Page 40 of Gator's Gambit
“The truth is, I’m the reason they started this stupid meet, greet, and vet, as you call it, in the first place. A few years back, I met a woman and we dated for a while. In the beginning, the guys liked her well enough, but it wasn’t long before they’d make all kinds of excuses to not include her in group events.
“I couldn’t understand why. One evening we were having a barbecue at Scooter’s place. It’s this big, beautiful place that used to belong to his grandmother. We’d been there for a good long while when Scooter called me to the study. He looked madder than a wet hen.”
I had a sinking feeling I knew where this story was headed but didn’t want to interrupt.
“He told me how my girlfriend had been flirting with them behind my back. They weren’t thrilled about it but had kept quiet because they didn’t want to hurt me. But when she full on made a move on Scooter because she saw he came from money, they were done putting up with her shit.”
“Oh Bean, I’m so sorry she did that to you. You deserved – deserve – so much better than that.”
Godric gives me a sad smile. “Yeah. Well anyway, that’s how it got started, and we’ve just kinda fallen into the habit.” He glances at his watch, and this time Iknowwhat he’s going to say before he says it. “I think I should get going. It’s getting late and you’re exhausted. I’ll give you a call in the morning, and we can make plans.”
“But—” Seeing the sadness in his eyes and feeling like a bitch for being the one to put it there, I nod. “I – sure. Ok. I’ll chat with you then.”
Seeing him to the door, I want to cry at how things turned out. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. Or else I might just find myself dispatched home a lot sooner than anticipated.
19
EVAN
Where is this bitch? I’ve been sitting outside this fucking house in this Godforsaken one-horse hole in the wall for days, and she’s nowhere to be seen. Like she’s disappeared into the ether. I have no idea whether she’s holed up and hiding out, or if she’s fucked off somewhere and I somehow missed it.
I’m sick and tired of this crap – her, this dumb town, and being on this fucking planet. I just want it done so I can go be with my love. I know she’s waiting for me, and I want to be with her.
As I watch the postwoman approach, it hits me. Jumping out of the car, I neaten my clothing and cross the road to intercept her, reaching the gate seconds ahead of her. She catches up, and I smile, hoping to put her at ease. It really wouldn’t do to alarm her and risk blowing my cover.
“Hi. Is that a parcel for Mrs. Gilmore? I’m just about to pop in for a visit, can I give that to her for you?”
The woman, who appears to be rapidly closing in on retirement age, seems a little taken aback at first, but then she smiles. “It’s for young Fancy. I was just going to leave it with Hazel for when she gets back from California, rather than chance it being damaged back at the post office.”
“Makes perfect sense. And it’s very thoughtful of you,” I reply politely, rather than screaming at her that no one cares.
She holds the package out, and I take it, going to great lengths to avoid touching her. I’ve just sanitized my hands before getting out of the car. The thought of touching another person grosses me out, and I fight back the urge to tuck my hands behind my back, out of reach.
“Thank you very much, it’s very kind of you to offer.” She looks at her watch, as if I’m keeping her from going her merry way.
“You’re most welcome. Goodness, where are my manners? I’m Jeff Hofstede, a friend of Fancy’s from San Francisco.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, dear. I’m Mrs. Darlington.” Consulting her watch for the second time in as many minutes, she grimaces. “Well, best I be on my way. Please give Hazel my best.”
And with that, thankfully, the woman takes off down the sidewalk, leaving me with Fancy’s parcel in my hand. For a long time, I debate whether to take the package and sift through it for clues, or whether to give it to her mother in the hopes of pumping her for information.
Deciding it’s probably going to yield better results interacting with the mother, I open the gate to the footpath and make my way to the front door, rehearsing what I want to say as I go. Absently, I notice my hands shaking as I stretch my arm out to stab the doorbell with a finger.
I don’t have long to wait until the door opens – no security gate, chain, or peephole to vet who’s there. Ah, the naïve trust of a small-town dweller. At least she’s got the sense to be wary of me. Not overtly, no, no. That’s not the Southern way. It’s all in the eyes.
“Hello, may I help you?” she asks.
“Yes, hi, I was popping in to say hello to Fancy and met Mrs. Darlington at the gate. She asked me to give this to you.” I hold out the box to her.
“Oh, thank you. Are you a friend of Fancy’s?”
“I am, yes. She told me she was coming home for a visit when I saw her last in San Francisco, and I promised I’d pop in if I happened to be in the area. I travel a fair bit for work, you see.”
“That’s sweet of you. Unfortunately, you’ve missed her. She’s gone off to visit her young man in Riverton, and she won’t be back for a couple of weeks or so.”
“Well, that’s disappointing,” I say, trying my best tolookdisappointed, when I’m elated at the success of my little scheme. “I’ll drop her a text then. Lovely to meet you.”
“Can I at least tell her who stopped by?” she calls, but I’m already making my way back down the path, now in a hurry to leave. I have plans to make, flights to book.
