He unfolded the sunshade and placed it into the windshield to keep the morning sun out of his eyes. It was cool enough now that with the windows cracked he could turn off the engine and not worry about suffocating from the Florida sun.
His after-work meal consisted of a bottle of iced tea, a stick of beef jerky and a power bar he’d bought at a gas station by the radio station. The meal had become such a routine that the old Haitian man who worked at the gas station would place the items into the tray as soon as he saw Mitchell’s car pull up. Mitchell would drop his money in the slot and get his change, never having any kind of an exchange other than a friendly nod.
Still feeling a little bit anxious about what happened the night before, he pulled out his iPhone. He opened up a browser window to pull up the local newspaper. He spent several minutes reading the crime bulletins looking for anything that might refer to the incident the night before.
Nothing came up that sounded like what happened. There was the usual shoplifting, DUI and domestic disputes, but other than that it looked like it hadn’t been reported. Although that didn’t mean she hadn’t filed a police report, Mitchell felt better knowing that it wasn’t front-page news and there was no active manhunt.
With that little bit of peace, Mitchell pulled the lever on his seat and leaned back to go to sleep.
Mitchell was awoken by the angry bee buzz of his iPhone as a text message popped up on the screen.
It was from Racheclass="underline" what the fuck? r u dropping them off or not?
He’d forgotten to set the alarm, and now he had to deal with the pissed-off wrath of Rachel. There was a time when she could make him feel good about himself and also like a complete asshole. Now it was all asshole, all the time.
His chance to drop the keys off and act like it was all no big thing was shot because he knew she was going to read his hesitancy like he was still holding out for things to go back to the way they were.
He yawned and then typed in a reply: Sorry. Overslept. Almost there.
A moment later she texted back: how long? bout to take a shower after rick.
For fuck sake. Why did she have to add that? He felt the knife go into his side.
Intellectually, he knew it was her way of saying not to make the thing into something stupid and awkward. It still hurt.
For a fleeting moment, he had the childish idea of texting back, “got to drive girlfriend to work. can’t stay to talk.” But he knew she’d just say something positive about him having a new girlfriend and have the upper hand back.
He thought one way to make her doubt herself would be to tell her he was seeing some other guy. She’d write back that she always knew he was gay but secretly feel inadequate. Or at least he imagined she would.
That was a horrible idea, he realized.
Since the passenger side door didn’t reliably lock, he took his backpack with him and headed toward her apartment. He could smell the ocean air as a breeze swept by. He had missed living that close to the ocean. Not that he ever went there all that much, it was just nice knowing that it was near.
He’d slept through the morning rush hour. The streets were empty of life except a woman across the way struggling with two dogs and a delivery truck that flew by.
When Rachel’s apartment building came into view, he felt a little butterfly in his stomach. He panicked for a moment thinking he forgot her keys. That would have been great, showing up at her doorstep without them. He could only imagine how big of an asshole she’d make him feel like if that happened.
On the first floor, he looked over at the apartment where the two little boys lived with their mother. Mitchell used to sit out there and play Transformers with them after school while they waited for their mom to get home. He’d been meaning to stop by and say hello but never got around to it.
He reached the foot of the stairs leading up to her apartment and paused. Could he time it so her new boyfriend was in the shower? The last thing he wanted to see was another guy standing in the apartment, filling the role he used to fill. Worse was the idea of meeting this guy and finding out that he was better looking and younger than him.
Rachel was five years younger than Mitchell, which wasn’t a big gap, but the idea that she broke up with him partly because of his age was a nagging feeling he had.
He did a slow walk up the stairs and pulled open the screen door to knock. In his mind he rehearsed what he was going to say. She’d ask him how he’d been. He’d leave out the part about being sick because he knew it would only make him sound even more pathetic. Instead, he’d tell her he’d been busy with radio station stuff and tell a white lie about getting an offer to go to a bigger station in a bigger market.
He knew she’d say he should take the job to either call his bluff on the lie if she saw through it or to get him as far away from her as possible. He’d already thought of a follow-through for that when he was home sick on his couch. He would reply that he loved South Florida and the station was thinking about putting him on earlier in the day. Like early enough that she would be driving home from work and turn on her radio and accidentally flip to his station and hear his voice. He grinned at the idea of her being afraid to turn on the radio at the risk of feeling remorseful about the breakup. Or better yet, have his face up on billboards around town.
His grin faded when the sad reality that it was a fantasy brought him crashing down to Earth. He’d be lucky to still have his job in three months. An earlier time slot with people who weren’t insomniacs or alcoholics was more far-fetched than any one of Rookman’s conspiracies.
Rachel’s dog began barking from behind the door. He could hear footsteps and then Rachel’s voice yell at the dog. From behind the door she called out, “Hold on, Mitch.”
He could hear her undo the chain and then unlock the deadbolt. She opened the door and a wave of longing swept over Mitchell as he saw her how he’d seen her a hundred other mornings in her shorts and tank top. A little sleepy, but radiant and beautiful.
She gave him a half smile. The smile turned into a snarl. He’d seen that expression before but never on Rachel. That was the look the mad girl last night had given him before she tried to rip out his throat.
Rachel’s eyes opened wide as her mouth seemed to unhinge. She lunged forward at Mitchell and let out a scream so shrill he felt his knees go weak.
6
Mitchell took a step back as Rachel leaped forward. Her fingers came at his chest, clawing like an animal.
His right foot overstepped onto the stairs and he stumbled backward. He felt the railing with his right hand and clung to it so he didn’t fall down the steps.
One of Rachel’s hands grabbed his shirt and yanked at it. He could feel the elastic neckband burn against his neck as she pulled. His trip had actually helped him stay out of her reach. Rachel overshot where he stood and fell down on the edge of the stairs with the upper half of her body hanging over them. The aluminum railing made a gong-like sound as her spine hit it.
Frustrated and furious, she let out a scream and started kicking at his shins. Mitchell jumped up, spreading his legs to avoid the blows.
“Rache…” he started to ask.
He was trying to understand what was happening. Had she fell? Was it like the night before?
All he could do was react.
She looked up at him and reached a hand toward his belt and tried to pull him toward her.
The hand slid and latched onto his ankle. Mitchell yanked his foot away and reflexively stomped on it, pinning it to the ground.
Rachel’s left foot hit him in the knee, and he let her hand go.