Page 4 of About That Night

Now that my heart has stopped racing and I no longer feel like I’m going to blackout, I eye Chastity. She looks tired. Maybe a little sad. Her shoulders are slumped, and her expression is troubled.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. Which is a stupid question. I just accused her of having my secret child. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or accuse you, it’s just the timing…”

She shrugs. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. I understand. It was a fair question. Go sit with your grandfather. Visiting hours are almost over.”

I hesitate. “What time do you get off work?”

“What? Why?” She reaches up and pulls her hair back off of her face, twisting it into a knot. A hair band appears out of nowhere, and she secures the pile.

Her face is thinner than it used to be, and she has faint bruising under her eyes, like she needs more sleep. She has the vibe of someone who is just absolutely worn out, and I don’t like seeing that. She glances at her phone several times with a distracted and worried look. This is not a woman who appears to have had a lot of fun recently, and while I may be lacking in certain qualities like knowing when to shut my fucking mouth, I do know how to have a good time.

“Let’s meet for a drink.” I give her a smile.

But Chastity is having none of it. She tilts her head. “Absolutely not. I know exactly what that means.”

So do I. That’s why I’m asking. It seems like we can both really use the distraction. “Come on, Chastity. Just one drink at The Swamp.”

“The Swamp? Oh my God. I haven’t been there in years. That was where we used to go when we were underage idiots.” She bites her lip. “I really shouldn’t.”

“What time does your shift end?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll meet you there at nine, then. We can catch up on old times.” I reach over the counter and pick up her phone.

“What are you doing?” she asks, reaching back out for her phone. “Give me that!”

I suspect if she wasn’t at work, she’d wrestle me for it, but she’s trying to stay professional.

“I want to see if you still have my number.” Her screen saver is her with her son. The little boy is giving a toothy grin and squeezing her tightly. She’s hugging him back. The love is palpable. It gives me a weird feeling that I don’t understand, so I ignore it. “This is a great picture.”

“Thank you.” She holds her hand out again, more pointedly. “Give me my phone back. I still have your number. I never deleted it.”

I keep the phone, but I’m not looking at it. It’s just a negotiation tool. “I’m not sure I believe you because you haven’t texted me in two years.”

“You haven’t texted me either.”

She has me there.

“You left,” I say. She’d rolled out practically at dawn. It occurs to me now it probably had something to do with her son. “I was dejected and forlorn.”

Chastity laughs, and it makes me feel like a million bucks that I’ve put a smile on her face. “Hank Williams Young. You haven’t changed at all.”

“The Williams is silent,” I tell her.

The corner of her mouth turns up. “Unlike you. Fine. I’ll see you at nine. Now give me my phone, please.”

I hand the phone to her, wondering why she didn’t tell me in New Orleans that she had a son. I’m trusting that Chastity wouldn’t lie to me, but she definitely left out a vital piece of information about herself. In my initial relief, I didn’t think about that, but now I’m curious what her explanation will be. “Perfect. You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.” But there’s no edge to her words. She’s looking at me fondly.

Something shifts inside of me, and I don’t understand what it is or what it means, but I have a feeling this isn’t a continuation of what we’ve shared before, it’s just the beginning. I’m not even sure what I mean by that. But the air feels like it does before a storm. Unsettled.

Which makes me a little unnerved.

So I wave to her and head back to Pops’ room.

“Are congratulations in order?” he asks. “Do I have a great-grandchild?”

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