“Hello,” Rob said, smiling at his phone.
Monica huffed, her end of the line unusually silent.
“Monica?”
“I miss you,” she answered.
“I miss you too, Button.”
Monica squished her face up at the nickname, unable to decide if she liked it or not. In all her years, Monica Marie Templeton had never had a nickname, or anyone to give her one. Her parents had been stiff, formal people who never called her anything but her given name. It never occurred to her to mind.
“I hate when you work late,” she said, walking to the fridge and grabbing a beer. “Can’t you just be at my disposal? I mean, any Southern gentleman would pride himself on doing that.”
“Well, ma’am, I do have to make a living. I’m finishing up now.”
“I had the worst day. First there was no Internet for like four hours. They shut us down because of a security breach or something. Then I got locked out of my building because I lost my work ID tag.”
“I’m sorry, darlin’. Tomorrow will be better,” he promised.
“Well, I guess I could say any day I make it home without a pending lawsuit or a threat on my life is a good day.”
“I’ll make it all better when I see you,” Rob answered, his voice trailing off.
“You sound distracted. I’ll let you go. Please get here with a quickness. I need you.”
“Yes, dear.”
Monica hung up and took a long sip of her beer. Time flew by quickly as she prepared dinner. An hour later, a tap at the door interrupted her stirring. She threw open the door and pulled Rob down for a searing kiss.
“Damn, that was quite a greeting,” Rob said, panting against her lips.
Monica dragged him inside and pressed him against the wall, her tiny body acting as a wedge to keep him in place.
“I told you I missed you.”
“Well, I’d say that was obvious,” Rob answered, chuckling.
“I’m home alone and you’re not around. I have to sit here and entertain myself with reality television and tabloid magazines. It’s torture.”
She fetched a cold beer and handed it to him. Rob took the bottle and downed half of it in one swallow. She watched as a drop of the amber liquid seeped from the corner of his mouth, carving a path down his chin and neck and soaking into the collar of his T-shirt.
“Subjected to bad TV and trashy gossip. What’s a girl to do?” he asked.
“Well, I suppose I could always entertain myself, but I like it better when you do it.”
He smirked and picked her up by the waist, placing her on the counter. Rob loved the feel of her tiny body enfolding him. He loved how her large personality was wrapped into this tight little package of dynamite. He loved her curly dark hair and cheerful eyes. She was devious and spunky and always kept him on his toes.
“Now that’s something I’d like to see.”
They kissed deep and hard until Monica had to come up for air. She recovered quickly, hopped down from the counter, and returned her attention to dinner while Rob parked himself in front of the television.
While her rice dish simmered, she went to check on Rob, finding him asleep on the sofa. Monica hated that his job was so demanding. Some days she could sense the stress on his body, feel it in his tense embraces. But not now. He was fully relaxed and it made her heart happy to see him so untroubled. His forearm was thrown over his eyes as he slept. She sighed at the sight of his handsome pout.
A shrill noise cut through the air and she recognized the ringing of her cell phone. Running to her purse, she answered out of breath.
Monica fell into the closest kitchen chair, stunned by Josie’s voice on the other end. There was no chitchat, only Josie requesting a double date tomorrow evening. She felt as though the room swirled around her feet. This was Tristan’s doing, she knew that, but she would take redemption any way she could get it. After ending the strange yet thrilling call, she sat in a daze of hope and absolution.
“Button? You okay?” Rob asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
Her blank expression shifted to an enormous smile as she nodded and leapt into his arms.
“Are you working late tomorrow night?”
“Nope.”
“Good, we have plans.”
“Oh my God, that conversation was painful. Why the hell did I let you talk me into that?” Josie whined, clicking her seat belt into place. “Seriously, I feel like I need a Xanax after that phone call.”
“She can’t be that bad,” Tristan said, laughing. “Besides, I want to get to know your friends.”
“I told you, I don’t have any friends.”
“Tennessee Williams said, ‘Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose.’ Friendships are the cultivation of relationships with people who are like you, believe in you, and share your burdens. You have Monica and Alex. That’s more than I’ve got.”
Tristan started the car and watched as Josie crossed her legs tightly, appreciating the rumble of the engine. She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the seat.
“I fucking love this car,” Josie whispered, not sure if she meant to say it out loud or not.
She slid her hands down the tops of her thighs and back up again, concentrating on the rough feel of the denim vibrating beneath her fingertips. Tristan eyed her actions, almost losing his breath at the sight.
“She’s got a 396-cubic-inch, 325-horsepower turbojet V-8 engine with a Muncie 4-speed.”
“I have no idea what any of that means.”
“It’s a sixty-seven Impala. A classic.”
“It’s fucking hot.”
Tristan delighted in the purr of both his girls. He tried to concentrate on the road in front of him instead of the vixen by his side, who suddenly looked like she wanted to devour him.
“So I’m finally going to see your place? I bet you have everything covered in plastic so that cleanup is easy when you kill your victims,” Josie teased, looking to Tristan. His expression remained unchanged. “Maybe there are whips and chains with leather-padded tables and shock collars?”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Tristan answered.
“Not bad at all,” Josie replied, playing along. “I’ve seen worse.”
Tristan gave her a devious smile.
“Oh! I know! You’re a geek, right? You have six thousand Star Wars figurines worth a small fortune displayed on custom shelves around your house?”
He shook his head, “Wrong again. I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”
Josie smiled and couldn’t imagine ever being disappointed in Tristan. She watched the city pass by, morphing from the dark alleys of her life to the amber- and neon-lit streets of his. The sidewalks got cleaner, the buildings looked nicer, and the kids hustling on each corner vanished with each passing block. She didn’t mind living in the seedier part of the city, she was comfortable there. Josie wondered if she’d always been that way.
“Dean Moloney lives right outside New Orleans?”
“Yeah, in Gretna. That’s where we lived.”
“So he had to have known me back when we lived there. I was a kid. What the hell could I have done to him?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been asking myself that for days now. It has to be related to your dad. I’ll take a look at any court cases Earl was involved with and see if I can make a connection.”
“I wish I could remember,” she whispered, the desperate longing in her voice painful to Tristan’s ears.
Tristan watched Josie stare out the window again. He would give anything to be inside that head of hers, to jar those trapped memories loose so that she could remember her parents and how much they loved her. He reached for her hand and held it beneath his on the gearshift, knowing it would bring her some comfort.