He Started It(4)

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Felix emerges from the bathroom already dried off, wearing boxers and a Miami Dolphins T-shirt. We’re not big on football but we don’t hate it.

“Your turn,” he says.

Not much hot water, if there was ever any. When I come out of the bathroom, Felix is sprawled out on one of the beds. Not the one I was lying on.

“My legs hurt from being in the car all day,” he says. “You mind if we each take a bed?”

“That’s fine. They’re small anyway.”

“Yeah, compared to ours.”

I sit down on my bed and pull up the alarm on my phone. “Should we walk in the morning?” I say.

“Definitely.”

I set it for seven.

“How are you feeling?” Felix says.

“Fine.”

“I mean about seeing Eddie and Portia. Been a while.”

It has. None of us live in the same area. Eddie and Krista live on Dauphin Island, Alabama, just south of Mobile—the other side of the state from our current location. Felix and I live in Woodview, Florida, while Portia went to Tulane in New Orleans and still lives there. None of us live in Atlanta, but we grew up there. It’s where our last trip started.

For the Morgan siblings, separation is the best form of togetherness.

The last time we were all together was a few years ago, when Portia graduated from college. Two days in the same city and we spent about eight hours together, all of it intoxicated. Portia insisted we try the hurricane, the mint julep, and the Pimm’s cup. Dangerous on their own, lethal together.

Grandpa wasn’t there. None of us had seen him in years.

This was back when Eddie was still with Tracy, the girlfriend he used to live with. He hadn’t met Krista yet. I liked Tracy. She was smarter than my brother and told him that a lot. He even seemed to like it.

I remember being at a bar uptown, near the university, on the night before graduation. It was hot as hell and I wore a tank top with a print skirt. Tracy wore a fancy sundress that showed off her arms. They were ridiculously toned.

“You know the thing about your brother,” she said. A gentle slur, not sloppy. “He can be an asshole but he’s a lovable asshole, you know?”

I do. You know the type, you’ve met him. He’s the guy who gets away with mouthing off in class, the one who can convince teachers to give him a makeup exam, the one everyone wants to be around even when he screws up. Especially when he screws up.

That’s Eddie.

I never got a chance to ask Tracy what she thought about the woman Eddie went out with right out of college. Bet that woman wouldn’t call him lovable. She said Eddie slapped her, and she even reported him, but nothing came of it. Eddie said she was the crazy one and he never hit her, not in a million years.

I believed him. I believed her. Back and forth, back and forth, just like that seesaw. Still haven’t decided who’s right, if he’s a lovable asshole or just the latter.

This is what I’m thinking about in bed, at the Stardust, when Felix asks me how I’m doing. I’m trying to keep my balance.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m doing fine.”

“I’m glad. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I wait for his breathing to slow. Doesn’t take long. Felix has always been able to fall asleep instantly, no matter where he is.

I get up, get dressed, and leave the room.





Outside, I glance around looking for any movement, any form of life. It’s not even ten thirty at night and I know Portia isn’t lying in bed, listening to Eddie and Krista breathe. The options are the diner across the street or the liquor store behind the motel. I go that way first.

The parking lot is empty enough to hear footsteps, and I think I hear someone behind me. Twice I stop to check. Once I kneel down to look for feet on the other side of that broken-down truck. This place is so empty, so quiet, I am convinced someone else must be out here.

I don’t see anyone until I get to the liquor store. The parking lot is full, and there are living, breathing people everywhere. Dan’s Drip-Drop Liquors is the closest thing to a bar for at least a mile or two.

Portia is inside the store, waiting her turn at the register. She is one of two females around; the other is sitting in the passenger seat of a car smoking a cigarette. Busy night at the Drip-Drop.

Portia doesn’t see me until I’m right beside her. “Get enough for two,” I say.

She smiles and holds up a six-pack of Coke and a bottle of rum. I nod. A stack of plastic cups sits on the counter. The price—five cents each—is handwritten in red marker on the back of a lottery ticket. We get two cups.

“Let’s go back to the car,” Portia says. “I’ve got Eddie’s keys.”

She never did get enough credit for being smart. Maybe there were too many years between us.

Minutes later, we’re in the back seat of the car and I’m drinking my first rum and Coke in years. Maybe since college. We don’t have ice but the Coke is cold and this seems perfect, given where we are at the moment. Environment is everything.

“This is weird,” Portia says.

“Which part?”

“Did you know about the will?” she says.