Golden Trail
Page 43

“I know,” she replied quietly then tilted her head to the side. “Are you back with her?”
“No. We’re workin’ a case together.”
“She’s a detective?”
“She’s a teacher.”
She stared at him a second, thrown, then she smiled and it wasn’t a happy smile.
“A teacher,” she whispered.
“DeeDee –”
“Even with that case with that drug guy who shopped at my store, you didn’t let me work it with you and I begged you to let me help.”
“That wasn’t safe.”
“Is this?” she asked but she knew. She’d called a couple of weeks after he was shot and he’d told her because he figured she’d eventually know. Since he’d left LA, she visited him during her vacations and he definitely didn’t wear a shirt the entire time she was there. Even though she couldn’t know it was the same case, she sure as f**k knew his work wasn’t always a trip through the light fantastic. “You want to be with her,” she surmised.
“It isn’t like that,” he returned.
“Yeah?” She tipped her head again and then pointed to the floor. “A girl knows, Tanner, and during that scene, you didn’t take your eyes off her. And after it, you went after her. You told me to get dressed then you went after her.”
“She just fell to the f**kin’ floor, Melody,” he reminded her, crossing his arms on his chest.
She stared him in the eyes then she whispered, “You went after her.”
“For f**k’s sake,” he clipped.
She bent double and grabbed the handle to her bag, lifting it up, she hooked it on her arm and walked to him.
Her hand came up, fingers fiddling with the lapel on his jacket, her eyes watching them.
“I knew this would look good on you,” she whispered. “But then, anything would look good on you.”
“DeeDee.”
“What’s in those bags,” she jerked her head back to indicate his room, “they’re for you.”
He uncrossed his arms and both hands went to her waist. “DeeDee,” he murmured and her eyes lifted to his as her hand came to his neck.
“I hope you get her back.” She was still whispering and Layne’s hands got tight on her waist. “In those pictures, you looked happy. Even when you’re laughing, you don’t look completely happy, but in those pictures…” She stopped and her fingers squeezed his neck. “I hope you get her back and she makes you happy like that again.”
Then she pulled away from his hands and walked to the stairs and, when she did, Rocky’s face came back into his head.
So Layne stood there and listened to the front door slam.
Then he heard her car door slam.
Then he heard her car driving away.
And he let her go.
Chapter Eight
You Fit
“Do you get it?” Rocky whispered in his ear.
He was on top of her, still inside her, all four of her limbs wrapped tight around him, skin against skin, her body soft underneath him.
“Get what, baby?” he whispered back.
Her limbs squeezed.
“Why I left you?”
* * * * *
Layne’s eyes opened.
He was on his stomach in his bed in his dark room.
He rolled to his back, muttering, “Christ.”
* * * * *
His back was to the weight bench, feet to the floor, he cocked his elbows, taking the weights down then, on an exhale through his teeth, Layne pushed them up.
Tripp came out of his room and Layne’s head turned to the side. He saw his son scratching his ass and shuffling to the bathroom.
“Hey Dad,” he mumbled.
Layne cocked his elbows, “Hey Tripp,” then he pressed the weights up.
He heard the bathroom door close.
* * * * *
Showered, shaved, Layne stood at the island watching Tripp sitting opposite him eating his fourth donut, his eyes across the room on the TV. Blondie, Layne knew even though he couldn’t see her, was lying at the foot of Tripp’s stool licking up powdered sugar residue that fell from Tripp’s donut onto the floor.
Layne held his cell to his ear and heard for the third time that morning, “You’ve reached Rocky’s voicemail… leave me a message.”
He flipped his phone shut and muttered, “Fuck.”
Tripp’s eyes came to him. “What?”
“Nothin’, Pal.”
Layne looked at the clock over the microwave. It was ten after ten. They were supposed to be at her old place at ten. She was supposed to be at his house at twenty to ten. She had the boxes in the back of her Merc, they were taking the Suburban.
She didn’t show.
Layne tagged his keys off the counter and told Tripp, “I gotta get to Rocky’s. We gotta do something at her old place. I don’t know how long it’ll take but I’ll be home by the Colts game.”
Tripp was still looking at him and asked, “Where’s Melody?”
Layne had started to turn to leave, he stopped, looked his son in the eye and answered, “She’s gone, Tripp.”
Tripp kept looking at him. Then he asked, “Gone gone?”
“Gone gone,” Layne confirmed.
Tripp nodded and murmured, “I liked her.”
“I did too, Pal.”
Tripp nodded again, swallowed and looked at the TV. Then he whispered, “Like Rocky better.”
“Tripp –” he started to warn.
Tripp’s eyes came fast to him. “I know what it is but you two fit.”
Layne stared at his son, thrown. “We fit?”
“She does what she believes in too,” Tripp explained.
“What?” Layne asked softly.
“All the work you do for people. Dina Kempler’s Dad, he was a jerk, her Mom couldn’t get rid of him, jackin’ her around all the time even though they’re divorced and you helped. She told me. She told me her Mom found out about you because you helped her Mom’s friend too. You’re practically famous at my school. You don’t think kids talk?”
He knew kids talked he just didn’t know Dina Kempler’s Mom Kim would talk to her daughter about that.
“Tripp, don’t –”
“Mrs. As… I mean Rocky, she spends a whole week making kids listen to rock music. She says lyrics are poetry. She says some of the greatest storytellers are rock stars. They tried to get her to stop but she fought and she won and they still listen to music. It’s not the same but it is. You know? You fit. Melody sells clothes. Her clothes are sweet and she’s nice but you and Melody, you don’t fit.”