Page 18 of A Night to Remember

For one thing, Kayla looked amazing. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was tousled—she must have had to rush home from work to meet me. I know some guys prefer women to be more made-up, but I find a natural look a thousand times sexier. Or maybe it’s just that Kayla’s so beautiful, it doesn’t matter what she wears. It took all the strength I had to avoid staring at her.

With Gretchen, nothing was as it seemed. I’m not sure that I ever even saw her without make-up. She always seemed to be playing a role, even in our most intimate moments. And then, towards the end, she was outright lying to me. But in high school at least, Kayla had never been anything less than brutally honest. And open. She may have something against me now, but I know that she isn’t pretending to be something that she’s not.

Still, I wish I could understand her wariness around me. I want her to know that she can trust me—though she must, at least a little, if she let me into her home and showed me her records. She never invited me inside in high school. It had felt oddly moving—intimate, even—to catch that glimpse of her everyday life.

“—of course Russ Hurley neverhasliked Blake Petrovic since that unpleasantness about Russ’s stepdaughter, but now they’ll practically be in-laws, you know what I mean, Gabe?”

I tune back into Mark and manage to put last night and everything associated with it out of my mind until lunchtime. Nancy, the receptionist, comes in to drop off some paperwork related to a code violation. She cuts across Mark’s monologue with a question of her own.

“Your folks busy getting ready for Hungry Hearts, then?” she asks with a smile.

“My sister-in-law, Lucy, is the chair of the organizing committee this year, so yeah, it’s pretty much taken over family life. I mostly try to ignore it,” I admit.

“Is your mom expecting you to go?” I know this is a roundabout way of bringing up my split from Gretchen and the obvious fact that I don’t have a date. I’m sure Nancy knows I’m no longer engaged—there are no secrets in Kentwood—but she probably doesn’t knowwhyand is dying to find out. She’s good people, though, and seems to resist the urge to pry.

“Probably,” I sigh. “I’m trying to ignore that, too.”

Mark wraps up his theories about the pit bull/cocker spaniel affair. “I’m going over to Meg’s for lunch,” he says, hitching his belt up over his round belly. “Anyone want to come with me?”

“Where?” I ask.

“The Kentwood Café,” Nancy clarifies. “Have you been in there yet? Meg McAllister bought it a while back and fixed it up real cute. But don’t worry, they still have burgers!”

The Kentwood Café. Kayla. I have no idea if my presence there will be welcome or not. But I’m stopping by her house tonight, and I don’t want to risk pissing her off beforehand.

“No, I think I’ll stay here,” I reply. “I’ve got some stuff to work on.”

“Not applications for another job, I hope,” Mark chuckles. “Nancy and I have an evil plan to keep you in Kentwood.” He gives Nancy a conspiratorial wink.

“No, no, nothing like that,” I say, forcing a guilty laugh. They must know this job is just temporary, right? “See you later. Enjoy your lunch!”

With the two of them gone, I take a minute to enjoy the silence, gazing absently at the stack of old building permits I had been working on before. I halfheartedly visit a few bar exam preparation websites, but quickly lose interest. In truth, Mark and Nancy have nothing to worry about: passing the bar and finding another job seem like completely insurmountable challenges. If nothing else, helping Kayla resolve her mortgageissue is a welcome distraction. I open a blank document and begin drafting a letter on her behalf.

“He shoots,he scores! Another slam dunk for Hadyn Wilson, greatest center of all time!” My three-year-old nephew squeals in delight as I hold him up high next to the basketball hoop in Adam’s driveway. His wife Lucy pressured him to lower it to kid-height, but it’s still just out of reach even for their oldest, Tyler, who’s seven.

“Me next, me next!” My niece, a scruffy six-year-old with a jack-o’-lantern smile, yanks on my elbow.

“Then there’s Maddie Wilson—don’t let her size fool you, folks, she’s easily the best power forward this state has ever seen—look at that! Nothing but net!” I hoist up a wiggling Maddie so she can easily swish the ball through the basket.

Tyler snags the ball as it bounces to the ground and dribbles over to his dad. Adam steals it from him—there’s no way he’d just let that kid win—and hurls it towards the basket. It ricochets off the backboard and rolls into the front yard.

“What were you talking to Kayla Johnson about yesterday?” Adam confronts me as the kids scamper off into the grass.

“I think the bank might have made a mistake in her case and told her so.”

“Little bro, that’s none of your business.”

“No, but it’s in the bank’s best interest to uphold its policies, and she ought to be able to explore any option that would keep her in her house.”

“She has no other option if she has no money.”

“She does?—”

“No!” Adam cuts me off. “Look, Dad was upset yesterday. He thought you were going behind his back, undermining his expertise. He just didn’t want to say anything because he knows you’re in a bad place. But people like Kayla Johnson need to learn to take responsibility.”

“This is a woman who is putting her own life on hold to help her mother, and you’re talking about responsibility?”

“Look, I have a job, you have a job, sort of, we pay our bills?—”

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