Big Swiss(64)

Greta looked at Big Swiss, who was already dressed and leashing Silas. Big Swiss slung her condiment bag over her shoulder.

“Leave the bag,” Greta whispered. “Too noisy.”

“I can’t. I need it.”

Greta imagined Big Swiss squeezing Swiss mayonnaise into her mouth as she drove over the Rip Van Winkle Bridge.

“Greta!” Sabine suddenly yelled from the kitchen. “I’m home!”

Pi?on whined at the door. He’d missed Sabine as much as Greta had.

“Coming!” Greta yelled.

“Who’s Greta?” Big Swiss whispered.

“Greta Garbo,” Greta said. “Her nickname for me.”

“Who?”

“Forget it,” Greta whispered. “I’m going downstairs, you sneak out the front door.”



* * *



IF LOOKING AT BIG SWISS was like staring at the sun, Sabine was the sun’s afterimage, a shimmering red orb with a spectral green halo. Greta switched on a lamp and blinked. The halo turned out to be a hat, and Sabine wasn’t shimmering so much as shivering. So were dozens of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

“Where the fuck is that draft coming from?”

“Everywhere,” Greta said.

They never bothered with pleasantries. Greta thought of the day Sabine kidnapped her in the Sprinter van in California, the beginning of the life Greta was living now. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in years. Sabine had simply rolled down the window and made a giddyup noise, and Greta had climbed in, no questions asked.

“Whose car was that?” Sabine asked.

“Tinder date,” Greta said.

Sabine looked alarmed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Greta explained. “I got lonely.”

Sabine was mystified by longing of any kind. Well, except longing for warmth—that was allowed. There was a little too much Florida in her face. She looked like she’d been sleeping outside for weeks, but at least she’d put on some weight. She was huggable now.

“I guess I just don’t understand how Tinder works in a town this small. Don’t you run into these people in person?”

“I only have sex with Airbnb-ers,” Greta said.

Sabine sighed and looked around. “Any chance you could have sex with some local tradesmen? We need a lot of work done around here.”

“I’m not that good in bed.”

“Flirt with some carpenters,” Sabine said. “For starters. Also, don’t freak out, but we have… company.”

Greta looked over her shoulder.

“On the roof,” Sabine said, and coughed. “There’s, uh, one or two vultures up there right now, shitting all over the chimney.”

“So that’s why you’re lighting a fire.”

“I threw a few rocks,” Sabine said. “They didn’t even flinch.”

“Why is this happening?”

Sabine shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”

They were admiring the architecture, Greta imagined. The sunsets or whatever.

“It’s an omen,” Sabine said, and coughed again. “One of us is about to die.”

This may have been Sabine’s way of saying she’d finally visited a doctor, a doctor who’d diagnosed her with advanced cancer and told her she had six weeks to live. But there was no way of really knowing, or asking about it directly, because Sabine was a master deflector.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Greta asked.

Sabine smiled. She looked Greta up and down and then squinted at her face.

“You look real good,” Sabine said. “You look more alive than you have in years.”





12



OM:?Can you state your initials for the transcriber, please?

FEW:?FEW.

OM:?How have you been?

FEW:?[PAUSE] Okay.



“Just okay?” Greta said.


OM:?What’s happening with the Keith situation?

FEW:?I still see his truck in my rearview mirror, but he keeps his distance.

OM:?A hundred yards?

FEW:?I don’t know how far that is.

OM:?He should remain out of your line of sight. Like, completely.

FEW:?I haven’t seen him up close. Other people have, though. He’s been spotted at Cousin’s. Luke’s uncle hangs out there after work and says he sees Keith sitting at the bar alone almost every night.

OM:?He’s allowed to drink? In bars?

FEW:?I don’t know. Maybe he only drinks water.

OM:?I don’t think they serve water at Cousin’s.



Greta hadn’t been there, but Cousin’s was known for its ten-count pours. Its décor: keno, a wall of TVs, and flies. Its patrons: locals, alcoholics, old creeps. And ex-cons, apparently.


OM:?Do you worry about running into him?

FEW:?I have bigger things to worry about right now.

OM:?Such as?

FEW:?Are the words “adult” and “adultery” related?



“Oh boy,” Greta said.


OM:?Good question. I don’t think so. [RUSTLING] Let me check. The word “adultery” may derive from “adulterate,” which means “to debase or make impure by adding inferior or less desirable elements.”