Page 74 of Under Pressure
Don shrugged—he used his call on Sean, but he hadn’t answered.
Walt had wanted to call Nancy or Polly, but Don reminded him that they weren’t helping, so Walt made his call to Samantha. She hadn’t answered either—probably too busy running around getting The Palms ready for the hurricane, which meant they had one call left. “Walt gets it.” Walt saw the plan.
Walt’s mustache twitched, and his face went a little red. “No. He doesn’t.”
Don looked his way. “What?”
Walt folded his arms. “The only reason we’re in here is because you’ve gone off the rails. You, who never does anything without a plan, went off half-cocked and got us cocked up.”
“I have a plan!” Don bellowed and he stood up.
Walt swept an arm across the jail cell. “And what part of the plan is this? Do you expect Sean to come down here to bail you out, and somehow, miraculously, Blue will show up as well and the two will fall into one another’s arms?”
Well . . . he glanced toward the clerk’s office; it was just past the police station’s front desk. That was the convenient thing about small towns, the courthouse, registrar, clerk, and police tended to be in one building. If he could get Sean down here to bail them out at the same time Blue showed up for her marriage license—
Walt followed his gaze. “She’s not getting a license at ten-thirty at night, and don’t even pretend this was your plan. You didn’t have one. So man up and own it, or don’t . . . but at least stop trying to convince us that being in jail is part of your big plans.”
Don glanced from one irate friend to the other. “I thought you were on my side.”
“We are on your side,” Walt said. “We just don’t want to be in jail.”
Harry ran his hand down his face. “Virginia is going to kill me.”
“We have one call left, and it’s time we called our friends to come get us out,” Walt said.
Don fisted his hands on his hips and glanced down at the floor for a moment to cool down. “Why is it that I’m the only one who can see that Sean and Bluebell are perfect for one another?”
Harry let out a deep breath. “Well, if you recall, Walt and I haven’t actually seen them together. Or ever met Bluebell, but we do trust your judgment—well, we did. This is my second timein jail, Don. It was one thing being locked up with Virginia but she’s going to be madder than a hen that I left her out.”
“I just need you to trust me a little longer.”
Harry and Walt exchanged glances, followed by a pregnant pause. The silence in the room was broken by a loud, oscillating snore coming from their cellmate.
Don glanced over at the guy just as drool ran down the side of his face that was currently smooshed against the metal bars of the adjoining cell. This was Don’s rock bottom. It’d been years since he’d been here. This guy? A physical representation of what Don was on the inside.
Walt was the first to shake himself out of the weird stupor to fall over their group. “The problem is trusting your judgment this time got us thrown in jail. Bluebell is getting married tomorrow. We don’t even know where Sean is. If we don’t get out of here, there won’t be anything we can do. The problem is you’re not thinking things through, you’re just reacting.”
“It’s not like you, Don,” Harry added.
They were right. Don let out an irritated breath and stepped forward to the bench. Walt and Harry spread out to let him sit between them.
Don stared down at his thick hands. “I’m sorry I got you locked up. All I’ve ever wanted was to make sure Wayne’s boys were happy. That was all Amelia—” His voice caught in his throat. “That’s what Amelia wanted too.”
Harry rested a hand on his shoulder. “We know she did, that’s why we went along with your crazy scheme in the first place.”
Walt leaned forward. “We should have called you out on not having proper surveillance gear.”
Don huffed a one-breath chuckle. “I know. Staring in windows doesn’t have my normal flare.”
“Not to mention, you didn’t think about covering our tracks. My crocs left footprints Sweetie could have followed.” Harry joked.
Don snorted at the image of the blind alligator following Harry’s trail. “It’s possible I didn’t think this all the way through.”
Walt leaned back and scratched his chin. “Being in survival mode’ll do that to a man.”
Don pressed his palms together and rubbed them slowly, his mind churning. “I’ve been surviving since Amelia died.” He swallowed. “Thinking is a lot harder.” His friends glanced away, giving him as much space and privacy with his confession as they could in the small space. “But not a lot clearer.”
It hurt to admit, but not as much as living this way hurt.
