Page 9 of Nocturnes & Nightmares

Young and vibrant, she’s a reminder of everything I used to be, when Denny and I were first married. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m just as much a reminder to her of what happens when you reach the end of that happy road.

“Hey, Potterhead! Ready for a movie marathon?” she asks, as she reaches the passenger door.

The question catches me off guard. Six months ago, that was a favorite past time with my son, and now he has no interest in watching anything with me. “You guys are watching Harry Potter? I didn’t …. I mean … that’s awesome.”

The door clicks as Oliver nabs his duffle bag from the floor, and I reach out for his arm. “Wait. No kiss?”

He leans toward me and lays a quick peck on my cheek, before slipping out through the half opened passenger door and up the staircase to the house.

Diane’s gaze trails after him a moment, before she swings her attention back to me. “Hey, Nola … if I overstepped—”

“You didn’t. At all. We haven’t watched those movies in … months.” I’ve tried to engage Oliver in doing the things we used to love before that night, but everything I’ve tried is a reminder of everything that’s different now.

Diane stuffs a hand inside her pocket and pulls out an envelope with a bank emblem on it.

Shaking my head, I set the gearshift to drive, but not before she reaches inside and drops the envelope on the passenger seat, where a stack of twenties spills out.

“Take it. Your brother wanted you to have it, but he knew you’d refuse him. I’m not so nice. You need it, Nola.”

“I’m not … taking money from you.”

“I’m not taking it back.”

In spite of the tears in my eyes, a laugh escapes me. “You already do so much for me, Diane. I can’t take this from you.”

“Watching Oliver helps me cope. So there’s that.” She turns away, and I can see her eyes are filled with tears, too. For three years, she’s tried to have a baby with my brother. Every month, she’s greeted with the disappointment of loss. Oliver’s acted as a substitute child, until the surrogate mother they’ve hired delivers, which should be sometime around Christmas. “You don’t let people do enough for you. Go … buy something nice for yourself, and for Oliver. And try not to worry so much about things, okay? Jonah and I … we got you.”

“I know.” Jesus, the more she talks, the more tears I have to wipe away. “Thank you for everything.” Sniffling, I clear my throat and curl my knuckles around the steering wheel. “I’m actually thinking about renting out the in-law suite in the back.” It’s not something I want to do, since I’ve grown just as wary of the world as Oliver, but a few extra bucks a month will certainly ease things, particularly with Christmas right around the corner.

“Be sure to have Jonah run a background check on whoever decides to take it. Don’t want some weirdo moving in.”

I snort at that, shaking my head. “I’ve had enough of those. Believe me. Bethany’s husband asked me if I’d consider a threesome with the two.”

A burst of laughter flies from Diane’s mouth, quickly capped behind her hand. “Are you kidding me?”

Bethany works with me at the diner, and it’s common knowledge that she and her husband swing. In fact, the owner has had to pull her aside to keep her from propositioning the customers. That didn’t stop her husband the last time he came in, though.

“I wish. I’d masturbate a cucumber before I’d crawl into bed with those two.”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sister.” The waggling of her brows sets my teeth on edge, and I have to mentally force myself not to grimace at the thought of her and a cucumber when my brother isn’t around. “Just make sure you grab some lube.”

“Okay, TMI.” Eyes clamped shut, I pretend to bang my head against the steering wheel. “I gotta get to work. Thank you … for Oliver, for the cash … for the lube advice.”

“Don’t fear the lube. Pour a glass of wine, put on some music, and …”

“Yeah. Let’s not go there. Let Oli know I’ll miss him, okay? And I love him.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you back.”

3

Voss

Apathy is a man’s most destructive weapon.

Drawn, agonizing moans echo through the dark room, which is lit only by the naked bulb dangling overhead. It’s been hours since I’ve last taken a piss, and at the moment, that’s the only thing consuming my thoughts. Not the middle-aged man whose life is slowly seeping out of the wounds I poked into his body, or the fact that I’m about to add another soul to my morbid collection. No, I’m thinking about the thirty-two-ounce coffee I downed before dragging this poor sap’s ass into the interrogation room about six hours ago, which has gone it’s rounds through my body and is just as ready as I am to make an exit.