Page 65 of Just a Client

“Well, young man, how are you and Amaryllis faring at bunco today?” one of the new players asked. She gripped my bicep and gave it a squeeze, testing the merchandise. Her gossamer silver-white hair stood four or more inches tall, shellacked into perfect waves with enough hairspray I could smell it. And the sweet chemical scent of Aqua Net did nothing good for my stomach.

I searched the table for my bag of popcorn—gone.

This was not my day. Not my week.

The saliva flooding my mouth warned me I was ready to vomit. I swallowed hard and lurched to my feet, bumping the card table, spilling drinks, and knocking dice to the floor.

The apology I mumbled came out as one word. “Sorry-I-need-air.” One hand clapped over my mouth, I tried to forestall the inevitable.

The red glow of an exit sign ten feet away beckoned. And with the mayor calling my name, I fled, hitting the bar across the door with all my strength while praying no emergency alarm would sound.

Freedom!

The afternoon sun temporarily blinded me. Squinting against the light, I tipped my head back and took a few long cleansing breaths. Fresh spring air chased away the smells that threatened to make me puke.

I blinked, and a hillside carpeted in bluebonnets came into focus across the road. I lowered to sit on the curb at the edge of the parking lot. In the wildflower field, a family posed for pictures. Mom and daughter in matching pink dresses, dad in khakis and a white shirt. A photographer circled a large camera held to her face. The family clustered together, a beacon of love and happiness.

I sat too far away to hear anything, but watching the sweet family scene play out drove home how alone I was. Dropping my spinning head into my hands, I came close to crying. I hit rock bottom. Drunk in the middle of the day. Alone in a dusty VFW parking lot, jealous of a family of strangers making happy memories. I burped cinnamon-flavored gasoline and shuddered.

High time I admitted that I wanted more. Not money, but meaning in my life.

I didn’t have ennui; I had chronic loneliness. It was easy to ignore my condition until the perfect woman strode naked from a pool and chucked a dead rat at my hollow chest.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed as I wallowed in self-pity, trying not to throw up. But it was long enough that bunco must have finished unless they played best two out of three.

The whoop of a police siren jerked my head up. An Elmer sheriff’s department cruiser rolled to a stop in front of me. I looked up, shielding my eyes from the sun, but I already knew who would be driving. Because today was that kind of day.

“You look like shit, Phillips.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

“You need a ride?” Colton’s big friendly grin should have been the first sign that getting into his car was a bad idea.

Chapter 24

Cameron

Istumbledoutmydoor and down the front steps, a half-full coffee cup in one hand. Sleep had been scarce last night. I’d tossed and turned, my brain overcrowded with thoughts that ranged from what I talked about with Jude to where the hell Wilson was. All afternoon, I tried to find him. I looked everywhere. All the restaurants and bars in town, his rental house, and most of the stores and shops. I even knocked on the door of his buddy’s vacant vacation place on the river.

No Wilson.

He was a full-grown adult and not my responsibility. But still, didn’t he understand that going off the grid after day drinking with my grandma and getting a contract on Blue Star would cause me concern? Not like the mayor had answered my calls, either. Everyone was on my shit list this morning.

I stifled a yawn as I waved at Wanda, who was on her morning power walk with Dwight Yoakam, her obese bulldog. The pair picked up speed, huffing in my direction with purpose. I scooped up my copy of the local paper while I waited for them and pulled it out of the plastic sleeve.

The front page of the Elmer Gazette had a full-color photo of the TV shoot from the town square below the masthead. Wilson and I stood toe to toe dead center. Our clenched fists and hard jaw lines screamed hostility, but we tipped toward one another, inches from a lover’s embrace. Huh, I guess that’s what Jude was talking about. I recalled the moment—the pulsing anger that had Wilson and me at each other’s throats. But if I was honest, simmering underneath the anger was enough lust to make me flush even now.

I refolded the paper and tucked it under my arm. I would need a second cup of coffee before I read the article. No way it would be kind to me, Wilson, or Vacation Dream Homes. All the old fights about outsiders and locals dredged up to sell a few papers.

“Is he still in jail?”

I almost dumped my coffee cup.

Wanda didn’t even say good morning. No, she just dropped a nuclear bomb without preamble. Her face was a mixture of excitement and curiosity behind her signature cat-eye glasses. Dwight looked up at me, panting expectantly.

“Oh, God... not Wilson. Please tell me you’re asking about anyone in this whole blessed town but Wilson Phillips.” My voice trembled, but I couldn’t tell if rage, frustration, or fear was to blame.

“Oh, honey.” She put a gentle hand on my arm. “Did you not know? Surely Amaryllis or the sheriff told you. It all went down in the VFW parking lot.”

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