Death Takes a Holiday (13 page)

Okay, I know I’m laying it on a bit thick, but lying is the only way to get out of here without a huge lecture or looks of disapproval for the next few days. She loves Steven, and I’m gambling on the fact she’d like to see us together again.

I believe I’m right because the folds in her forehead disappear. “Fine.”

My smile widens. “Thanks.” I glance at Brian, raising an eyebrow to let him in on what’s really happening. Hope he realizes this is his Christmas present. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Of course not,” he says. “It was good to see you again, however briefly.”

“Lovely to see you again, Renata. See you guys at Christmas!” I say, practically leaping through the open door back inside. My smile doesn’t fade until I shut my bedroom door and a wave of desolation rolls through me strong enough I ball my hands into fists.

I don’t belong out there. That’s my family, my people, and I’m an interloper. A stranger. I should stay. I should
want
to stay, and they should want me to. That’s my nephew and sister-in-law, both of whom I barely know. New family to learn about and share stories with. But they don’t care, and I guess I shouldn’t either. And it’s not even that I moved away, that I’ve missed months of inside jokes and stories. Even if I had stayed, things wouldn’t have been different. Brian still wouldn’t want me around, Nana would still be worried about me. Little more than an annoyance, me. They’re a puzzle, and I’m just a stray piece that ended up in the wrong box. I’ll either be thrown out or left alone. Incomplete.

April was right. I have changed. I don’t fit anymore, if I ever did.

Don’t fit in here, don’t really fit in there. Where do I?

SIX

THE NOT-A-DATE DATE

T
HE
P
REMIERE
L
ANES IN
Chula Vista is not the sort of place you expect to be packed all the time, what with the dingy walls, cracked Day-Glo benches, computers from the dark ages, and smoky odor that will never leave even after years of anti-smoking laws in California, but it is. The shoes are revolting, the lanes scuffed, and the food so greasy you can barely hold onto it. This is where I spent countless hours watching my boyfriend toss a ball down a wooden plank. What can I say? I was quite desperate to get out of the house tonight.

The first familiar face I spot is Leslie Erdman, all six feet of her. The woman is huge in every way: height, weight, face, even laugh. She’s not fat, just thick. Her brown hair barely reaches her shoulders and per usual she wears no makeup. She doesn’t notice me as she walks out of the bar with two Bud Lites. I follow a short distance behind her toward the group.

All the regulars are there already decked out in their bowling shoes. Jawan Epps, former front tackle at USC, current Narcotics detective at Chula Vista PD, takes up two chairs. He has more muscles than I remember bulging out of his white shirt. He makes room as Leslie takes a seat. She hands him a beer, and he kisses her cheek. Guess they’re together now. Mel Daly sits next to Steven across from the couple. He’s about thirty with a shiny bald head and nondescript face. Though he’s Leslie’s partner, they never seem to talk at these gatherings. Sick of each other, I suppose. Steven’s dressed up tonight, at least for him, with a white Izod golf shirt that I’m pretty sure I bought him and blue jeans. He says something to Mel after taking a long sip of his Corona.

Leaning over the top of the chairs on the other side, Kristen Winger eavesdrops on their conversation. I was kind of hoping she wouldn’t be here tonight. She has never liked me, not one whit. I hooked up with Steven a week after he went on one date with her. He chose me, and she’s never forgiven me for it. Why he picked me over her is a mystery. She’s far prettier with a slender body, lustrous long brown hair, and big blue eyes. He said something about no chemistry. She’s on patrol too, but sometimes works for Vice if they need a decoy hooker. That’s how Detective Nick McEwan of Vice joined the group. Skinny, handsome with black Irish looks and cocky smile. The only remnant of his Navy days is the military haircut. Him I know the least. I had a tiny crush on him, so I barely spoke to him.

Finally, rounding out the crew, is Artie Rupp, who stands at the ball rack polishing his custom black ball with swirling flames. He looks—in fact, they all look—fantastic. He’s lost his spare tire and some change and even his usually yellowish pallor is vibrant with life. Nick too. The flecks of gray in his hair have vanished. Kristen appears as if she’s had work done in the face and boob area. That or they’re pumping water from the Fountain of Youth into the Chula Vista water supply.

Artie is the first to notice me. “Holy fucking shit! Look what the cat dragged in. A hot piece of ass if there ever was one!”

All eyes swivel to me. Thank goodness I changed clothes before I came. I went trendy with skinny black jeans, off the shoulder green and black striped shirt, matching sneakers, green headband, high ponytail, and vest leather jacket. The men, especially Nick, drink me in while the women can’t believe what they see. Kristen’s eyes actually narrow. Yes, you are no longer the pretty one. Ha ha.

“Nice to see you too, Artie,” I say graciously.

Steven walks over to me. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

“I know. I’m sorry I’m late. I lost track of time at the bookstore.” I wave at my audience. “Hello, everyone.”

“Bea,” Leslie says with a nod.

“Let’s get you some shoes and a beer,” Steven offers. Lightly, he touches my back to herd me away. I don’t shrink away. “Be right back.”

He lowers his hand as we stroll to the shoe counter where we’re third in line between two groups of teenagers. “I am sorry I’m late,” I say. “You know me and bookstores.”

“Did you get anything good?”

“No. I pretty much have everything I want. I just needed someplace to go. I couldn’t stay in that house with Brian around.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. He was just there with the new wife and baby. I didn’t want to ruin things for Nana.”

“I never got why he was such an asshole to you,” he says, sipping his beer. “I wanted to kick his ass that one time at Nana Liz’s birthday party. All those little digs at you.”

“Well, there were no problems today. I don’t know, maybe fatherhood is mellowing him.”

The first batch of teens walks off with their shoes so we move up. “You look nice tonight,” Steven says. “Not that you didn’t always before.”

“Thanks. I have a friend who’s big into fashion. He’s made me into something of a project.”

“Good. I’m glad you have friends there.”

Now comes an awkward silence lasting three seconds as I stare at the kids in front of us and he drinks.

“Speaking of friends,” I finally say, “do yours mind that I’m here?”

“No, not really. Surprised maybe.”

“Well, thank you for inviting me. Otherwise I’d be suffering though Brian and Renata making goo-goo eyes at each other and the baby.”

“Glad to be of help.”

We step up to the counter, and I order my shoes. Just as I swing my purse to retrieve my wallet, Steven hands the cashier a twenty. “Steven, you don’t have to—”

“I invited you,” he says. “My treat.”

“Then I’m buying the next round of drinks.”

“I doubt anyone will object to that.”

Jawan lines up his next shot when we return. Mel scoots to the end of the cracked bench so Steven and I can sit beside one other. Steven drapes his arm across the back of my seat, and once again I don’t object. The others pretend not to notice.

“So, you’re living in Kansas, huh?” Nick asks.

“Wichita,” I say.

“Must be a magical place,” Artie says. “You look hot. And rich.”

“Artie,” Steven warns.

I finish tying my shoe and sit up. “Thank you.”

“How rich are you?” Kristen asks with a quick sneer.

“Rich enough.”

“Shit, Steve, don’t let her get away again,” Artie says with a swig of his beer. “Try knocking her up this time.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Artie!” Steven shouts. In all the years I’ve known him he’s never raised his voice like that. “Shut the fuck up! My God!”

Artie holds up his hands. “Hey, chill partner. I was just kidding. Bea got the joke, didn’t ya babe?”

“I’m laughing on the inside, Artie,” I say, glaring.

“See man? Stop being so damn sensitive.” He glances at the scoreboard. “Besides, it’s your turn.”

Steven, still scowling, hands me his beer before stepping toward Artie, almost looming over him. “Watch what you say tonight, man. I am getting fed up with your shit.” Steven walks toward the ball rack, shaking his head. All eyes once again fall on me, none too friendly.

“So much for a fun night of bowling,” Kristen mutters.

I seem to have gained a new gift. I can make people hate me in a minute flat. I left Kansas to avoid exactly this, yet here I am dividing a cohesive unit by simply existing. I should just go live in a cave. No, can’t do that. No Turner Classic Movies. Only one thing to do.

A waitress walks by, and I wave her over. “Hi, can I get three Coronas, three Bud Lites, a Dos Equis, and what do you like Kristen? I forgot.”

Kristen is taken aback by my grand gesture. “Um, Corona.”

“Corona, of course. So four Coronas, and you got the rest.” I whip out my Platinum card. “Thank you.”

“Thank
you
,” Mel says.

“No prob.”

“Yeah, you keep buying us drinks we
might
just forgive you for dumping Steven,” says Artie.

I gulp Steven’s beer. “I live for the day, Artie.”

On his second shot Steven makes a 7-10 split. “Yes!” he shouts.

We all applaud at this feat. “Good job!” I call as he struts back over.

“Lucky shot,” Jawan says.

Steven falls back into his seat and once again stretches his arm over my seat. “Talent man. Pure talent.”

I hand him back the beer. “I think you cheated,” I say, mock smugly.

“Oh do you?” Steven asks in amusement. “And how exactly did I accomplish that?”

“Why, magic of course. It’s the only explanation.”

A sharp stab of someone’s nervousness hits me, but I’m not sure whose it is. It’s gone as fast as lightning. Steven smiles. “You got me.”

Kristen’s eye roll can be seen to Los Angeles. “Excuse me, I have to bowl now.” She stands, rolls those blue eyes again, and picks up her ball.

“We each have a frame left then we’ll add you,” Steven tells me.

“Okay.”

“Babe!” Artie shouts out of nowhere.

All eyes follow his to a middle-aged woman with teased platinum hair, skin the color of a deer’s from too much sun, and hot pink tank top over jeans carrying a full tray of beers. I remember her from many a night here. Wanda, who always called me Cutie.

“I saw all these beers and knew they were yours,” she says in a dusky smoker’s voice. She smiles at me as she passes. “And I thought I recognized the name on the card. Hi, Cutie.” She hands everyone their beers, which just goes to show they come here way too often.

“Hi, Wanda,” I say taking my beer.

She sets the now empty tray on the table and whips out my card and bill, which I sign. “Almost didn’t recognize you. Been a long time.”

“Come on, babe,” Artie says, pulling her into his lap. At first he kisses her chastely, then again. The third time they give each other a full oral exam. Some look away, Nick chuckles, but Steven and I glance at each other, both discomforted.

Nobody notices as Kristen strolls back over. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” she says. “If this is turning into couple’s night, I’m gone.”

Artie and Wanda break apart, not at all shamed by their PDA. Nick reaches up to Kristen. “Hey, you can be with Mel and me. We can take turns. Or go all at once.”

Kristen scoffs. “I’m not doing
that
again,” she says in a way that I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Nobody’s expression gives away the answer either. “Leslie, it’s your turn.”

Leslie retrieves her ball and bowls.

“So, whatcha been up to, Cutie?” Wanda asks me.

“I moved to Kansas and now set up daycare centers across the country.” I’ve been saying this so much
I
almost believe it.

“Nice. So you’re just here for a visit?”

I sip my beer. “Maybe. I haven’t really decided yet.”

“You’re thinking about moving back?” Steven asks in surprise.

“Maybe. Things are complicated there. It might be for the best, I don’t know.”

“Why?” Steven asks.

“The job. The people. Being away from my family. It’s just been … harder than I thought it would be.” And I make everything exponentially worse.

“So you’re just giving up?” Kristen asks.

I look her square in the eye. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, it must be so hard buying plastic balls for kids to play in. Poor you.”