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“Maybe. It doesn’t matter. It isn’t what he wants and that’s okay, but I really hope I haven’t ruined our friendship.”
“I’m sure you can smooth things over if you talk to him and let him know you’re happy staying friends.”
Arlow is reasonable, along with his kind nature. Silver’s right. “I will. I just need a little time for the rejection and embarrassment to fade.”
“You had to try to know,” she points out, then tilts her head, thinking. “Maybe he’s gay.”
“He doesn’t have to be gay to not be interested in me,” I laugh, and she beams.
“Well, you’re hot! Plus, you’re fun and crazy enough to follow the guy into a graveyard, for fuck’s sake. He should be beating down your door for a chance.”
Giggles spill out of me. “At least I know I have one friend.”
“Absolutely. Don’t kiss me, though. I’ve been known to hop over to the other side of the fence, if you know what I mean, but the grass isn’t always greener there either.”
“Don’t worry. I am regrettably only attracted to men. It’s a terrible affliction to be born with.”
She looks across the driveway as if she might be able to see him through his walls. “Good kisser, huh?”
“I guarantee that man is good with his tongue everywhere.”
Talking and laughing with Silver makes me feel better. It’s going to be fine. Stuff like this happens. It was just a kiss.
Silver and I hang out for a little while after her uncle unclogs the drain and leaves. It’s nearing sunset when she takes off to meet her boyfriend. Arlow comes out of his front door when I’m heading inside. It’s the time of night that he’d usually go to thefirepit and gesture for me to accompany him, but he doesn’t even glance my way. Instead, he starts through his yard toward the graveyard.
Maybe he wants some solitude tonight. After all, he doesn’t always ask me to go with him. Should I wait? No, I need to get this over with or I’ll procrastinate and make it harder. I’m going to clear the air and then I’ll leave him alone.
He’s out of sight by the time I have my door locked. My steps are hurried along by a rumble of thunder and the increasing wind. If he’s at the firepit, he won’t be there long. I’m in such a rush that I almost don’t see him and pass him by. He’s sitting on his little back porch, his phone to his ear.
With his back to me, I’m not in his field of view but his voice reaches me clearly.
“I’m sorry,” he exclaims, to whoever is on the other end of the call. “I know that doesn’t mean shit, but I am. Every fucking day, Melody, I’m so sorry. I wish I could talk to you, tell you in person. Instead of talking to this fucking machine every time I call.” His angry tone is shocking to hear.
I shouldn’t be listening to this. I need to go, but my legs won’t seem to cooperate. It never occurred to me there was someone else. He’s never mentioned anyone. His tone is sharper and louder than I’ve ever heard it, but it rattles with despair as he hangs his head. “I wish you could forgive me. I’d give anything to go back and change things. Anything to have you back.”
I can’t. His simple declaration makes sense now. He’s heartbroken over an ex, one that won’t speak to him by the sound of it. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have kissed him. Being a rebound is never fun.
“Fuck!” he shouts, tossing his phone aside. It clatters across the porch and topples over the edge into the grass as he lays his head in his hands. His pain is so palpable, it puts a knot in my throat. My first impulse is to go to him, comfort him, but I doubthe wants to see me right now or know what I overheard. Instead, I quietly retreat. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to him. He doesn’t need me propositioning him or pursuing any kind of romance. What he needs is a friend.
Arlow wouldn’t leave my mind last night. The way he kissed me. The agony in his voice later. Both haunted me into my dreams. He’s become important to me, and I need to know things are going to be okay between us.
His truck was gone when I finally dragged myself out of bed and he hasn’t been home all day. To add to my growing anxiety, my phone rings with a call from the private investigator.
“Calli, how are you?” he greets.
“I’m doing fine. Yourself?”
“Can’t complain. I’m calling to ask if your father was known to use any aliases?”
He still hasn’t located him then. My body relaxes with equal parts disappointment and relief. At least it’s not the call I’m dreading. “Not that I know of.”
“Do you recognize the name Harold Raines?”
“That was his brother’s name. He died when I was a kid.”
“Okay. Since you advised us that he usually lives in hotels, we’ve worked our way through them. There are records of him in a few in the city, but nothing for the last two years. The Express Inn on the east side of the city evicted him. A lot of these hotels share a blacklist of those who owe them, and that may have prevented him from getting another room under his real name. There’s a record of a Harold Raines at more than one hotel. The same name could be a coincidence, or he could be using his brother’s name to get a room somewhere.”
“That makes sense.”
