Real Bad Things(56)
“Do you plan to endorse Bollinger?”
The top half of John’s body seemed to sink into the bottom half of him.
“You do.” She let the words drip out of her mouth, full of accusation. She’d seen Bollinger the night before, and he’d been slaphappy when he walked into the store. Georgia Lee’s poll numbers hadn’t been great. Bollinger had taken a slight lead, but she still presumed she had a shot as the incumbent because no one would vote. They hardly ever did. In a city of over thirty thousand people, they usually got a 1 percent turnout. She was banking on that and had told him so. He’d told her turnout would be bigger this year. Now she’d confirmed why.
For years, she’d had John’s back. More than that, they’d been friends. When she brought him treats, it had not been because she wanted something but because she genuinely enjoyed his company, their shared jokes, their laughter. All gone now. And for what pleasure or access or power, she couldn’t fathom. He already had a pension, plenty of time off, season tickets for the Razorbacks, a new band saw. He definitely didn’t need more money for the department. They were already overstaffed as far as she was concerned. The only reason she could land on that would explain why he’d endorsed Bollinger over her was that they could share the same locker room. Because how could he possibly pick a woman over another man?
She raised her glass. “To politics. Ruining parties since time immemorial.”
They raised their glasses and laughed quietly, not knowing what else to do. At least their discomfort could bring her joy.
“Will you gentlemen excuse me? Time to refresh the party dip.” She bit down on her anger, but her words tinkled out like a song.
“Actually, I should get going.” Benjamin followed her into the kitchen. She grumbled and let the screen door he’d opened for her earlier accidentally close on him now.
Inside, she set the dip bowl on the kitchen island. Before she had a chance to turn to the refrigerator, he placed his hand on the island. He leaned in closer, didn’t blink.
“I know you know Jane,” he said. “And I’m going to find out what you’re hiding.”
As he made his way to the front door, dark scenarios consumed her. John and Benjamin would arrest Jane. Jason would swoop in and save Jane. Tell them that Georgia Lee was the one responsible for Warren’s death. They’d lead her away in handcuffs, and she’d rot in jail for life. She would lose everything. She’d already lost her mind by forgetting that she’d bludgeoned a man to death. She’d been “washed in the blood of Jesus” and promptly gotten on with her life. Even if Jesus had forgiven her sin, how could she forgive herself? Especially with Jane’s imminent arrest.
Each minute that passed, the weight of what she’d allowed Jane to believe in the moment and then forgotten suffocated her a little more.
Seventeen
JANE
Jane turned the information Angie had told her over in her mind. Kim kept coming outside to check the trash (read: Jane). She sat outside by the mini golf course until the outdoor lights kicked on, waiting for a reply from Jason she knew wouldn’t come. Finally, out of rage and spite, she fired off one last text:
HELLO again. SO GOOD to see you at the funeral . . . Before I forget. That was SO NICE of Diane to help you clean up! ;) But ALSO, what the fuck?!?!?
If Angie learned of her broken promise, she’d find some extravagant way to apologize that didn’t involve week-old fudge.
The long walk back to the trailer from Family Fun did nothing for Jane’s sobriety or mood. A truck Jane didn’t recognize sat alongside Diane’s car in the driveway. No reason for her to recognize it, though. She didn’t know anything about her mom. Not then, not now. But she recognized the anxiety that bubbled up. An unknown vehicle meant an unknown man. No telling if he was the good kind or the bad kind. Sometimes, they hid their bad behind something good, not showing their true selves until later. She had always hoped the missing-finger man would come back, but no luck. Probably too normal to stick around long. Any man with any kind of sense would only need one solid hour with Diane to know that he should pack up and get out while he could.
Her nerves lit up when she touched the door handle. Every time, she expected the door to be locked. Wouldn’t be the first time Diane changed it without telling anyone.
The handle twisted easily. She walked into a cover of “I Heard It through the Grapevine” and a cloud of smoke. Diane and the guy she’d gone home from the funeral with glanced at her from the spot in the living room where they danced—or whatever you’d call what they were doing, kind of dancing, kind of just holding each other up so they wouldn’t fall. Oh God, she thought in horror, are they fucking?
As soon as a glassy-eyed Diane recognized Jane, her lips drooped into disappointment. She laid her head back onto the guy’s chest. “It’s just Jane,” she slurred. “Back to fuck up something else.”
If Jane had been holding a glass, she would have crushed it in her hands and scraped the shattered pieces down Diane’s cheeks.
Gerry had a bit more decorum and lucidness to him. He nudged Diane away. She frowned and slipped her fingers through his belt loops. He tucked his button-down into his jeans, checked his zipper, and ran a hand across his hair.
“How do you do?” He smiled and held out a hand. “I’m Gerry. With a G. Work down at the dam.”