Page 88 of Lost Lyrebird
While I work, I watch and wait for Goose to show himself in any capacity.
When the devices arrive, I steal over in the dead of night and plant GPS trackers on Goose’s bike and the remodeled ’70 Roadrunner in his driveway.But for the most part, Goose is predictable and rarely leaves his home for anything other than simple errands, Wet Tips, visiting the clubhouse, or running club business.
At least twice a week, I visit Dozer’s gym.The guys there gradually warm up to me.It’s slow going, but every so often, one or two will chat me up.
Mostly, I dive into music and dance, which includes co-choreographing a few group routines with Raven.She thinks performing group numbers might be a great way to bring the girls at Wet Tips together and put an end to the cliques.It was an idea I shared when we went out to lunch together, and she wants to run with it.
Outside of the club, I find a local dance studio willing to let me rent space to practice.The time slots are during the day because the kids they teach come in the evenings.And I love it.Getting entirely away from the nightclub to practice helps me work through my emotions healthily.I get to stretch my skills and work in other genres of dance that center me, rather than rile me up.
The owner approaches me shortly after I start there and asks if I’d consider coaching a couple of the more experienced dancers on their senior teams, or be willing to teach a masterclass.To say I’m flattered is an understatement.I don’t need or want the money; just sharing my love of dance is enough.So I accept and end up donating the money back to the studio to assist some of the families struggling to pay their monthly fees.
Staying busy helps keep my anxiety about what’s ahead to a minimum.It’s a coping mechanism—and for quite a while, it works.
When I first opened Goose’s file, I was taken aback by one of the addresses of the rentals he owned—the old duplex he’d been renting when we met.The one he left me to stay in alone.Thankfully, it wasn’t the one he lived in now, but it did make me wonder how that came about.
His buildings are in some of the poorer parts of town, and by all accounts, they’re some of the nicest places to rent for how much he charges.I know this because I “accidentally” ran into a few of his tenants at the grocery store and initiated conversations with them.I mentioned being new in town and looking for a place, but I was worried about reaching out via the ads in the paper or online because I didn’t want to get taken advantage of.They all had nothing but good things to say about Goose as a landlord.Some sang his praises like he was some kind of freaking saint.
Through them and my spying, I learn that Goose and Mateo live on the top floor of their current place, and Goose rents out the apartments below.
I’m not proud of it, but my curiosity about Mateo increases as the days progress.My need to know this side of Goose pushes me past caring about the sins I will no doubt pay for later, and I begin to follow Mateo to school, to his job at Bodie’s autobody shop, and to a park he visits often, where he sits alone by a tree and writes in a notepad.
The image of him there immediately brings back memories of a younger Goose doing the same thing.He’d write in his journals nightly.
Mateo reminds me of Goose in a lot of ways.He’s a lone wolf kind of guy—stoic most of the time.
He spends his free time riding his old Honda Shadow, and every so often, he’ll do some death-defying stunts—pop wheelies, peel out, and take it over a hundred on a straightaway.Once, he stood up on it while I was following him, and I swear to God my heart jackrabbitted so fast with fear for him that I thought that damn thing would fly right out of my chest.
He skips classes quite a bit, smokes cigarettes and weed, and every so often, he’ll sneak out of the house and not make it back until just before dawn.Sometimes on a school night.
This is what I witness on the nights I’m not at the nightclub.
Am I proud of my sleuthing on a teenage boy?No.Does it give me some insight into Goose’s parental style?Yep.
In a way, it’s like Goose isn’t a big part of his life.They never go out together and are rarely in the same place at the same time.Again, the GPS tracker at work.Another sin to add to the list I’m amassing.
The more I watch Mateo, the more questions I have.
Is Goose clueless about his son, or just an awful parent?
Maybe both.
I mean, sure, the kid is obviously not a choir boy.But he’s also not like the other immature and rowdy boys I see at his school.He’s not a childish asshole.If anything, he seems to be just a kid who’s mad at the world, and I’m curious as to why.
His loneliness and silent anger draw me in.
I try to keep my distance.I really do.
But he’s an enigma and a big part of Goose’s life, so in the end, I venture closer.
As I walk into the fast-food joint, the bell above the door jingles.For months, I’ve watched from a safe distance, keeping tabs, never getting too close; however, that decision to stay away changed today.
My footsteps carry me straight to the counter.After eyeing the menu momentarily, I order a Frito pie and a chicken quesadilla.My voice is steady, despite my racing pulse.
For this adventure, I’ve opted for a different disguise: a dark stain over my natural hair color, zero makeup, large prescription glasses that make my eyes appear bigger, and brown contacts.I found the department store polo at the local thrift store, and I’ve paired it with bland khaki pants and ballet flats.I look ordinary, forgettable.
When my order’s ready, I scan the seating area.It doesn’t take long to spot him.Mateo is in a booth to the right, his back is to me.There’s a stunning middle-aged woman with him.She’s facing me.I take note of her carefully constructed appearance.The two have similar features, which they should, seeing as it’s his mother.
It’s the moment I’ve waited for and the reason I braved this close encounter.
