Kennedyand I forget about the rest of the world all weekend. She spends the night, and I make her breakfast, French toast and bacon, hot coffee in bed. We cover every inch of that cabin with our lovemaking, christening it as ours, primal in the truest sense. This is animal, unkempt, rumpled hair sex that spans three glorious days and leaves us both looking as if we belong in the Stone Age.
Sunday night, Kennedy lures me into a bath, and I have the pleasure of bathing her with my tongue. But Monday rears its ugly head and kicks me out of bed and back into my office. I have Zoey parcel out my day, putting the light stuff first then leaving the heavy-hitting, migraine-inducing crap for me to tackle later this afternoon. I’ll take as much home as I can just to spend some extra time with Kennedy. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. I don’t see why not. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, there’s no going back to the way things were.
“Can I come in?” Zoey is halfway to my desk when she asks.
“Sure. What’s up?”
She scuttles forward with a large manila envelope in hand.
“Just some mail.” She plops it on my desk before taking a seat on the edge. “Hey, I’ve been cleaning out the boathouse—that place is smaller than a thimble.” She pulls on a strand of creamy blonde hair. “Anyway, I have a bunch of records, you know, old school stuff, real vinyl that I’m looking to get rid of—mostly 70s and 80s crap. My parents had a huge collection—that’s with my brother. I picked up a few here and there at garage sales and thrift stores, you know, to feel that connection with them but”—she shrugs—“I might have overdone it. There’s just no more room. You up for any?”
“Hell, yes,” I say with a smile. I can’t stop smiling. I haven’t stopped grinning like an idiot from the moment I stepped out of that cabin this morning. Kennedy made me breakfast. She tried hard to replicate the French toast extravaganza that I prepared the day before and set off the fire alarms on two different floors. She’s so damn cute, thus the nonstop grinning. “I’d love to check out what you have. Just tell me when, and I’ll be there.”
“Great! Stop by anytime. I’ll be home after work all this week. I’ve got five milk crates worth. Make sure you have a lot of room in your trunk. You’re going to need it.”
“I don’t think I’ll be picking up all that many.” I give a playful wink. The world is new again, and I want everyone to feel this right along with me. Nothing or no one can pull me off this cloud. I’ve waited four long years, and I’ve finally graduated with a degree in Kennedy Sciences. I’ve figured her out. We’ve figured each other out. We completed each other like a puzzle—the last pieces are the best fit.
“If it’s one thing I’ve learned, counselor”—she hops off my desk and traces her finger along my jaw—“it’s never say never. Life is funny. It can turn on a dime.” She heads for the door. “I thought I’d have my parents forever, and now all I have is a pile of old records. They don’t fill that hole like I thought they would. I really hope you take them all.” Zoey leaves the room, clicking the door shut behind her. I wish I could say her depressing soliloquy didn’t affect me, but my heart breaks to hear her talk that way. Maybe I will take those crates, filled with scratched vinyl, off her hands. Kennedy and I can put them on as background like some love-struck soundtrack. A wry smile comes and goes as I flip over the manila envelope Zoey landed before me.
Harwood Polygraphs.
I’m impressed and slightly thrown off course. Warren Senior mentioned the firm he used was old school from the snail mail generation, and, after what’s happened to Kennedy, I’m starting to think there’s something to that whole eschewing technology thing.
I rip right through it and slip the small stack of papers into my hand, examining them with a bored anticipation.
Computerized polygraph report by John Harwood.
Confidential Polygraph Examination Report for Keith R. Stearns
The above named subject has undergone a polygraph analysis. Equipment utilized in this exam included blood pressure monitoring, skin response, heart rate, and respiratory rhythms.
I skip to the next page.Reason for examination.Next page:Keith Stearns voluntary statements.I peruse over it. Poor kid is shouting his innocence from the top of the mountain, literally. Next page:Results
Do you now or have you ever thought negatively of Kennedy Slade? (Answer; No)RESPONSE INCONCLUSIVE
Since the time of your relationship collapse have you taken vengeful measures against Kennedy Slade to make it appear that she is willfully harming your character? (Answer; No)TRUTHFUL RESPONSE
Did you upload any videos of yourself and Kennedy Slade engaging in sexual activity? (Answer; No)TRUTHFUL RESPONSE
“Shit.” I thumb through question after question, each silly little prank Kennedy suggested that Keith pulled on himself to make her look bad. He’s clean as a fucking whistle.
My phone rings, and I turn it over. The number is unknown, but I can feel the gravity of it pulling me to answer so I do.
“Hello?” I bark into the receiver without meaning to.
“David Stokes. Are you in your office? If not, you’ve got a nice little treat waiting for you. It’s blonde and thin and says everything I was hoping it’d say. I’m guessing it’s not your kind of sweet talk, though.”
“I’m looking at it right now.”
“Good. I guess there’s just one more thing to do before we bow out of this cage fight. Have your client take a polygraph.”
“No way.” My chest pumps rabid. What the hell did I say that for?
Friendly laughter emits from the other end. “It’s okay. We both know she’s guilty. There’s not a damn thing you can do about that one. We all get them—the delusional client who doesn’t know how deep they’re in. It’s best we get it over with though. I’ve set it up for tomorrow. They’re coming to you. Second verse same as the first. You know the drill. If you need to reschedule, you have until Friday. I want this shit cleared up and my client’s good name restored before we need to get dirty in the ring, if you know what I mean.”
We hang up, and I fall into a trance while staring at the findings.
Kennedy can’t be guilty.
