Page 36 of Caught in a Storm
“Okay, yeah, sorry. I’ll shut up. Go ahead. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
And now Billy is nervous, too, as if Margot has never written her name before.
Fortunately, though, she has, and she does it perfectly: a big scribbly M followed by “Hammer.” It’s a rock-and-roll signature if ever there was one.
“Awesome,” says Grady. “Kid Rock stopped by a few summers ago. He said he was too fucked up to sign, which I totally get. He bought two Lynyrd Skynyrd records and a T-shirt, though.”
Margot looks around. “I really like your store,” she says.
Grady beams. “Yeah? Well, thank you. Are you back to…” He moves his Sharpie from one hand to the other. “Wait, why are you back? Is it…is it because of the Internet stuff? You and Billy?”
Margot looks at Billy, clearly embarrassed, and so is Billy, and now Grady is smiling at them like a dad before prom. “Are you two, like, on a date?”
“G, stop it, we’re just…” Billy doesn’t know what comes after the word just.
Margot twists the toe of her right boot into the smooth cement floor. “I was in a hurry last time I was here,” she says. “I feel like maybe I should’ve stayed for one more drink.”
“Yeah, totally,” says Grady. “So, what’re you guys gonna do?”
Grady was right before, back at Hot Twist a week and a half ago. Margot really is shorter than you’d think. Billy read somewhere once that her real name is Margie Willis, which is far less intimidating than Margot Hammer. Margie Willis is just a pretty woman, smart- and shy-looking, who showed up at his door earlier with a little bag slung over her shoulder, like a time traveler. And now she’s standing in a record shop, waiting to hear how Billy answers Grady’s question.
His mind goes blank, as minds do, as if he hasn’t lived here his entire life. He and Caleb sometimes play a game called Wrong Answers Only, so a few seconds pass during which he can think only of terrible options. A couple of foot-longs at Subway. A quick swim in the disease-infested Inner Harbor. A dogfight followed by the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru.
He looks out the front window. It’s breezy out there and late-day sunny—just the right amount of warm. Behind Margot, scrawled next to her newly added signature, he sees Cal Ripken, Jr.’s distinct autograph, and the night starts to take shape in his mind. Food, drinks, a sunset, a nice view of the stars. “Do you like baseball?” he asks.
“Baseball?” says Margot.
“Oh, right,” says Grady. “Good idea. The goddamn Red Sox are in town.”
“I like baseball,” she says.
“Oh, and look at this.” Grady jogs to the other end of the store and returns with a new Orioles cap, fresh off a rack of hats. It’s black and white with the old-school cartoon bird logo and an orange bill. Margot slides it onto her head and looks up at them.
“Perfect,” says Grady. “On the house. Don’t tell Patty, though. She hates when I give stuff away.”
“Does it make my ears look weird?” Margot asks.
Billy assesses Margot’s ears. They’re sticking out a little, because that’s what happens when women put on baseball caps, like a weird quirk of their anatomy. “Nah,” he says. “They look great.”
She touches a lobe, obviously doubting this. “They have drinks there, right?”
Grady waves at them on their way out and tells them to have a good time—still dad-like. He even stands at the door smiling when they leave.
“Hey, is that…” someone asks someone else as they pass. Margot ignores them, so Billy does, too. Some other people look, which is weird but exciting. No one’s ever really looked at him before.
Tonight is Billy’s last night in Fells Point. As they stand on Thames Street, he imagines the neighborhood from Margot’s perspective. Daquan is one block over, pounding away. The sun is moving toward the horizon. The twinkly lights strung around the outdoor eating area at the Greek restaurant next door come on, and people are out with their tattoos and interesting outfits and cool beards. Like always, there’s music everywhere.
“It’s not like how everyone says,” says Margot.
“What isn’t?”
“Baltimore,” she says. “I thought it’d be, I don’t know, more murdery.”
Billy might never see this woman again after tonight. That’s a very real possibility—maybe even a likelihood. At any moment, she could hop into another janky cab and simply vanish, like before. As long as she’s here now, though, he figures he might as well enjoy it.
“Be patient,” he says. “The night is young.”
Chapter 22
