Lineage(71)

After John left the previous day in a cloud of dust and ambiguity, Lance had called Stub at the gun shop, making good on inviting the giant out for beers. Stub sounded pleased and promised to be there with bells on. Stuffed chicken breasts were already waiting in the fridge, along with two dozen beers and several bottles of wine. Although Lance felt the old apprehension of having several people in his home settling over him, he was still excited nonetheless.

The door to the Audi opened and Andy stepped out into the bright sunlight. His eyes were shaded behind three-hundred-dollar sunglasses, and he wore dark slacks along with a white long-sleeved shirt open at the collar. Lance mused that his friend couldn’t look more out of place in this part of the world if he had stamped Citiot on his forehead in red ink.

Andy stood looking at the house, the edifice reflected in the twin mirrors of his shades. The agent looked rigid, like a cardboard cutout of himself. A breeze ruffled Andy’s hair, breaking the illusion, but the man remained motionless. Lance had never seen his friend so still. Normally he exuded a frenetic energy, suggesting that there were other things to be done and the present couldn’t be dwelled upon for more than a few seconds.

Andy turned from the house and grasped the door handle to the car. Lance watched him, thinking he had forgotten something inside. To his surprise, Andy slid into the seat and slammed the door. Lance stepped out of the house and into the light of the day. The movement caught Andy’s attention and Lance saw his friend’s head turn in his direction. They looked at each other through the tinted glass of the car until Lance began walking toward the passenger door, feeling a heavy ball of unease growing inside him. When he reached the Audi’s door, the window slid down and revealed the interior of the car. He could feel the coolness of the air conditioning sliding past him. Andy sat looking at him from behind his sunglasses, and only then did Lance notice the car’s engine humming beneath its sleek hood and his friend’s hand playing across the shifter.

“Leaving already?” Lance said, leaning into the frigid air of the car. Andy just stared at him, his right arm shaking, as if it longed to throw the lever into gear.

“I’m … yeah. I think I might go home,” Andy managed in a whisper that just made it across the gap between them.

“What? You just got here,” Lance said. The unease he had felt earlier expanded, speeding up his heart and weakening his muscles. Andy made no attempt to reply, and only stared at him. Lance opened the passenger door and leaned into the car. He could smell Andy’s cologne and the well-treated leather of the car. He reached out and grasped the bow of the other man’s sunglasses and removed them from his face.

Lance had been wrong. Andy wasn’t staring at him. His colorless eyes were trained over his shoulder, locked on the tall structure of the house.

“Andy,” Lance said, snapping his fingers several inches in front of his friend’s nose and eliciting no reaction. “Andrew!” Lance had used his friend’s full name only a few times throughout the years. Andy had never revealed much about his own broken past prior to their meeting at St. Catherine’s, but the response that followed the use of his full name seemed to be tied to it. Lance had once seen Andy attack a teacher who had refused to call him by the shortened version of his name, resulting in a broken nose for the teacher and a suspension for Andy.

Andy’s eyes finally focused on Lance’s face, which hovered less than a foot in front of his own. He blinked rapidly and expelled a breath that had been held in his chest like a caged bird. “What?” Andy said, as he looked around the interior of the car, gathering his bearings.

“What’s the matter with you?” Lance asked, relief setting in.

“I don’t know, I guess I just daydreamed for a minute.” Andy threw a look over Lance’s shoulder at the house again but didn’t hold it; instead, he shifted his attention to the grounds beyond the windshield.

“You feel okay?” Lance asked.

Andy exhaled again and shook his head like a dog tossing water from its ears. “I’m fine, don’t know what that was.” Andy looked back at Lance and smiled. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

The two men exited the car, Andy popping the trunk on his way to retrieve an overnight bag. He still seemed shaken as they approached the house, but didn’t falter when Lance led him inside.

“I’ll give you the grand tour,” Lance said, shutting the door behind them.

Andy set his bag down and looked around the open interior of the house. “That’s fine, but first I think I need a drink.”