Page 85 of Chasing Lynda

The obituary is obviously for me, but I’m not dead. I keep staring at the newspaper, reading those words over and over and wondering if it’s some kind of trap.

Is Aaron trying to lure me back home by faking my death?

The guys are still talking about moving the night club to the beach and what kind of license they might need, but I can barely hear them.

My ears are roaring with my heartbeat as I try to make sense of those few lines at the back of the Bridgeport Herald.

Then it hits me.

It talks about a fire. Maybe the people from church did see me on the beach last week; maybe they told Aaron about it and he was on his way to get me.

I feel bile rise to my mouth at the idea that my psycho-ex knew exactly where I was.

But then Monroe started that fire in my room and the only reason why there isn’t a sixth body to identify is that I was with Dodge all night.

I was with Dodge but I left my meager belongings the hotel room I was given for the weekend as part of my wet t-shirt contest prize.

My social security card and driver’s permit were in my backpack and that was lost in the fire ...

What if some of that stuff survived the fire and the authorities contacted my family? It makes sense that they’d be trying to get in touch with them if the police think I died in the fire. Maybe they think I’m the woman that’s so badly burned that even dental records can’t provide a positive ID?

I swallow slowly, willing my heart to slow down its frantic rate. That makes sense but the small obituary doesn’t fit Aaron’s MO.

All I can think is that Mom put that obituary in the local newspapers. Aaron would either use a traumatic event like a death to gain support and positive media attention, or he would keep it quiet if he thought that there was nothing to be gained from making it public knowledge.

I read that short, unassuming announcement again. I’m convinced that it isn’t from Aaron.

I need to calm down and think rationally. If Aaron thinks I’m dead, he’ll stop looking for me and that means that I’m free. But how can I be certain that it isn’t a trap?

For a second, I think I can try to reach out to Mom. Last I knew she was staying with Ausra’s mother and—no.

I shake my head, frustrated. Calling Mom is too risky. If that’s a trap, I’d play right into Aaron’s hands.

“Here you go! Zane’s special chocolate chip waffles for the lady!” Zane puts a plate laden with food in front of me but I didn’t expect it and I was so deep in thought that I startle.

“Oh, fuck!” I jump, knocking the mug of steaming hot coffee Carter had just topped up for me. My legs are covered in scolding hot liquid. “Ouch!” I gasp, standing up abruptly and taking a step backward and away from the table.

I stop against Zane’s solid chest. “Lynda, baby! I’m so sorry!”

His arms close around me, lending me some support. Between what I read on the paper and the nuclear hot coffee; I’m shaking.

“We need to cool down your skin with some cold water, or you’ll get a nasty blister,” he says, turning me around so that our fronts are touching.

Zane’s arms feel safe and comforting and I’m about to say that I’ll be all right, when I notice that his eyes are fixed on the table. The paper is still opened on the page with that strange obituary; did Zane see it?

Before I have a chance to think about it any further, all the guys are around us, fussing around me.

“Zane, what the fuck, dude? I told you a million times not to sneak up on people like that. Look what you’ve done! Lynda, does it hurt?”

Zane tightens his arms around me, taking a step back from his friends. “Fuck you, Dodge! Of course I didn’t fucking mean to scare Lynda. It was an accident.”

Carter approaches us from the opposite side, extending a hand to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Come on guys, calm down. Let’s just make sure that Lynda is ok,” he says, trying to coax me out of his best friend’s arms and into his own. “But Dodge is right, Zane. You move so quiet, like a fucking ninja. We should put a bell around your neck.”

Zane relaxes just a fraction at Carter’s joke. “Well fuck, no one complained about me being quiet when I made breakfast for everyone at the Gamma house after a party!”

Dodge shakes his head. “That’s right. But we aren’t living in a frat house anymore. We have a housekeeper and she doesn’t mind cooking us breakfast, you know?”

Zane drops his arms, taking one of my hands in his. “I was just trying to do something nice for everyone. Since we’ve been a little stressed with the hotel, trying to fix things. But if it isn’t appreciated—”

---