“They’ve done it to other guys before,” I told her; I knew because I’d checked. “And then there’s like, college to think about. My grades are fine, but without lacrosse there’s nothing super impressive about me.”
“I wouldn’t gothatfar,” Holiday protested.
That made me smile. “Oh no?” I asked reflexively. “How far would you go?”
There was a distinctly flirtatious undertone in my voice that I hadn’t consciously intended, and I saw the look in Holiday’s eyes change as we both heard it. Right away I sat up straight, clearing my throat a little. Fuck, what waswrongwith me today? First that thing about wanting to kiss her, and now this. Was this the only way I knew how to talk to girls all of a sudden? Or was there a part of me that just…wanted to flirt with Holiday?
“I mean,” I started, not at all sure how I was going to follow it up, but all at once Holiday grabbed my arm to stop me.
“There he is,” she said, her short nails digging into my arm.
I followed her gaze. Sure enough, a shiny red Honda was pulling into the hospital parking lot, cruising slowly across the blacktop before coming to a stop beneath a copse of pine trees near the side entrance.
“Holy shit,” Holiday breathed, her eyes glowing with excitement and satisfaction. “I…definitely did not think he was actually going to show up.”
“Wait, seriously?” I asked, turning to look at her. “Then why did you drag me out here in the first place?”
“To be alone with you, obviously,” Holiday deadpanned, but before I could even begin the process of figuring out how to respond tothat,the driver’s side door of the Honda swung open and a pale, lanky guy climbed out. Holiday and I watched raptly as he crossed the parking lot, his gait slow and the tiniest bit bowlegged. He made his way through the sliding glass doors and upto the reception desk, where, Holiday reported once she’d dug her father’s trusty bird-watching binoculars out of the rat’s nest in her backseat, he chatted with the clerk for a moment before turning around and coming back outside.
“Checking to see if Greg’s still on the admitted list, I’m guessing,” Holiday hypothesized, lowering the binoculars, “but it feels like it would be risky to do that every night.”
“Why not just call?” I wondered out loud.
“They don’t give out patient information over the phone,” she explained absently. “I tried.”
“Of course you did.”
We watched as Topher headed back in the direction of the Honda, head ducked and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes as he approached, then leaned against the hood of the Honda and lit one up, the tip of it glowing orange as the smoke billowed around his face in the purple night.
“He looks so…regular.” Topher was probably four or five years older than us, dressed in dark jeans and hipster sneakers. His haircut, I couldn’t help but notice, was definitely way closer to a Macklemore than mine.
Holiday laughed. “I’m sorry, when you heardSouthie drug dealer,what were you expecting? Matt Damon wearing a fur coat and carrying a shotgun?”
“…No,” I said, though I knew I sounded just a hair too defensive for her to believe me. I watched as Topher ground his cigarette butt out on the asphalt before climbing back into the car andrevving the engine, pulling out of the lot so fast I was surprised he didn’t leave skid marks on the ground.
“Where do we think he’s going?” I asked.
Holiday shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
I had never tailed anyone before in my life, but Holiday seemed to know what she was doing—keeping her distance from the Honda, hanging back a car or two as we followed Topher along the winding night roads of the Vineyard. Eventually he pulled intothe lot of a motel in Oak Bluffs. “Well, that answers the question of where he’s staying,” Holiday pointed out, cruising to a stop at the scrubby curb across the street.
“Not exactly Martha’s Vineyard’s most exciting hotel experience.” I twisted to peer out the window. The motel was run-down and just this side of grimy-looking, a double-decker U-shaped structure arranged around a parking lot with an office at one end and a scummy, dilapidated pool at the other. It was the kind of place where I imagined you could bring your mistress and rent by the hour, assuming renting by the hour was even a real thing and not just something I’d heard about on television. I thought about asking Holiday, then didn’t.
“Pretty deserted, though.” She glanced over her shoulder. The motel was the only business on this stretch of road, surrounded by dense patches of overgrown woods on either side. “If you were hoping to fly under the radar while you were here, this would be a pretty good way to do it.”
We sat there in pregnant silence for what felt like ages, waiting for Topher to get out of the car. “The hell is he doing in there?”I finally asked, my shoulders dropping. “Working the mini crossword?”
“Taking care of a little mobile banking,” Holiday suggested.
“Waiting to see if they play his After Hours song request on the radio.”
Finally the driver’s side door opened and Topher climbed out. He looked taller than he had back at the hospital, more physically imposing—a better match for Greg, I noted with some interest. In fact, I was so busy thinking it that it took me a moment to register the fact that he wasn’t headed for the door to one of the motel rooms. In fact, he wasn’t headed into the motel at all.
He was headed straight for our car.
All at once Holiday’s face got very, very pale. “Michael,” she said softly, just as Topher Leal rapped hard on the passenger side window.
“Get out of the car,” he ordered. “Both of you.”
