Page 100 of The End of Summer

BRADY

When I finally wake up, it’s after 1:00 in the afternoon.

My head pounds, like worse than if I was badly hungover.

Then it all comes back to me and hits me like a tidal wave.

He tried to end my relationship with Gretchen. He specifically said the words, “You will give her some space.”

Then, he just walked away. And I let him.

To be fair, he was carrying a gun.

Let me back up.

I got the call from Big Mike. I had to wake my mom up and explain what was going on, but I didn’t have a lot of time to waste, since I was a three hour drive from Wellingham, so I gave her a kiss goodbye and told her I would call her from the car to explain, which I did. My poor mom was so confused at first. But I walked her through the whole story step by step, and (in true Mom fashion) while she was disturbed to hear that I had been stripping, she was happy to hear that I had “reclaimed my love of dance.”

Go figure.

I think she was able to let it go pretty easily because I told her I was done with it. Also, we’d just spent a whole evening together discussing my plans for the future.

I stopped at the ATM and basically drained my bank account between the $1,000 I needed for bail plus the $40 non-refundable fee per person I’d have to pay to the bail clerk. By the time I arrived at the police station, it was almost 6:00 in the morning. I informed the officer at the desk that I had come to post bail for Gretchen Andrews and Michael Evans. The bail clerk had already been sent there for several others from the party, so I didn’t have to wait, which was good. I paid the money and was issued a receipt for each of them. Then, Gretchen’s father came out into the waiting room.

“Brady,” he said.

“Hi, Mr. Andrews.”

“You bailed her out?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You knew about this?”

“About what, exactly?”

“Her employment situation?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He bobbed his head up and down, stuck in his thoughts.

“Brady, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me.”

“Okay.”

“Is my daughter a stripper?”

“God, no!” I replied. “No, sir. Not even close. She was hired to be a shot girl. She sometimes pole dances, but never without her clothes,” I explained. “Honestly, sir. Never.”

“Okay.” He exhaled. “One other thing.”

“Sure.”

“The other girls are saying she was left in charge. Is this true?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Arrow thinks highly of Gretchen.”

“I wasn’t sure if they were just trying to throw her under the bus, you know?”

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