Page 122 of Mangled Memory
“I lead security here since we’ve launched, so most nights I’m here with my team.”
“Has it been a success? The launch I mean?”
He nods deeply, studying me more than I’m used to. “I’m pleased with what we’ve built.”
“That’s great.” I extend a hand as if to tap the table but pull back after more consideration. “After the last year, I’m glad something’s going well.”
“Yeah, the last year has been eye-opening.” His gaze is intense on me, not like he’s checking me out. More like he’s trying to see through me.
“Lucky you.” I take a sip of my spritzer. “For me, it’s mostly been shadows and fog. Well, the last six months anyway. I don’t know which is worse—the not knowing, or the feeling of missing something big but being unable to put my finger on it.”
He taps his fingers lightly on the tabletop. His eyes follow movement in the room before settling on me. “What’s the distinction?”
“It’s subtle. I don’t know… I guess there are the blackout times like not remembering our wedding, not knowing what it felt like to open Aspen & Evergreen, missing significant moments, months of… nothing. But then there’s this…” I rub the pad of my thumb down the cuts in the crystal tumbler, enjoying the pattern’s texture against my skin. “I don’t know, not exactly foreboding, but that’s as good a word asany for something hanging over me, over us… And not knowing what it is or how to avoid it, how to escape this impending— I don’t know how to articulate it. One is definable. It happened and I don’t know it. The other is intangible but looming. It’s the boogie man waiting to jump out from behind a corner, but you don’t know which corner or which room, or what the boogie man looks like.”
His fingers stop their tapping. His eyes never leave mine. They bounce around my face as if he’s looking for the truthfulness of my words and he can’t find an answer there.
“Sorry to be such a Debbie Downer. That wasn’t my intent.”
He shakes his head. “Is the feeling of impending doom, that boogie man… is it a result of the fall?”
“No.” I shake my head, my voice dropping. “It’s a gut thing. Too many things don’t add up. And, Ren, you and I both know this wasn’t a fall.” I turn my temple toward him subtly. “Liam has taken to calling it an attempt on my life. And he’s not wrong. I know it. He knows it. Christian knows it. Perhaps you do too.”
Ren’s head bobs once.
“Then Christian was shot and those people in black were wandering the property. Something’s going on. It’s not my memory that’s at issue. Except for the fact that I don’t have the clues to help solve the mystery.” I snort. “I’m Daphne without the rest of the Mystery Gang trying to unmask the unknown villain.”
Ren smiles and, for the first time, I see the handsome man he truly is. He’s no Christian Barone, but he’s no second fiddle either.
“You have a great smile, Ren. You should do that more often.”
“I have a serious job, Mrs. Barone. It’s hard to be taken seriously if I’m smiling.”
“Well, when you’re not working, do it more.” I tap my open palm on the table in front of us. “And it’s Ayla. Please. At least when it’s us. This Mrs. Barone thing is weird.”
He dips his head in a nod and allows a little smile to play on his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” He tilts his head back to the guests. “I need to get back to it. Don’t hesitate if you need something, okay?”
“Keep him safe.” I look toward my husband working the room. “Keep us safe. That’s all I ask.”
“Of course, Mrs. Barone… Ayla.” He slides from the booth, letting his fingers linger on the table for a moment before he strides away, blending seamlessly into the crowd and disappearing.
35
oozy filling
Christian
Vibration in my trousers alerts me to a phone message. By the third one, I excuse myself from the group of investors and slip through the kitchen into the control room of the restaurant and bar. The monitors here show everything. Watching the players interact without my presence is more telling than being in the room.
The last alert is the motion detectors at home showing Fitz leaving my house, heading back to his residence on the property. The two prior are his movements around the perimeter and accessing the side door.
Glancing back to the monitors, I realize my wife sits off to the side alone, moving her fingers up and down an empty rocks glass, lost in thought. She appears pensive which is unusual.
Ren enters the room and jolts at my presence here. I slide the phone into my pocket and offer, “We’re going to head out. You good here?”
“Yes, sir. Have a good evening.” And for some reason I’m not going to delve into, he starts humming the theme song to Scooby-Doo.
“Goodnight.” I see myself out. To my horror, that damn song gets stuck in my head. That was my dad’s era, not mine. Fuck me. Of all the earworms…
