The Fall Girl

by T. B. Markinson

  “Is that all? And where would you find the funds?” Her laughter siphoned some of the rigidness from her posture.

  “I’ll double that if you help me make it to the wedding.” I winked at her.

  She grabbed my leather satchel, bursting with more paperwork, and tossed it at me. “Go home. Now.”

  ***

  I crossed the threshold into my home at five minutes before six. Claire and Ian were on the floor in front of a wood fire, putting a puzzle together. Mia, in Claire’s lap, clutched her rainbow monkey.

  “And who might you be?” Claire asked.

  Ian giggled.

  I raised two paper bags. “I have calzones.”

  “What do you say, Ian? Shall we let the stranger have dinner with us?”

  He tapped his chin with a large puzzle piece. “Do you have cheesy bacon tots?”

  I smiled. “An order just for you, buddy.”

  “I vote yes,” he said in all seriousness.

  “And ice cream?” Claire’s lips curled up.

  “Three different types, just to be safe.”

  She rose, freed one of my hands so I could hold Mia, and took the remaining bag, brushing her lips on my cheek on her way to the kitchen.

  “New puzzle?” I sat down next to Ian.

  “Dad got it for me. I have to know all the states and capitals by next week.” Each wooden piece was in the shape of a state with the capital in bold letters.

  I snapped Utah into place, simultaneously saying, “Salt Lake City.”

  Ian popped in Wisconsin, stating, “Madison.”

  Several minutes later, Claire inserted Vermont, completing the puzzle. “Montpelier. And time for dinner.”

  Without complaint, Ian trekked to the table in the dining area, tucking into the tots right away.

  I arranged Mia in her high chair. Her dinner consisted of cold cuts and steamed veggies. Ian also had a serving of veggies and a full glass of milk.

  “How long are you in town for?” Claire sipped a Diet Pepsi from the can.

  “No travel in the foreseeable future. Can you believe it?” I forked in a bite of side salad tossed in Caesar dressing. After swallowing, I added, “And I plan to work from home the next two days.”

  Ian and Claire exchanged a quizzical look.

  “What?”

  “You know it’s Friday, right?” Claire’s eyes appraised me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “Is it?”

  Ian slapped his forehead. “I think we need a puzzle with the days of the week for JJ.”

  “Christmas is coming,” Claire said, a softening in her stare. “Ian got the lead in the holiday play.”

  I put my hand out for a high five. “Amazeballs, little dude.”

  He slapped my palm harder than anticipated. “I want to be an actor.”

  That made sense considering all his flights of fancy. “I had dinner with Jack Humphrey last week.”

  His eyes grew threefold. “Cool! I want a Superman cape like him.”

  “Why don’t we go see his latest superhero flick tomorrow?” Claire suggested.

  “Only if we can get extra butter on the popcorn,” I said.

  “And Milk Duds.” Ian wiggled in his chair.

  Mia lobbed a carrot chunk, smacking me in the corner of my left eyeball.

  “See all the fun you’ve been missing.” Claire laughed.

  I flicked a crouton off my salad, bouncing it off the tip of Claire’s nose. “Bull’s-eye!”

  Ian burst into laughter.

  “Are you sure that’s the best course of action to take, considering you’re in the doghouse?” Claire tried not to smile.

  I looked to Ian and then back to Claire. “Go ahead. Hit me with something. It might make you feel good to get some aggression out.”

  Claire took aim and splattered my face with a French fry lathered in ketchup. “You’re right. That did feel good!”

  Ian, open mouthed, pointed and laughed.

  I nailed him with a cherry tomato.

  He blinked. A second later, Ian responded with a brilliant two-handed maneuver, hitting me and Claire with cheesy tots, the remnants dribbling on the hardwood floor.

  “This means war.” I grabbed a handful of my remaining salad and threw it with little success.

  Pandemonium ensued, all of us ducking behind our chairs, armed with whatever food we could grab. Mia, out in the open, showed zero fear. Claire made a move to ambush me on my right flank. I feinted and ducked under the table.

  Ian creamed me with steamed cauliflower, still warm.

  After that, it was difficult to tell who was throwing what.

  “What in the world is going on?” Darrell’s voice boomed. “I heard screaming.”

  I peeked over the edge of the table and witnessed Claire chucking a handful of gooey calzone at the stern man, destroying his charcoal sweater.

  “Have you lost your mind?” he demanded.

  “Not completely. This is a much cheaper way to deal with our anger issues than therapy.” Claire wiped her hands on a napkin.

  Darrell sputtered momentarily before seizing Ian’s milk glass, dumping it over her head, and massaging the thick liquid into her hair.

  Everyone, including Darrell, laughed until we couldn’t breathe.

  Miraculously, besides one cheek smeared with cheese sauce, Mia was unscathed, clearly enthralled by the chaos, given her clapping and cooing.

  Bent over, holding my sides, I declared, “Truce.”

  Claire and Ian surveyed the table, appraising the scant amount of food remaining. “Truce,” they both uttered.

  “What brings you by, Darrell?” Claire asked as if everything was completely normal, and it took me half a second to realize everything was normal. And perfect.

  ***

  While Claire showered to wash the milk out of her hair, I cleaned up and ordered Chinese. Then we forced ourselves to eat a civilized dinner at the table. Darrell, Ian, and Mia retired to the basement to watch the cartoon version of The Jungle Book.

  Claire and I soaked in the hot tub on the patio outside my home office, while snowflakes swirled around our heads.

  “I think that’s the first food fight I’ve ever participated in.” Claire scrunched down to chin level in the water.

  “I don’t think it was Ian’s first. That kid’s a ringer.”

  She chuckled. “I’m going to be picking bacon bits from my hair for days.”

  “Mmm… bacon.” I pulled her close, wrapping her in my arms. “I’ve missed you.”

  Not speaking, she melted into the embrace.

  “Next time, can you tell me and not Avery that I’m wanted at home?”

  Claire cranked her head to the side. “I didn’t tell Avery anything.”

  “She told me you threatened her life if she didn’t get me home for dinner,” I said without thinking.

  Claire shook her head. “Not guilty. Although, Brenda may have called her to give her the heads-up after a few colorful e-mails we exchanged about you not being home lately.” She leaned her head against the lip of the tub, taking in an eyeful of the trees burdened with snow. “I have a theory.”

  So did I, not that I could share.

  Not noticing my rigid muscles, Claire continued, “Maybe Avery took a chance going to you claiming I was angry as a way of getting you out of the office at a decent time. She hardly ever leaves your side when you’re working or traveling. If you don’t take time out, she doesn’t either. Maybe our little Avery is tired of being married to the job and wants to meet a special someone.”

  “You’re such a romantic at heart.” I tightened my arms around her.

  “You think I’m off base.”

  “It’s possible, I guess.” I shrugged. The idea was preposterous, but I let it go for the moment.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A handful of nights later, I returned home a little after seven, and no one was on the main floor
of the house, unusual for the Cavendish/Nicholls house in the woods. I spied two bottles of red wine on the counter, one in the process of decanting. We hadn’t had wine in the house since the night I dumped half a bottle down the sink.

  Maybe Claire had left with the kiddos to pick up dinner and forgot to let me know with one of her random notes on scrap paper.

  I slid out of my jacket, hung it over one of the barstools at the kitchen island, and plopped down into the seat. I rifled through newspaper articles and Ian’s math homework on the counter, scanning for a note from Claire.

  Music drifted to my ears snaring my attention immediately. It was so faint, making it difficult to know if it was coming from inside or outside. We lived outside the city limits, and our nearest neighbors were trees, foxes, and the lake. The road to our house wasn’t a dirt one, but one had to know where it was to turn off right after a hairpin turn. We never heard music from our neighbors, so where was this music coming from?

  The doorbell rang, stoking a cold panic sensation in every cell of my body.

  The music got louder, and my ears picked up the undeniable chorus of “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley. Was I being rickrolled through the speakers in my home?

  The doorbell rang again.

  Motherfucker.

  Slowly I walked to the heavy front door, which was flanked by etched glass panels, and I spied flat containers. Even in the darkness it was easy to make out they were pizza boxes.

  Mother-effin-fucker.

  I wanted to wring Cora’s neck for getting me involved in the Mean Heather investigation.

  I swung the door open with the words, “I didn’t order the fucking pizzas and get the fuck off my property” on my lips when I remembered Nicki telling me not to feed the trolls. Instead I whispered, “Can I help you?” into the inky blackness since our front porch light was burned out.

  “JJ? Grab some boxes, will ya? My arms are killing me.”

  “Brenda?” I snatched three of the pizza boxes from her hands, revealing her whacked-out hairdo. I tried not to laugh at myself for being such a paranoid loon.

  Inside, Brenda smiled. “Where is everyone?” she asked, setting the boxes on the kitchen counter just off to the side of our front door.

  Claire had mentioned having people over for pizza.

  Claire mounted the top step from the basement. “Thank God, I’m starving.” She gave Brenda a quick one-armed hug, flipped the lid to a pizza box, and seized a slice of meat lovers.

  Brenda poured a glass of wine. “Do we need more?”

  Claire shook her head. “Marion cancelled. The baby is sick.” She proceeded to open the fridge door and retrieved a Coors Light bottle, the mountains on the label blue as can be, indicating it was the perfect temperature for consumption. “Darrell and Ian are downstairs, and my parents are popping by in a few.” Claire kissed my cheek. “How was your day?”

  I tore my eyes off the Coors Light bottle, trying to pinpoint the exact moment Darrell became such an integral part of our lives that we regularly stocked his beverage of choice. Just last week, I had purchased Coors for him when it wasn’t on Claire’s grocery list.

  She bumped my hip with hers.

  “What? Oh, my day was fine. My brain is just a bit fried; that’s all.” With thinking I was on the hit list of an angry /b/ army from 4chan and then coming to terms with Darrell becoming an official stop by whenever family member.

  “Snap out of it. You and I have a singing date.” Claire, in jeans and a red Christmas sweater, looked lovely.

  In the basement, Darrell was adding another log to the fire. Ian crooned Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” to Mia, who bounced and clapped her hands in her chair. Darrell, to his credit, adored both children, treating Mia as a full-fledged member of the family. His grown children with his first wife had finally come around to the fact that Darrell’s ex-wife hadn’t been completely honest about the collapse of the marriage. This upcoming Christmas would be the first time in many years he would be able to spend time with them on a holiday, granted at our house—neutral territory. Ian hadn’t interacted with his half siblings much, due to the vast age difference.

  “Dad, let’s sing the song again.” Ian pleaded with his hands and soulful eyes. The long lashes inherited from Claire added to the effect.

  In the corner, next to the black PlayStation 4 console and sixty-five inch TV sat two guitars, a drum set, and microphones. All were components of Rock Band, the gift Ian had been begging Claire and Darrell for. Seeing it surprised me since I’d read rumors that Rock Band fever was dead, proving once again not everything read online could be trusted.

  Claire whispered in my ear, “Darrell surprised Ian early.”

  “I’ll say. It’s not even Thanksgiving, yet. Or is that today?”

  She slapped my arm. “Tomorrow.”

  “What’s the occasion, then?”

  “I think he’s relieved to be working again. Thanks to you.” Claire kissed my cheek. I wondered how she’d feel if she knew the true cost of hiring Darrell. It was more than signing the deal with Hal, ushering in my Barbara Walters career. Moments earlier, I thought I’d been targeted by the Dark Net. I still hadn’t figured out who had hacked into Claire’s e-mail quite yet, but given that Avery gave me the heads-up about Claire’s sour mood, I was fairly confident the person was on our side. Mostly. It wouldn’t surprise me if Avery had been reading all of my e-mails since I had become the publisher of Mile High, and at the time, Claire had also been an employee. How’d she crack Claire’s private e-mail password, though? With Nicki’s help? Janie’s? Grassy Knoll’s?

  Yesterday, the offices in MDD and our house, unbeknownst to Claire, had been scanned for bugs. It’d become a weekly routine since bringing Nicki on board, who occasionally popped into the New York and Denver offices on the pretense of collaborating on articles.

  Darrell sipped Coors from the bottle and then took a seat behind the plastic drum set. Ian latched onto the mike. Claire strapped on one of the guitars and asked, “JJ?”

  I picked up a guitar. “Let’s rock ’n roll, people.”

  Brenda grabbed another mike and sang with Ian.

  Much to my amusement, the song was “Never Gonna Give You Up.”

  I was being rickrolled by my own family, and they had no clue of what I sensed was on the horizon.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sunday after Thanksgiving, Claire and I took Mia shopping. I’d been up since five and had ingested way too much coffee.

  “I need to run to the loo.” I squirmed like a five-year-old.

  “I love it when you slip in British words. We’ll be here.” She shooed me away with her hand.

  I dashed for the nearest bathroom, relieved in more ways than one that there wasn’t a line or another soul for that matter. Or so I thought.

  Almost done with a record-breaking pee, someone in the stall next to mine made a sound that sounded a lot like, Psst. But who in a bathroom would want to get my attention. Maybe they needed toilet paper, but I didn’t want to reach under with a wad without being asked for it. What would the headline read? Possibly, “Addict Begs for Drugs in Bathroom.”

  Not heeding the noise, I zipped my jeans and vacated the stall to wash my hands.

  “Pssst.”

  I wheeled about. Out of the six stalls, only one door was shut. “Is someone here?”

  “For someone who’s supposed to be so brilliant, you really are a disappointment IRL.”

  Janie’s sarcastic voice was unmistakable.

  “For someone who’s supposed to be brilliant at blackmail and espionage, I hadn’t expected such an amateurish pssst from a bathroom stall. What’s IRL?” I rolled up a now wet paper hand towel and tossed it into the trash can.

  The stall opened and revealed the sheepish grin on Janie’s face. “In real life.”

  “You only speak in abbreviations now?”

  “Tits or GTFO.”

  I
leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. “The first I understand, considering it’s an actual word.”

  “And you’ve been known to handle quite a few.” She winked. “Tits or get the fuck out.” She sighed at having to explain this to me. “It’s a common phrase on the random board when someone claims to be a girl, since there are no girls on the internet. Rule 29: all girls are men, and all kids are undercover FBI agents.”

  “We aren’t on the internet. We’re in a bathroom.” I pointed out the light-gray tile walls and floor.

  She fluttered her lashes. “I’d still like to see your tits. I’ve missed them.” Her smile was seductive, stoking memories I shouldn’t unearth.

  For a brief moment, I remembered liking the young woman all those months ago. Enough to sleep with her and to confide in her. The only difference between the Janie then and the Janie now was her hair was currently blonde. She wore a black hoodie and ratty fingerless gloves. Upon closer scrutiny, I noticed her eye color was different—a soft blue. When we’d met, she had dark hair, chocolate eyes, and a girl-next-door aura.

  “Whoa! You really get into character.” I squinted. “Are those contacts?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in some basement surrounded by computer monitors and wearing an aluminum hat trolling for the troll?”

  “Why did I even bother?” Her voice was strained.

  I put my hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Just trying to have some fun. What’s wrong?”

  “I need to talk.”

  I canvassed the empty stalls. “Go ahead.”

  “You’re a riot. Not here. Someplace private.”

  “I’m shopping with Claire and Mia.”

  She groaned. “I know. I’ve been following you.”

  Just when I felt sorry for her, the creep factor reemerged. “Where would you like to meet, then?” I forced out.

  She stuffed a rumpled piece of paper in my hand and fled the bathroom moments before two middle school girls entered, squealing about a boy who just said hi to them. Without glancing at the paper, I shoved it into my pocket and hoofed it back to where I’d left Claire.