I introduce Jeremy, saying that he’s a reporter.
Wallace studies Jeremy with awhat the hecklook. “It’s late,” he says to me. He’s giving Jeremy the stink-eye along with his rutted brow.
“The news didn’t break until this evening,” Jeremy offers.
Wallace glances around the driveway. “And where the hell is his car?” he asks, as if Jeremy isn’t standing right next to us.
“He walked over.”
“Walked? From where?”
“Over there.” Jeremy points across the field. “My car’s on the neighbor’s drive, off Dillon Road.”
“Jesus.” Wallace shakes his head.
I’ve never seen him this angry and impolite before. “Wallace, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. Are you kidding me?” His voice is loud, overriding the loud trill of the chirring crickets in the dry fields. “Jesus, Crosbie. Your life could be in danger, and you’re inviting strangers in? You need more protection. One cop at your entrance is clearly not enough.”
No, clearly, it’s notzings through my head as I stand here and talk to two men late at night during one of the most bizarre and threatening weeks of my life.
Wallace looks at me, then Jeremy. Confusion and anger still fight for center stage in his eyes. “Can we talk for a moment?” he says to me.
I need to be careful, and if Jeremy stays and we continue to chat, I’ll have to keep fighting off his prodding for a full-fledged interview. Wallace showing up is a stroke of luck because he provides the perfect excuse to shoo Jeremy away. But the hairs standing up on the back of my neck won’t lie down.
“Of course,” I say to Wallace. I look at Jeremy. “Jeremy was just leaving.”
Jeremy smiles wryly at me, tips his head once like he gets it that I’m using this to get rid of him. “You mind?” He motions to the kitchen.
“No, help yourself.”
He walks back to the table, pulls out his notepad, bends down to scribble something, and tears off the page. He doesn’t pick up the rest of the six-pack, which was what I’d assumed he’d returned to fetch. He grabs only his open beer, saunters back over with the bottle dangling in one hand, and holds out the piece of paper to me with the other.
“Do me one favor, okay?” He dips his head at the slip. “Read this.”
“What is it?”
“The title of an article I’ve written. To show you I’m not a hack.”
He closes the gap between us, and I sense, more than see, Wallace tense up.Itense up. His light-brown eyes, with the fans of tiny lines on the skin around them from time spent squinting in the sun, stare squarely into mine. This is the closest Jeremy’s stood to me since I saw him in the baggage claim area, and I feel his presence too keenly. It throws me off-kilter. I take the note from him.
“Stay safe,” he says. Our gazes stay fixed for a second longer than normal, and he slides out the door to head back across the field. Watching him disappear into the dark, I’m thinking:Should I trust that all he wants is a feature story? Or is Jeremy Fisher playing me?
“What was that all about?” Wallace asks as we go back inside.
“Just a reporter wanting an exclusive interview with me now that Fee-fucking-ona and Trey have gotten the press involved.”
Wallace winces at my sailor mouth. He says, “You sure it was them?”
I tell him that I’m positive, and explain the situation with Fiona and Trey. “I guess they took photos of them. Plus, Trey had an old picture of me at the banquet, too.”
Wallace’s forehead wrinkles in confusion until something dawns on him. He looks away. I see a sadness in his expression, and I realize my mistake—I’ve not only admitted how long it’s been since I’ve worn the earrings but callously demonstrated that I cared so little about them that I left them in a purse at Fiona’s all this time.
God. I don’t have the luxury to worry about whose precious feelings I’m stomping on right now. My mind whirs. I have so much to think through, including what happened with my car at the dump site and the fact that Jeremy took the one thing that would have his DNA on it if we ended up needing it.
“Wall, look. I’m sorry. I—”
He holds up his hand to stop me. “It’s fine. We haven’t been seeing each other for months now. I don’t expect you to wear something I gaveyou.” But I can see it in his eyes. He’s calculated it out. The banquet was two months before we broke up.
