Page 33 of The Bad Husband

“Are you really interested, or are we just making conversation?”

He looks the other way.

“Both.”

Before long, he takes a gravel road that leads to a dark house and quickly rolls the car to a stop.

He shifts his eyes to me.

“I’m torn,” I say with more honesty than ever. “I want something that doesn’t exist, and have a hard time connecting with something that does.”

My answer registers with him, yet his focus is on the house in front of us.

“Hold that thought,” he says as if he’s just seen something interesting inside the house, which is scary and odd, since the place is sunk in darkness.

“Don’t be long,” I say as he sets foot outside.

I watch him walk to the house, open the door, and enter.

No ringing the bell, no unlocking the door, no calling anyone. As if this is his place. A place he likes to keep unlocked?

I grow more curious by the moment.

He returns fairly quickly, carrying a suitcase.

“Oh, boy. The much-dreaded suitcase,” I murmur to myself, watching him as he is booking it all the way to his car.

It could be anything. A suitcase full of cash. A dismembered body.

I stay silent as he approaches the car, opens the door, and drops the suitcase next to my spare burger box.

He sets his car in motion with some urgency in his moves, and for a while we travel in silence.

As the lights of town fill the view in front of us, he speaks again.

“The man you’re looking for…” he says, sunk in thought. “You won’t find him here in Georgia.”

6

LILA

I don’t feel like talking after that.

The last traces of alcohol must’ve vanished from my blood, so everything that was fun, intriguing, bold, and cheeky on my part, and intrusive on his part, has vanished too.

He’s sunk in thought, as if he’s alone in the car. I don’t want to make an ass of myself, so I’m waiting for an opportunity to prove to him that I’m not the shallow person I have seemed to be.

That opportunity never comes, so it’s no surprise that we reach the club without exchanging a word.

“Follow me,” he says once we roll to a stop.

We climb out, he picks up the suitcase, and then gestures at me to enter the club in front of him.

We walk through the back door and face a stairwell.

I stop at the bottom of the stairs, and he flicks his chin up.

“Upstairs,” he says.