You Can't Catch Me(39)

“It’s simple.”

I go through it again more slowly. Flash him the queen, then exaggerate the motion of switching it for another card.

“It’s designed so that the player is following the wrong card,” I say. “That’s the trick.”

“That’s cheating.”

“If you know what to look for, you can win.”

He sips on his drink slowly. “Show me again.”

Several hours later, after more card lessons, a full bottle of what they’re passing off as champagne, and more food than I’ve eaten in a single meal in years, Jessie excuses herself to go to the restroom. Because it’s part of our plan, I know that the bar’s phone will ring in a moment, and so it does.

“Shanty’s.” The bartender’s eyes flit to Robert. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell him.” He hangs up and walks over. “Time to settle up.”

“What’s that?” Robert’s slurring his words, deep into his fourth glass.

“You need to pay your bill, sir, and get home. That was your wife on the phone.”

“My . . .” He slips his ring-bearing hand into his pocket, then makes a big show of looking at his watch. “It’s late. I should be getting along.”

“One bill, sir?”

“What? Yes, of course.”

Jessie returns from the bathroom as the bartender puts the bill on the bar in front of Robert.

“Is the party over?”

“I’m afraid so, my dear. I, uh, have an early meeting in the morning.”

“That’s too bad.”

Robert takes his credit card out and passes it to the bartender without looking at the total. I can see it, though. Close to $500. This place certainly charges champagne prices.

“It can’t be helped,” Robert says. “But I’d love to see you again.”

“Yes, of course.”

Jessie takes a pen out of her purse and writes her “number” on a bar napkin. The bartender gives Robert a credit card slip to sign, which he does hastily, adding a crappy tip. He passes it back and takes Jessie’s napkin, tucking it into his pocket.

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Do.”

She presents her cheek to him and he kisses it. Then he gathers himself and walks unsteadily out the door.

I watch him leave, then take a twenty out of my wallet and put it on the bar.

“I noticed he left a bad tip,” I say.

“Thanks,” the bartender says. “Another drink?”

“I think we’re done here.”

He nods knowingly as Jessie and I stand to go. We walk to the entrance and wait a moment to make sure that Robert is truly gone. When we make eye contact, we burst out laughing.

“Should we go?” I ask when we’ve regained control of ourselves.

“Let’s.”

Outside, the air is cooler, and I wish I had a coat. But the alcohol and food are warm inside me as we lean against the building.

“We did it,” Jessie says. “I can’t believe it.”

“We did. We really did.”

“Are we terrible for doing that to someone, even though that guy was a jerk?”

“He was—”

“Pleased with yourselves?” a gruff voice says behind us, making me jump.

I turn around. It’s a woman with close-cropped blonde hair wearing a military peacoat.

JJ.





Chapter 17

How Do You Say Goodbye?

Covington was the one who told me that Todd was dead. Another text in the middle of the night, a light flashing next to me on the nightstand. I’d forgotten to turn off my phone because it was the end of term and I’d just graduated from J school. I’d gone to a party with this guy, Max, a guy I’d never paid much attention to, but who was good enough for that night. One thing had led to another, and he was breathing heavily next to me in my bed. He wore round glasses and had earnest ambitions about becoming the next Walter Cronkite or Brian Williams or whatever. The sex had been disappointing, so instead of dozing off in a comfortable haze, I was lying awake regretting my choices.

When the text came in, I read it, then read it again. Covington had written: Yee-haw! Jester is dead! followed by a series of emojis that I think were meant to denote joy.

Are you watching Top Gun? Again?

No, dummy. Todd. Todd is DEAD.

What? Are you sure?

Yeah.

How?

My parents called.

Holy shit.

I KNOW.

When did this happen?

Couple days ago. Funeral is tomorrow.

You going?

Damn right. It’s going to be lit.

You should come and dance on his grave with me.

Todd was dead. I didn’t know what to feel. Happiness? Worry? Todd couldn’t touch me anymore, or anyone else. How did I feel about that?

So, you coming, or what? Covington wrote.

I’ll let you know in the morning. What time are you leaving?

He told me, and I set an alarm and settled under the covers. Todd was dead. Somehow, I never thought of that as a solution. The regrets that had been keeping me awake drained away. I turned on my side, my back to Max, and fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning, I shooed Max out, took a shower, and texted Covington that he should come pick me up. As the city, then the wilderness flashed by, I concentrated on one thing. Kiki.