Darnell. I’m—I’m really, really sorry.”
“Stop,” Darnell said gently. “You came over here for something else, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No, it’s ok. I’m ok. What do you need?”
“Another time.”
“John-Henry, I’m kind of going out of my head here. I mean, I’m watching C-SPAN for the love of God. There are only so many hours I can work before I want to put my head into a woodchipper, and the rest of the time, I feel so awful I want to die. Give me something to do. Please.”
So Somers offered the hard drive, explaining the cloning and the encryption without offering the details of how they had obtained it or who it belonged to.
Darnell just nodded, took the hard drive, and said, “And this is time sensitive?”
“Yeah. We need it as soon as possible.”
“Is this something you need to use in court?”
Somers shook his head.
“Ok, that’s good then. I’m not the right person to do this kind of thing; I can reformat a laptop, but I can’t hack into an encrypted folder.” Darnell offered a watery smile. “Good thing I work with all those white-hats out in Silicon Valley. I’ll get it back to you. Tomorrow, I bet.”
“I really don’t want to—”
“It’s ok. Thank you, though.”
Darnell walked him to the door, and Somers tried to focus on nodding at the right time, on responding to whatever Darnell was saying, on goodbye. But his brain kept twisting like a broken-backed snake, winding around to He’s got your senior year football picture. And something would go through Somers that left him feeling cold and naked long after driving back to the Hare and Tortoise, long after he climbed into bed, during the long hours he lay in darkness, staring up at the plaster, until he finally slipped into a sleep with dreams where someone chased him through a hall of mirrors.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MARCH 28
THURSDAY
7:02 PM
BY THE TIME HAZARD picked up Evie from Noah and Rebeca’s, she’d already had dinner. Rebeca stood in the foyer and ran through the evening’s events, which was mostly a list of how the older kids had spoiled her.
“She had a great time,” Rebeca finished. “And even though she doesn’t look like it, she’s exhausted.”
Evie, bright eyed and swinging her legs, looked about as far from exhausted as she could get.
“It won’t happen again,” Hazard said. “Thanks for doing this.”
“It’s fine. Noah works from home; Evie and Rocio are at the same preschool. It literally was zero extra work.”
“You had to—”
“Emery, it was fine.”
“Thank you,” he said again. “I promise: this was a one-time only.”
“Even if it wasn’t,” she said with a smile.
Back home, he got Evie in the tub, let her handle the bubbles while he supervised, and after he’d washed her hair, he got her dried off and dressed for bed. But instead of putting her in bed and reading her a book or two—she was currently deep into the Berenstain bears—he held her against his shoulder, walking downstairs, checking the doors, opening the fridge. Inside, half of a soggy cabbage and a few shriveled grapes stared back at him. His stomach rumbled; he wasn’t even sure when he’d eaten last, and he barely heard Evie’s whine, “Milk!” They walked a loop through the house again, this time lowering the blinds, and he let her help, which distracted her from the milk a little. They turned off the lights, her pudgy fingers struggling with the old-fashioned switches. And then he stood in the dark at the bottom of the stairs, not ready to go back up. If he went up, he’d have to put her to bed. If he put her to bed, what? Thinking about Somers? Thinking about his dad in hospice?
Instead, he let her loose, and she went up the stairs like a dervish. For half a minute, he thought maybe she had decided to put herself to bed, but when he got to the room, she was sitting at the chunky, plastic vanity—a piece of play furniture like the kitchen—that she’d gotten at Christmas. Not from Hazard and Somers—in fact, Hazard had delivered several lengthy speeches on the history of cosmetics, the early sexualization of children, and important gains made by feminism against a culture of perfection in the 20th century. He’d been wrapping up a really good one on lipstick feminism as Somers finished unpacking the vanity and setting it up in Evie’s room.
Evie had also acquired—again, not from Hazard or Somers—a play makeup kit. It held all sorts of brushes, and the powders and lipsticks were all washable. She was busy unpacking the brushes, letting them roll wildly over the vanity’s top, and gabbling. Hazard caught the words “pretty” and “princess.”
“Yes, sweetie. You’re a very pretty princess.” He leaned against her dresser, settling in. He could let this go for maybe an hour. An hour was a good chunk of time, a really nice chunk of time, when your own personal hellscape was waiting on the other side.
But Evie gabbled something again.
“Oh,” Hazard said, realizing she was staring at him in expectation. And then all he could get out was, “Hell.”
Hunkering down, he sat on one of the tiny plastic chairs while his daughter picked up a makeup brush. She went to work. Lots of purple and pink, of course. But she’d gotten bold with a few slaps of green. And, of course, a lipstick that, even as her fat little hand awkwardly smeared it against Hazard’s lips, too heavy in some places and then ghosting away in others, he thought of Mr. Warner’s favorite adjective: whorish.
When she’d finished, he eyed himself in the vanity’s warped mirror.
“Pretty,” Evie said.
“I look like a twink at his first Mardi Gras.”
“Twink,” Evie said.
“No. I didn’t say that.”
“Twink.”
“Ok, that’s not—”
“Twink,” she screamed, throwing the brushes into the air and spinning.
“You did not hear that from me,” Hazard said, lifting her up. “Your dad already has enough reasons to call things off.”
Evie giggled as he threw her over his shoulder and headed to the bathroom to clean both of them up, but the doorbell rang before he could get halfway down the hall.
“Who’s that?” Hazard asked.
“Mommy!”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. Your mom is out of town, remember?” He let her slide down to a more comfortable position against his shoulder, and the two of them went to check the front door. Hazard looked out the windows first, parting the blinds with two fingers, and then he said, “For the love of—”
He was aware, right then, of the warm weight against his shoulder.
“Go away, Nico,” he said as he opened the door.
Nico was balancing an enormous pizza box and carrying a six-pack of beer. His eyes widened when he saw Hazard, and then Hazard remembered the pretty princess treatment he’d recently received. He reached up before he could stop himself, wiped, and his fingers came away purple.
“Not a word,” Hazard said.
Nico nodded; his face was slowly turning red as he bit his lip.
“Not a word, Nico.”
Nico zipped his lips.
“I’ve got stuff going on.”
“I can see that.”
“So go away.”
“You need to eat some
thing.”
“I’m fine.” But his stomach chose that moment to speak up.
Nico raised an eyebrow.
“I’m putting Evie to bed.”
“No problem,” Nico said, slipping through the front door—Hazard wasn’t sure how the sneaky little weasel managed that, but his only option was throwing him out and upsetting Evie or letting him in. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.”
“Come on, baby,” Hazard said, shrugging Evie into a more comfortable position. “I’ve got to get you to bed before I murder him.”
“Twink,” Evie suggested, her voice soft as she burrowed into his shoulder.
“No kidding.”
Hazard got her to bed, and then he scrubbed himself in the hall bath. Scrubbed. Not washed. Washable, whatever that fucking adjective meant to the good folk at the pretty princess makeup factory, was a pretty loose fucking description of the product in question. Hazard was pretty sure he’d taken off several layers of skin by the time he got rid of all of it, and his face was blotchily red and shiny as he toweled himself off. He stood in front of the mirror for an extra thirty seconds. He shifted some of the long hair at the front that had gotten wet. And then, growling at himself, he shifted it again. And then he wadded up the towel, considered screaming into it, and threw it in the hamper. He pointed a dirty look at the guy in the mirror.
“You are so fucking pathetic.”
Then he went downstairs.
As promised, Nico was waiting in the kitchen. He was wearing ratty sneakers, ratty sweats with elastic cuffs, a ratty tank that had two lines of text: BOXERS and, below it, BRIEFS. A line had been drawn through BOXERS.
“Hi,” Nico said, and then he covered his mouth.
“Goodbye. Thank you for the pizza. I’ll give you cash for it. But goodbye.”
“Come on,” Nico said, and then a noise broke through that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. “Don’t be grumpy because I saw you getting all pretty.”
“Goodbye, Nico. My fiancé isn’t here. It’s late. This isn’t appropriate.”
Nico’s dark eyes widened. “Emery Hazard: Grow. Up. Everybody knows we’re done. John-Henry knows we’re friends again. We go to the same parties, hang out with the same people.”
“Because you forced your way into the group.”
“And look, I kept the pizza warm.” He opened the oven, pulled out the cardboard box, and opened it on the counter. Cheese. So much beautiful, golden-brown cheese. And pepperoni. And sausage. And onions. And peppers.
“You still like supreme, right?” Nico asked shyly.
Hazard was a weak man. He knew he was weak. It was all that perfect cheese.
“Dinner,” Hazard said. “And then you’re going.”
“This is why you’re so popular.”
“I didn’t invite you over, and I already said thank you. That’s all the social niceties covered. Except goodbye.”
Sighing, Nico got plates out of the cupboard and passed one to Hazard. “I think I remember that you’re always nicer after you eat. Kind of like babies.”
Hazard chose not to respond to that.
They took the pizza and the plates into the living room, and Nico found something on TV that was inoffensively quiet, with canned laughter breaking up the normal rotation of sex jokes and over-the-top stupid behavior that made up most sitcom behavior. At first, the conversation was awkward: Nico would say something innocuous, and Hazard would jink away from the topic, shutting it down hard. But after slice number three, Hazard found himself answering more directly. And after slice four and beer two—or was it beer three?—Hazard found himself getting talkative. And Nico listened. He had those big, dark eyes under all that shaggy hair, and he’d play with the shoulder strap of his tank and look up at Hazard and just . . . listen. No fighting. No arguing. No teasing. He’d ask good questions. Smart questions. Hazard had forgotten that Nico really was smart.
A soft knock came at the front door.
“Is there a fucking visit-Emery-Hazard convention in town?” Hazard asked.
“You want me to get it?” Nico asked.
Hazard gave him a flat look as he stood.
“I know,” Nico said with a laugh. “But you looked so comfortable.”
Hazard ignored that, but he heard Nico’s footsteps follow after a moment. When Hazard opened the door this time—realizing, too late, that he hadn’t checked the windows first—he swore and said, “Go away.”
Again, it didn’t work. Dulac stood there, staring at him, a folder in one hand.
“I said go away,” Hazard informed him.
“Oh,” Dulac said. “Shit. I forgot Somers isn’t living here anymore.”
Hazard stepped out onto the porch; the storm door rattled shut behind him, and Dulac was forced to take a step back.
“Do you want to try that again?”
“Aw, man. You know what I mean. He’s staying over at the Hare and Tortoise. That’s all.”
Hazard shook his head; the beer, the pizza, the disorientation of having Nico catch him princessed up—it was all working on him, disengaging the locks he normally kept tight.
“No,” Hazard said. “I guess it’s time for this conversation. Is that right?”
“Dude,” Dulac said, fanning the folder. “Are you drunk?”
And maybe, just a little, Hazard was. He’d been drinking a lot less since Somers had gone dry, and tonight, the beer was loosening his tongue.
“You think I don’t know you like John.”
“Uh, dude. Of course I like him. He’s my partner. He’s my mentor. He’s practically my life coach, all right? And he’s awesome. A great guy.”
“You think I don’t deserve him.”
Dulac froze. The seconds ticked by, and in the quiet, the breeze stirred bare branches, and a dog bayed, and the air eddied and Hazard could smell the beer on him, making him feel like he had to keep both feet firmly planted.
“Yeah, well, you think so too.”
“Fuck off.”
“Whatever, man.”
“You did this on purpose, tonight. You came here just to rub it in my face that John’s gone.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You didn’t accidentally forget he wasn’t here. I bet that folder is just blank paper.” Hazard lunged for it, but Dulac was faster, skipping backward and down from the porch.
“Jesus Christ. Get a hold of yourself.”
“Get the fuck away from here, right now.”
“Yeah, fine.” Dulac backed up another step. And then he stopped. His gaze shifted, up and past Hazard’s shoulder. “Why’s Nico here?”
Hazard glanced over his shoulder; Nico stood behind the storm door’s glass, watching the conflict play out. The sound of rapid steps drew Hazard’s attention forward again, where Dulac was hurrying toward his car.
“Fuck,” Hazard said. He went back inside, locking the door behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“What happened?” Nico asked. “Why was Gray here?”
“To tug on my balls and remind me John isn’t here.”
“Was that why you guys looked like you were about to fight? I thought you were friends.”
“Fuck,” Hazard groaned, dragging out the word. “He’s going to run straight to John to tattle.”
“About what?”
Shaking his head, Hazard headed back to the living room, but the magic of cheese and beer had evaporated. He hefted another slice of pizza; the crust, soggy with grease, folded in his grip. He threw it back down.
“Ok,” Nico said, settling back down on the sofa. Not too close. But not far, either. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“You know what’s wrong. John’s gone, everybody thinks we split, and now Dulac’s going to tell him you were here.”
“Yeah, but we’re friends. We’re allowed to be friends.”
“God,” Hazard growled, planting one foot on the coffee table and shoving it away. It skit
tered on the bare wood, loud enough that Hazard glanced at the stairs, waiting for Evie’s startled crying. But only silence met him.
“I’ll go,” Nico said. “Sorry if I got you in trouble.”
“No. Stay.”
With a sigh, Nico said, “See? This is what I didn’t want. I didn’t want it to be like it used to be. I hated feeling like I was just a stand-in while John-Henry wasn’t around. I’m going.”
“That’s not fair,” Hazard said. “I didn’t think of you as a stand-in.”
“I know. But I did. And I hated it.” Nico stood as though he were going to leave, and then he stopped, pulled the collar of the tank to his mouth, chewed on it for a second and spat it out. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Look, I guess I should have been a better boyfriend—”
“No,” Nico said with a nervous little laugh. “I meant about you and John-Henry.”
Hazard tried to wrap his head around that.
“Jesus,” Nico said with another of those laughs. “You don’t have to look like you got kicked by an ox. I’m your friend. Or I want to be, anyway. You’re upset. Do you want to talk about it?” He dropped onto the sofa again. “I thought this was, like, a plan. Or something. Like, you’re not really split up, but for the election . . .”
“Yeah.” Hazard wanted to leave it there; he didn’t want to talk to Nico, didn’t want to drag out his own guts by inches, humiliating himself in front of an ex who had already seen him humiliated plenty. But nobody else had asked. Nobody else even seemed interested. Everybody in this whole fucking town seemed to think they knew what had happened: why Hazard had left the force, why Hazard and Somers had split, what Somers was going to do now that he was free of Hazard. “You want to know why I’m upset? John didn’t have to do this. He could have looked his dad in the eyes and said no. I mean, he’s told him no plenty of other times in the past.”