Page 92 of College Town

“I will,” Tommy stresses, as a man hops out and goes to open his door for him.

“Uh-huh.”

Tommy frowns, and his hand lifts, as if he means to touch…but he climbs into the car instead, and Lawson feels a spot of cold on his arm where Tommy’s hand might have landed.

28

You can’t put the cat back in the bag, or the genie back in the bottle. I guess, technically, you could gather up all the worms and put them back in the can, but your hands are gonna be real damn dirty afterward.

You can try to pretend your life hasn’t changed, but there’s always going to be nasty stuff caked under your nails. Ithaschanged. There’s no helping that.

~*~

Kyle gives him a dirty look, but says nothing when Lawson clocks in. Huh. Guess he does still have his job.

“Hi, Lawson.” Melissa greets him with a tight uncharacteristic hug and he hovers his arms over her shoulders uncertainly, only hugging back when he realizes she isn’t going to let go until he is. “I’m so sorry about your aunt.”

“My aunt?”

“Your cousin called and told us what happened. It sounds terrible! Is she going to be okay?”

Head spinning, Lawson says, “Uh, yeah. We think so.” He’ll have to ask his “cousin” about the cover story later.

Jen adds her condolences and wishes for a speedy recovery for his imaginary aunt, and then the post-lunch student crowd starts spilling in through the doors, and he just has time to tie on his apron before he’s due at the register.

At first, it all seems so normal that he starts to wonder if the past two days were some sort of hallucination. A drunken fever dream, or a long-overdue psychotic break. Maybe he reallydidn’tget stalked by mobsters. Maybe he didn’t spend the night in Tommy’s rented mansion, with Tommy in his bed. Maybe everything’s going to be as boring and normal as ever.

But then his firstcustomercustomer appears at the counter.

Lawson thinks nothing of the guy at first: he looks like your average student: stupid haircut, layered, too-tight flannels, beanie, skinny jeans. He wears jewelry like it’s a uniform, and if he looks a little glassy-eyed and distanced, well, who doesn’t these days.

“Lemme get a soy latte,” he says.

“’Kay.” Lawson fixes it, sets it down, and reads the kid his total.

In exchange, he’s handed a ten-dollar bill…and a folded piece of blue paper.

Lawson’s whole body goes cold and clammy.

Shit. Fuck. This is it.

“Let me get your change,” he says, and fumbles between the open register drawer and the front pocket of his apron. Somehow, he gets a little baggie tucked in with the coins and receipt, and hands them over, hand unsteady.

The kid palms his purchase without a blink, and then drops a few big bills in the tip jar.

“Thanks, have a great day!” Lawson says, too loud, shrill, half-hysterical. He checks that no one’s looking, and fishes the cash out of the jar and into his apron.

Then he clutches the edge of the counter and hangs his head a moment, catching his breath.

“Excuse me,” a woman says on the other side of the counter. “Young man.”

When he lifts his head, he finds an older lady with her brows lifted expectantly.

He clears his throat. “Hi, welcome to Coffee Town…” And the day goes on heedless of Lawson’s new pharmaceutical vocation.

Over the next two hours, he fields two more customers, and by the second, he’s got the hand-off down pat, and he manages to sound as bored as the guy who buys thefucking heroinfrom him.

He’s disturbed by the speed with which he dismisses the flop sweats and panicked breathing. Maybe he’s a natural at this. Mom would be so proud.

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