It’s late. It’s a weeknight. It’s Valentine’s Day, right around the time couples are packing away the dishes—or paying a restaurant bill—taking their lover’s hand, and heading toward the bedroom.
But am I considerate enough to leave my friends alone?
Absolutely fucking not.
I slide into my truck and unlock my phone, and moving across to a video call app, I hit dial.
Tommy, Alana, Chris, Fox, and Eliza.
The first four will have to deal, and the last one better not be heading toward anyone’s bedroom besides her own.
Alone.
“I know your ass is butt-dialing me, Oliver.” Tommy is the first to answer, even as Alana’s little screen is rejected—she refuses my call!—but sneaks into Tommy’s screen anyway. Tommy scans my end of the call, then glances across when Chris answers, filling another section of the screen, and right after that, Eliza joins us with a green goopy face and her hair bundled high in a towel. Sighing, Tommy brings dark, dangerous eyes back to me. “Not a butt-dial, then. You get off on this kinda shit, Ollie, or is it just a coincidence that you know I’m about to get laid, so that’s the precise moment you call?”
“Oh, this is fun!” Fox squeezes in on Chris’s left with bright, troublemaking eyes and a wide smile. “If I knew late-night group chats were a thing, I would’ve initiated them months ago.” She gasps. “Alana! I’m gonna call you tomorrow night, okay? This is our thing now.”
Unimpressed, Chris claps his hand over Fox’s mouth and grunts. “What’s up, Ollie?”
“I need you all to talk me out of something.”
“Why are you still at the hospital?” Eliza’s eyes narrow as she studies the space around me. She’s been here so many times over the years, she knows where I am simply by the streetlight over my left shoulder. “Your shift ended hours ago.”
“What thing do you want to be talked out of?” Alana asks. “And why?”
“Rose.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jane.”
Tommy’s eyes widen. “She remembered her name?”
“When?” Eliza gasps. “That’s huge!”
“She… tonight. She didn’t remember, exactly. But she thinks it feels right, and she likes it better than Jane. So we’re rolling with it.”
“Rose.” Eliza murmurs the name, softly rolling each sound over her tongue. “It’s a pretty name. Elegant and classic.”
“Schumaker’s tossing her on her ass tomorrow, and I feel sick to my stomach about it. Janine found this place in Barlespy. It’s like a hostel, halfway-home joint that takes care of women with nowhere else to go.”
“And…?” Fox questions. “You don’t think the place is right for her?”
“I think, objectively, it’s probably the exact thing she needs. It’s safe and comfortable. It’s stable. They function in a non-profit capacity and receive state funding in addition to whatever funds they raise throughout the year, which means Rose doesn’t need insurance or a paycheck to qualify. She’ll have a room and twenty-four-hour supervision. She’ll have medical care and mental health professionals on-site to catch her if she’s struggling. Which, we know she will. She’s terrified of literally everyone, so this place, these people, they’re gonna scare her at first. Having a doctor on site will be good for her.”
“I fail to see what we’re supposed to talk you out of,” Fox counters. She rests her cheek on Chris’ bare chest, her left hand visible as she traces his ink. A shiny diamond, glittering shamelessly on her ring finger. “The alternative is, what? Homelessness? You’d be crazy to pass this up.”
“That’s the problem,” Eliza sighs, picking up her phone and walking through her living room and into the kitchen. “You’re crazy. You don’t want her to go.” She props the device on the counter and crosses to her fridge. “You’re kamikaze-ing a good opportunity for her, Oliver.”
“Wait.” Alana’s breath hitches. “What?”
“I’m scared to let her go.” I drop my head back and groan. “I’m scared of sending her away, and that’s just… that’s it. She’s gone. I have no right to request updates from the team at that facility, and askingherto update me is akin to manipulation. She’ll do it because she’ll feel obligated. We’vehad dozens of completely non-credible calls and tips in response to her interview, further proof society is just plain fucked, because two-thirds of those calls asked if there was a reward for information, and then they hung up when they were told no. The remaining few calls were completely off-the-wall bullshit. One claims they saw her at a hotel in Kansas… but she was blonde and had three kids with her. Another claims she was in Mass, walking along the freeway with nothing but a backpack and a black cap on her head.”
“Well… that one could be true,” Fox murmurs. “Why do you doubt it?”
“Because the caller asked for Rose’s exact shoe size, pictures of her feet, and then for the reward. There’s no fucking reward! That interview made her a celebrity, so now the hospital is getting hundreds of calls about her a day. Some are asking her for money, because they figure if she was on TV, she’s loaded. Which is ridiculous, since she doesn’t even have two quarters to rub together. What the hell is gonna happen when she’s on her own after tomorrow? Who will watch her back and shield her from the crazies?”
“That would become the responsibility of the facility director, no?” Again, Fox comes in with annoying logic. “I’m sure this is not the first time they’ve housed a woman who comes with a bit of baggage.”
“I don’t want to send her! But she can’t stay at the hospital either. There’s a part of my brain screaming I should take her to my place?—”
“Woah! Wait up.” Eliza slams the fridge and runs back to her phone, picking it up and fumbling so her face blurs. “Absolutely not. You can’t bring her to your house, Ollie!”
