He traveled with more caution afterwards, sticking to the side of the road, ready to dive into the trees at the first whisper of an engine. The rest of the journey was silent but for the chirping of the birds and the gentle caress of the wind, which blew his hair back from his face and left him feeling exposed, vulnerable.
When he arrived at the house on Castle Drive, he was sweaty again. His hands shook so badly that he could barely knock.
It didn’t matter. The door swung open as soon as he raised his fist. A frantic Carla beckoned him inside. “Go, go,” she hissed, and he complied, slinking inside like a rat through a cracked foundation.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, she shut the door behind them, snatched his hand, and pulled him into the basement, pausing only to grab a bottle of wine from the rack. Bewildered, Jack followed silently, brimming with a thousand different greetings.Are you OK? I missed you. I have to tell you about Boris. About Hannah.
But her silence was calculated and fierce, and Jack was afraid to shatter the facade, so he just let her lead him through the winding halls until they arrived at the study.
The door slammed. Carla pressed her back against it like she thought someone might try to break it down after them.
“Hey,” said Jack, the way he might speak to Rainy after the fire alarm scared her into hiding under his bed. He tried hide his worry behind a reassuring smile. “How… did it go?”
Carla clutched the bottle of wine to her chest. Now that they were facing each other, Jack could see her reddened eyes, her wild hair. “Poorly,” she managed. “It went poorly.”
Jack nodded, tried to find words of sympathy or reassurance, and discovered that they all felt inadequate. Finally, he settled on, “Are you alright?”
She shook her head, curls flying. “No. I need a drink.”
“Sure,” said Jack. “I’m sure there’s a corkscrew around here somewhere. Or maybe we could just break into the bourbon again?”
Carla nodded. “You’re right. The bourbon is faster.”
But she stayed by the door, so Jack went to the desk, digging a decanter and two crystal glasses from the drawer. A part of him marveled at the fact that he’d been here often enough to know exactly where they were. “You wanna come sit down?”
Carla bit her lip as she made her way toward him. “The door won’t lock.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Do we need a lock any more than usual?”
“No.” She exhaled. “We don’t.” She sat in the chair that Jack usually took, so he dropped awkwardly behind the desk and wondered if this was what it was like to be a teacher, staring out at blank-faced pupils. Or perhaps a lawyer was a more apt comparison, he decided, considering that there was only person across from him, and the desk was quite fancy.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Yeah.” She inhaled sharply, set the bottle of wine down. “Yeah. I shoulda left this fucker years ago.”
Jack’s heart clenched. “What did he do?”
“Nothing I didn’t expect. A whole lotta yelling, shouting,calling me names. Took my car keys and told me to crawl back to the city like the snake I was.” She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head again. “So, anyway, I was trying to convince him to give me my damn keys back and I tore his suit somehow and he slapped me and then I slapped him. Then the next thing I know I’m pinned up against the wall with his stinking breath in my ear, and he’s telling all things he’s gonna do with me if I don’t get the fuck out, so I shove him off of me and I fucking go, right?”
“Right,” said Jack, taking a sip of whisky, trying to shove his warring angst and ire down so that she wouldn’t see. “And then what happened?”
“I decided to do a little research.” Carla grimaced, showing too many teeth. “I never trusted him. Decided it was time to find out why.”
Flinching, Jack tore his gaze away.
Why stir the pot? On the other hand, she was right: why waste this opportunity?
“So I went to his club, and I hid in a back room. He took my car keys, but he forgot about the others.” Carla smirked, then lowered her gaze. “Nobody saw me. And listen, I know it was stupid. Sally and Lana already told me that he spends his weekends with her, but I had to see it for myself, ya know?”
“It’s Tuesday,” said Jack, feeling stupid even as the words left his mouth.
She sighed. “Yeah, I know, Jack, but you gotta take opportunities when they arrive.”
“I-Right, sorry. Tell me more.”
“Anyway, I caught him with Brenda Amato in his lap.” Her nostrils flared as she sneered, “Fucking bitch. Can’t do her makeup for anything. She looks like a blow-up doll. Ronnie’s got terrible taste.”
“Right, fuck Brenda,” agreed Jack automatically, before he realized that maybe, just maybe, he should be grateful for the competition. The worse Ronnie looked, the more likely his relationship with Carla would survive.
