“I know you hate hearing it, but it’s beenthreeyears. And you know he wouldn’t have chosen to leave, not of his own free will. Maybe that man left money that night because he knew Max would run out after him, and—”
My stomach starts to shake and tears well in my eyes. I want to throw myself from the car, scream, and throw up all at once. Instead, I sit perfectly still. My gaze fixes on the buildings that pass us by as I think about the life Max and I were supposed to have. The wedding in the garden by the lake, the honeymoon in the mountain cabin, the two kids we’d nearly named. Our life was going to be perfect.
Our life.
I hold back tears, trapping them in my throat until a cough takes their place.
“That was harsh,” she says. “I know you’ve had a rough day. I’m sorry. It’s just tough seeing you torn up all the time.” Her hand grazes over the top of mine and she squeezes lightly, her voice quieter now. “We know Max. If he were still here, he’d have found a way back to you by now.”
I stay quiet, watching as the buildings turn to ocean, and the ocean to a wall of palms. Deep down, I know she’s right. Max wouldn’t willingly abandon me, and I know bodies go missing all the time. That’s the way murder works. If it’s done well, there’s no trace.
I waited too long to call the police that night. It was me stripping in that seedy bullshit place to begin with knowing he was on edge about it. I set him up for all of this, right? The internal turmoil of what I could have done different seeps into everything I do. I need answers, but they never come. So, I bury them with alcohol. Which in reality seems like a pretty reasonable response.
“You look great,” I say, changing the subject. “Like really great. Did you wear this at work all day?”
She nods and grins, sashaying in her seat. She’s wearing a short black dress that hugs her curves and dips low at her neckline, showing off her ample breasts. “I did. I was hoping it would get the manager’s attention, but no such luck. He’s this hot alpha type who has this accent that leaves my panties soaked and my engines way too revved for a nine to five.”
“You don’t need to troll for me at a bar then. You should just seduce him and get it over with.”
“Yeah, right,” she laughs, twisting her long dark hair to the side. “He’s the kind of guy who tells you what he wants, not the other way around.”
“Sounds hot.”
“A little, but I need dick yesterday. I don’t have time to wait around for him to make a move.” She glares toward me, a merciless smile widening over her face. “You don’t have time either. You should hook up with someone tonight, maybe give the drawer of vibrators a break.”
“The vibrators require so much less, though.”
Her laugh is caustic. “You’d be surprised how little a man requires. I’m not saying fall in love. I’m saying dip your feet in the pool, get wet.”
Wet. I haven’t thought about being wet with another man since Max. It’s not that I’m never horny, I am. It’s just that being with another man feels like cheating, like there’s a possibility he’s going to walk back through the door any second.
“At least throw Ryan a bone. I’m sure he’s put the moves on you by now.”
“So what do they have to eat at this place?” I’m hoping she seamlessly changes subjects with me. “I’m starving.”
“Really? You live together, you eat together, you go to the movies together. The man can’t get a fuck?”
“We’re friends.”
“A man and woman can’t be friends without wanting to fuck. It’s a thing. Look it up.”
I shrug. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. We’re just friends.”
She nods her head back slowly. “Does he know that?”
“Of course he knows that. I was perfectly clear about it when we moved in together.”
“So nearly three years of living with a guy and you haven’t so much as even jerked him off?” She looks disappointed in me.
“Sorry Mom, haven’t even jerked him off.”
“Mom?Please. If I were your mother, I’d have taken away your vibrators until you gave that man what he’s earned.” She laughs again. “Just promise me you’ll have your feelers out tonight. I don’t want to be looking alone.”
I hold up three fingers. I think that’s the boy scout thing people do. “Scouts honor,” I say, a weight lifting off of my chest. Maybe laughter really is the best medicine.
The ocean side bar is overflowing with people. Cars flood the parking lot, and young professionals line the sidewalk outside and the stairway up into the restaurant. It’s a trendy place on the good side of town, so everyone is dressed like they’ve spent all day creating the perfect outfit. I hope my jean skirt and black tank top will do. I didn’t think about how I’d have to dress to get in.
Live music floats out into the street as we park in front of the valet. If it were me, I’d have circled the parking lot eighteen times looking for a spot before giving up and driving away. Lucy, however, doesn’t play that game. She pays the nice man at the podium to park her Mustang for her. It’s a vintage model, cherry red, with a retractable top and a feather painted on the driver’s side. Her father detailed it for her when she was young, then gifted it to her when she graduated college last year. That’s even more reason to have the thing parked, aside from the fact that her bank salary supports the expense. She wouldn’t dare leave the car parked in a busy, open lot.
