Wow, that’s a mouthful.
“Hey, Lyle.This is Lou Hamlin.”
“Well, hello, darlin’.How’s it going?”
“Good.”I swallow.Nerves taking over.“I was curious.Do you happen to have Chase Ryder’s phone number?”
“Chase?”He pauses.“Ryder?”
“Yeah.He stayed there.He checked out on Sunday.”
“Oh.Your boyfriend?”Lyle chuckles.“You lost his number already.”He mumbles something about kids today, then I hear papers shuffling.“Ready?”
No.“Hang on.Let me get something to write with.”
I race back into the house in search of one of my pencils.When I find it, I hold it and say, “Ready.”
“It’s 333-499-8100.”
I scribble quickly onto a plank of wood.“Thanks, Lyle.”
“You’re welcome.When you talk to your fella, tell him he left his hat here.”
“His hat?”
“And while you’re at it, tell him that he shouldn’t waste his time rooting for those Arizona Diamondbacks.The Denver Rockies are the way to go.”
I have no clue what he’s talking about, except I know the Rockies are a baseball team.It’s probably the closest professional team to us out here in Western Nebraska.But I can’t be sure.“I’ll tell him.”
“Great.”
Hanging up the phone, I stare down at the phone number.“Should I?I probably shouldn’t, but if I’m going to send him back his hat….”
Just do it, Lou.
Holding my breath, I press the digits into my phone, then I select the speaker option.It feels less important that way.Sure, I know that makes no sense.Just go with it.It rings once.Twice.I’m still holding my breath.When it rings a third time, I feel a little defeated.It means he’s not going to answer.But, when it picks up, I gasp.I’m about to say hello, when a recording begins.“You have reached a number that is no longer in service.If you feel you’ve reached this number in error, please hang up and dial again.”
I end the call and stare at the phone for a good minute.Did I dial the wrong number?I key in the number again, making sure I’ve entered everything correctly.
No.It was right the first time.The second I hear “no longer in service,” I hang up.A pang of something I can’t quite name hits me in the gut.I think it’s a combination of sadness and humiliation.
The guy was so adamant about me not contacting him, he changed his number?Wow.Harsh.At least that’s how it feels.How it seems.
I look up at the unfinished projects along with the materials around the house, and I have no energy to do anything about it.Not today.Hell, not this week.I’ve barely gotten anything done since Sunday.I even came that day.Early.Thinking he might stop by to say goodbye again.The kiss at my truck—it was one for the books, let me tell you—I thought he was giving me something special.Like his heart.But that’s not what that was.
It was a solid, unapologetic, goodbye.
And now that I’ve seen the photo of him with Mona, I can’t help wondering what the hell he was really doing here.How did he just stumble upon me and this house?Did Mona know him?
I need to know the truth.I quickly send a text message to Bella, asking for her to send me a copy of the photos.As soon as I know what those are about, I’ll be able to work on getting over the man.If I hate him, it’ll be easier.
“What are you doing here?”
I’m standing on Desdemona’s front porch.Me and my dad.
Yes, it was a chickenshit move to drag him along, but he’s got a soft spot for the old hag, so I figured either (a) he’d get to see her as I always see her, the bad guy, the devil, or (b) she’ll be nicer because he’s there.Either way, it’s a win-win for me.
“I need to ask you to explain what I’m seeing in this photograph.”Might as well cut to the chase, am I right?
