Full Share (Shore House Book 1) (18 page)

THE HOLE YOU LEFT BEHIND

“S
afeOne Auto. This is Nora.” There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I hoped more than anything to hear a dial tone.
Please hang up.

“Hello.” The voice was frail. The man on the other end of the line was weak.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Yes. My son—” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “There was an accident. I believe I’m supposed to call this number to find out what’s being done about the car. And the other driver. And his truck.”

“Sure. Do you have the claim number?” I typed in the number as he read it off wherever he’d written it down. His claim must have been recent. I hadn’t heard of the queues being backed up. “Is this Mr. Howe?”

“Yes. Steven Howe, my son . . .” He choked up a little and cleared his throat. “Was driving the car.”

My eyes scanned over my screen. Vehicle One: Honda Civic. Vehicle Two: Eighteen Wheeler. Total Loss. Fatality. “Mr. Howe, have you been contacted before regarding this claim?” It was miscoded. The fatality was only identified in the comments. The claim should have been in a complex unit thirty-six hours ago.

“No, and I’m sorry to bother you with this. My wife is beside herself, and she’s taken to worrying about the car and the other driver to keep from going insane.”

“Please don’t apologize.” I read more as I spoke.
Named insured’s seventeen-year-old son head-on collided with eighteen-wheeler.
“We were just about to contact you regarding the same.”
No skid marks. No signs of averting the loss.
My head pounded. “From the information in front of me, we’ve spoken with the driver of the truck. He sought medical attention the night of the accident and was treated and released from the hospital. He was only sore as of yesterday.”
Driver of Vehicle Two stated he was unable to stop his truck in time. He could see into the insured driver’s eyes as they collided. Insured made no effort to avoid the collision.

“Oh, thank God.”

“Mr. Howe, we have a specialized unit at SafeOne to handle serious accidents such as this. They’re experienced with injuries and total losses.”
And deaths.
“I’m going to transfer your claim to that unit, and someone will be in touch with you today.”

“That’s fine.”

Fine. I knew what fine meant. “Are there any questions I can try to answer for you before we hang up?”

“The answers I need only God has. So, no.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Howe.”

There was a click on the other end of the line, and I feared I’d worsened his pain. If that was even possible. I logged our conversation into the file comments and wrote the claim number on a Post-it note. I put my phone on send and removed the headset that was chained to my head day after day.

Sharon was eating her lunch at her desk the same way she did every day. It was egg salad on wheat from the cafeteria. She sucked Diet Coke through a straw and raised her eyebrows as I approached her desk. “Yes? What are you doing off the phones?”

“A claim was misrouted. It’s a fatality and needs a call back immediately.”

“Did you note it in the file?”

“Of course.”

I waited for her to request the claim number from me. I expected her to pick up her phone and call her counterpart in the complex unit and make something happen for Mr. Howe. Sharon took another bite of her sandwich. Her bright blue sand pail and shovel earrings laid flat against her lobes.

“Do you want the claim number?” I was appalled.

“The claim will be moved to complex based on your notations. Now get back on the phones. Our numbers are up.”

I fought against the rage brewing inside of me. Sharon took another bite and chewed her food with her mouth open. I turned and walked out of our unit. I followed the hall to the other end of the building, where Complex Claims was housed, and found the only manager I knew in the group.

He was perched at a cubicle in the center of the room with all the claim reps’ desks surrounding him. He was the command center. “Nora, what brings you over here?”

“I have a claim.”

“Your own?”

I shook my head. “It was misrouted and it’s a fatality.”

“Have a seat.” He waved his hand to the chair in front of his desk.

“I spoke to the insured on the phone. His son was driving and was killed in the loss.”

“Oh. That’s terrible.” He held out his hand, and I placed the Post-it into it. He entered the numbers into the keyboard and read the file information on the screen. “Oh,” he said as he read. He’d gotten to the heart of the claim. He called over a middle-aged claim rep and handed him the Post-it note. “Whatever you’re doing, I want you to stop and work on this. Read the file first and let me know if you have any questions.”

The claim rep took the file number and returned to his desk.

I stood up to leave.

“You seem upset,” he said, stopping me. “Nothing seemed to upset you when you were in my training class.”

I didn’t know what to say. It didn’t feel like he was done dissecting me.

“It’s okay to feel something.”

“It’s tragic.”

“Thanks for bringing the claim over. We’ll take care of him.”

I walked back to my desk, wishing I could walk home.

According to Tank, I’d bared my soul to him. He now knew more than anyone. My mother assumed I’d had sex years ago. In between her awkward offers to help me obtain birth control, she’d ask if I was gay. Once she even tried to find out what I was “into.” I was into
not
talking about my sex life with my mother, who’d probably forever ruined me for intimacy. There was no one else to tell.

With our alcohol-filled stomachs calmed by slices of pizza, Tank and I began the rest of our stumble home. I nearly fell off the curb waiting for the light to change, and Tank took my hand and wrapped it around his elbow for the rest of our journey.

“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked, sounding completely sober. He made me think he was.

I tilted my head to see him better, but I couldn’t tell. “It was good. You?”

“Great friends, great weather. Great time,” he rambled.

“Amen.”

“Nora.” I knew from his tone that this was important. Tank said so many words in a day, but I was getting accustomed to the highs and lows, the important and the entertaining. “What do you think happens to us when we die?”

“I have no idea.”

“You’ve never thought about it? Not even for a minute?”

“I can’t fathom it. I can’t even grasp the idea of not living, so the afterlife is beyond me. Literally.” Tank smiled at my words and kept us walking. “Why? What do you think happens to us?”

“I think when we die, it blasts a hole in the people who love us. Our souls return for the time it takes to fill in the holes our departure left, to help them survive until we see each other again.”

I stopped walking, unable to move forward with the images in my head.

“Like spackle,” Tank said and lightened my thoughts enough for me to move again.

“What if no one loves you? What if there’s no one to fix?”

“Then your life begins again. You keep living lives until you do it right.”

“What’s right?”

“To live life right, you have to truly love someone.” Tank’s pace quickened so we could cross at the yellow light that was about to turn. Once safely on the sidewalk across the street, he returned to leading our stroll home.

Am I on my second trip through life? Is this my first time around? Did I love before?

“Tell me something about you, Nora.”

“No.” Tank stole me from the inside of his mind. “You already know too much.”

Tank shook his head. “It’s impossible to know too much about a person. Especially one you like.”

“I’m done sharing. You tell me something about you.”

“I talk all the time.”

“But it’s rarely about you. Tell me what’s important.”

We walked the next block in silence. My mind drifted to the hangover I was going to have tomorrow. I was already dreading my drive home.

“I can feel sound,” Tank said and dragged me back from my thoughts.

I stopped walking again and let his words sink in. “What?”

“Sometimes I feel sounds. Like for days I’ll stay awake and just feel them.” Tank began walking again, taking me along with him.

“Tell me more about that,” I said gingerly. I used my I-have-no-thoughts-on-this-subject tone, but I had lots of thoughts. Most of them included fear for my beautiful friend who seemed nothing but excited to share his gift.

“You know when your leg is resting against the speaker in the door of your car and you’re playing music with tons of bass?”

“Okay.”

“You feel it, right?”

“Yes. I feel the vibrations.”

Tank stopped moving again and turned me toward him. “Well, when it happens I can feel every noise. They impact me physically, not just audibly.”

“How often? Every day?”

“No. It comes and goes. When it’s not happening, I forget about it, but then it’ll start again and last a few days sometimes.”

“Is it going on right now? Can you feel my words?”

“Yes.” Tank started moving again.

“What do they feel like?”

“They feel like love.” He smiled at me, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking. I’d drunk too much to know if he was serious about any of it.

Rob came up behind us and jumped on Tank’s back. Blaire was there, too. Always one step behind him. She was drunk. She’d answered the question of her pregnancy with the shots I’d watched her drink the whole night. I wondered if she was ever pregnant to begin with or just desperate for Rob to hear her. Rob climbed off Tank and rested his sweaty arm around Blaire’s neck. Even her smile seemed sad as she leaned into him. My jealousy of Blaire had morphed into pity, and I wasn’t sure which was worse.

The four of us walked the last block home together, but we couldn’t have been further apart. The three of them opened beers. Rob sat in the living room, and Blaire climbed on his lap. Tank was tinkering with a sculpture he’d started earlier in the day using only straws and peanut butter as a medium.

“Good night,” I said and disappeared into the night.

Jack was nowhere to be found. I dwelled on the disappointment his absence caused until sleep saved me from it.

I’d been to the Starboard for brunch twice since the summer had begun, but never without Mila. Tank couldn’t wake Mila up, though. He dragged Stone and me out of bed twenty minutes ago, and then we found Jack asleep in the hammock in the backyard and brought him with us. He looked exactly like a guy who’d slept in a hammock the night before.

They took mercy on us and sat us at a table without a sliver of sun touching it. The weather was already stifling. The humidity of the day before remained throughout the night and now mixed with the bright sunshine of Sunday. My chest rose as I forced a deep breath into it. The air was thick. I closed my eyes and took a sip of my bloody Mary.

“What the fuck happened to your neck?” Jack asked Stone. I could only see half of him since he was next to me. Something was obvious to Jack across from him that wasn’t in my vision.

Stone reached up and covered his neck with his hand. He winced and closed his eyes. “Soul-sucking little whore. Toddlers and puppies you used to have to worry about biting you. Now you have to include drunk bitches.”

“She bit you?” The words fell out of my mouth before I could hide their disturbed tone. I leaned forward, and Stone sat back in his chair and removed his hand. It wasn’t just a bite. It was a perfectly formed row of teeth that was already scabbing over. My jaw fell open. The rest of me was paralyzed by the sight.

“Fucked up, right? She would have bitten my nipple off, but I pulled her off as soon as I saw the wicked look in her eyes. She was a demon.”

Jack said, “Wow.”

I stayed completely silent.

Stone shook his head. He appeared to be reviewing the events of the night before one by one, because he winced at a memory. “Why are you tapping your finger?” he asked, and I froze, realizing he was speaking to me. “You a biter, too?” I placed my hands in my lap. Stone turned his attention to Jack sitting across from him. “Where did you end up last night?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, when I went into the bedroom with Dracula, you were underneath her friend with the tiger tattoo on her calf.” I forced my expression to remain light. I wouldn’t let Stone or anyone else know how little I could stomach to hear about Jack hooking up with someone.

“I’m sensing a theme here. Meat eaters,” Tank said, and we all laughed as our food was delivered.

“Carnivores.” I tried to help move the conversation along.

“So where the fuck were you?” Stone was not letting it go.

“She started crying.” Jack shook his head. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Sounds like a virgin,” Stone said. I secured my hands back in my lap.

“What’s a virgin like?” I forced myself to ask, and Tank stared at me across the table. His eyes were kind. He almost seemed proud I’d asked.

“Timid, quiet, scared . . .” Stone began and shook his head, dismissing himself. “Don’t listen to me. I haven’t talked to a virgin since seventh grade probably. The last thing I want to run into is a virgin.”