Page 107 of Close Match
I wipe the tears of mixed laughter and pain from my eyes as I order. Realizing I used all my cash at the bar, I hand over my card to swipe at the window. Greedily, I begin chugging the drink when I realize I have to take a piss. “Hey, are your bathrooms open?” I ask the drive-thru cashier.
She shakes her head. “No, sir. You can try the Wawa down the road a ways.”
I wave as I pull away from the window.
By the time I get to Wawa, I need to take a leak so badly, I leave the Jag running and race inside holding my crotch. All the urinals are in use, so I bust into a stall. My movements are so jerky, my phone—precariously pocketed at best—falls into the toilet. “Fuck,” I yell out. Ah, the hell with it, I think. I don’t have time to deal with a phone that’s likely destroyed. I’ll get a new one.
So, I drop my zipper long enough just to pee all over it, the seat, and the floor. The relief is so pervasive, I brace myself on the stall, not realizing I’m still peeing, this time on my shoes.
I tuck the most crucial shit away and walk out of the bathroom, hearing screeching behind me.
Jesus, how many men had to take a piss? And why were their damn urinals set so high? You’d have had to have arced your dick to land in those fucking things.
I almost collide with a guy coming out of the bathroom on the other side. Slapping him on the back, I think I’m whispering when I tell him, “Dude, you just came out of the women’s room.” Then I begin to laugh uproariously.
It’s the last coherent memory I have. I don’t remember him shoving me away. I don’t remember leaving or getting back in my car.
But I do.
And in some alarming ways, it may have saved my life.
Sixty-Five
Evangeline
“You want to see what your ‘help’ has done?” I shiver as he gets closer. His anger is palpable. “You want to see what hope got him? Where faith led him? Then fine, let’s go.”
I hesitate, not because I don’t want to be there for my father when he wakes up in a few hours, but because something is off with Monty. There’s a subtle tremble to his body, and he reeks as if he hasn’t showered in three days. “Do you want me to drive?” It’s so late, and he looks like he’s ready to collapse at the wheel.
“Just get in the damned car, Linnie.”
My guilt about the transplant possibly failing carries me to the passenger-side door. I don’t know who I’m dealing with right now. This isn’t the man who touched my heart and my body with such care the other night. This is a man filled with so much undirected rage, I don’t know what to do.
Other than being there.
Slamming into the car, he engages the engine and peels out of the driveway. I yelp as one of the larger pieces of gravel flies up and slams into the windshield, turning a small chip into a larger crack. “Monty, slow down!” I cry out.
“I’m trying to get us there as fast as I can. You don’t know what they said. You won’t get in there to see him. Are you going to run back to…” He’s so busy snarling at me he doesn’t slow down for the snakelike turns that run along the property line.
“Monty, please slow down,” I beg. There’s something else wrong; I know it. I can’t pinpoint what it is.
“What did you do with my phone? It’s your damn fault I went into the women’s room.” His words make no sense.
“What?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to distract him. As it is, we’re crossing the double yellow line too much for my liking.
“I hate the idea it was you who saved him. Happy? You’re not a damn hero. You’re someone who just invaded our lives and is going to leave. Why did you come at all?” His eyes come off the road to glare at me. As we pass under a lamppost, I see they’re shot through with red as if he’s been crying. My feet kick a sandwich bag at my feet. Well, that accounts for the stains on his clothes. But why does he smell like…
“Pull off and let me drive,” I beg him. “Please.”
“Why?” The car lists dangerously to the left. “I like fast. You like slow. Even fucking,” His smile is predatory.
“I just want us to get there safely,” I plead. I’m dying a thousand deaths inside as memories begin to flash through my mind of my mother coming in and Patrick sending me to my room.
“Safe?” His voice is full of derision. “Safe is an illusion created by people trying to sell you something.”
The car swerves as Monty turns to look at me. My heart races in fear as we pick up speed.
“If I learned th’anything my life, it’s that nothing is safe. No one can ’scape thiss living nightmare. Day after day.” His words come out slurred. My heart sinks at the confirmation he’s been drinking. But this is worse than the few drinks he’s had dinner or even the occasional one in our room at night. This is my past nightmares come back to life.
