Page 39 of The Party Plot

“Laurel couldn’t drive. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Melody frowned. “You two are—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Laurel caught the flash of Casey’s eyes in the rearview mirror, then he was back to looking out over the road. “Why don’t you tell us what happened? It can’t really be worth throwing yourself into traffic about.”

“Yeah, seconded.” Laurel took a breath, putting his hand over Melody’s where it rested on the seat. His heart was still pounding, his stomach tight. He studied the nape of Casey’s neck, the clean line of his collar, wondering what he was thinking.

“Nothing happened.” Melody huddled against the window, her good foot tucked under her opposite thigh. “I mean, it was the same as always. I was out for brunch with Kierra. She went home and I stayed out. And then he showed up, and he wouldn’t let me leave. He kept feeding me drinks even though I didn’t want them, and he was g-gloating about how his brother had gotten the restraining order thrown out and h-how—how I’ll never get away from him—” She closed her eyes, tears spilling out from under her lashes. “It’s always the same shit.”

“It’s not your fault,” Laurel said quietly.

Melody shook her head. “Itis. I’m—I’m a mess. Everything he says about me is right. I’m so disgusted by myself, Laurel.”

“Wrong. He’s the disgusting one.”

“I don’t know.” She leaned back against the seat, eyes closed. “God, I’m sorry. Casey, I’m sorry you had to be here. How embarrassing.”

“It’s okay,” he said tightly.

“I really did want to get to know you better. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“Really, it’s fine. I hope you feel better.” They were coming into Melody’s neighborhood, the streets slick with water, the marsh behind the housing development a dark mass, stretching out toward the sea. Sheet lighting flickered somewhere far up in the clouds, and Laurel could see in its eerie light that Casey’s hands were tight on the wheel, his knuckles pale. “I’ll just drop y’all off,” he said.

“No.” Laurel bit his lip, not sure what he meant to say, only sure that he didn’t want to let Casey out of his sight, not yet. Melody gave him a look. Despite the smeared makeup and the glaze of alcohol, her eyes were curious and perceptive.

“Please come in,” she said. “Let me get you a drink, or something. It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t—” Casey said, but Melody was already clambering out of the car, unsteady and chaotic in one heeled wedge and one bare foot. Laurel rushed after her, worried she would trip on the stairs. He didn’t have time to see if Casey was following, but he didn’t hear the engine start back up, either.

In the kitchen, Melody was clattering around, yanking a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and pulling glasses out of cupboards. “Do you want something?” she asked.

Laurel looked at her helplessly. “Honey. It’s the last thing you need.”

He felt awful for saying it, because her face fell, and the tears returned to her eyes. “Fuck,” Melody said after a moment. “You’re right. Fine.” She pulled the stopper out of the bottle and started emptying it down the sink. The air in the little kitchen took on an acrid, flammable quality that made Laurel’s eyes sting. “I should quit anyway. It’s not helping. There are beers in the fridge, too. Would you help me get rid of those?”

He had just picked up a can when he heard Casey’s voice over his shoulder. “You can’t.”

Laurel turned around. Casey was standing in the middle of the dining room, his eyes ringed in white, his hands at his sides.

“What do you mean?” Laurel asked.

Casey looked past him, at Melody, who was wiping down the sink. He crossed his arms. “Look, I don’t know you. I don’t know how much you drink. But it’s not safe to just quit anything cold turkey, not if you’ve been doing it for a long time.”

Melody offered him a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Casey shook his head. “You should go to the hospital.”

“No way. They’d recognize me. It’s humiliating.” Melody sighed. “Besides, this isn’t the problem, not really. Everything has to go.” She pushed past him, down the hall toward her bedroom. Laurel heard her rummaging around in there, pulling out dresser drawers.

He bit his lip, looking at Casey. Had it really just been an hour ago that they had been tangled up with each other on the sofa, Casey’s hand on his belt buckle and the taste of cinnamon sugar on his lips? He opened his mouth to say something, to apologize, maybe, but Casey cut him off.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah.” He was exhausted, the can of beer in his hand suddenly feeling like it was made of lead. For a moment, he almost wanted to cry. “She’ll be okay. It’s not—it’s not to that point, you know?”

And then he felt like a dizzy little idiot, because Melody came back into the room with two baggies in her hand, one containing a little bit of cocaine and one bulging with what could only be called a shit-ton of assorted pills.

“Jesus, Melody,” Laurel said, before he could stop himself.

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