“It’s Cherry.”
Cherry? Oh, Cherry! Stephan’s friend.
“Yes?” I ask cautiously.
“Look, I’ll get straight to the point. You saw me on his table. I have a bad habit of sitting on every table I come across. Yeah,that’s me.”She takes a deep breath.“I’m not sure if you actually know who I am, but I’m his friend and almost sis—”
“I know who you are.” And with that knowledge, my heart begins beating steadier, and my hands shake less.
Her sigh is loud even in my car.“Cool. Saves me the trouble. Are you far from Boston?”
“Yes.”
“You need to come back.”
“Why?”
“I have a bad feeling.”She swallows loudly.“Like a really bad feeling. When Archie left right behind you, he wasn’t…himself.”
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully, not knowing how much she knows and how much I can discuss.
“Dude, he was in a real bad state of depression even before you showed up, but when he thought that you thought he’s cheating on you…”she lets her words trail off,“You know what I mean?”She pauses again.
“I do.” Unfortunately. And I just added more crap to his already full pile with my article.
“I thought so. I went to his place, but he didn’t open up. No surprise there. Even though I saw the light in his window. I’ve been asking for a key to his place for years, but knew he was never gonna give me one—for situations like this. He probably got super drunk and passed out, but I really want you to check on him.”
“Why?” I’m already starting the car to drive back, but I still want to hear her thoughts. She’s someone close to Stephan who is still somewhat of an enigma to me.
“Because you’re the only one who can get him out of this, and if you think otherwise, you’re probably not as smart as he says you are.”
So, he talked about me.
“Okay, I’m driving back now.”
“Cool.”She lets out a sigh of relief.“Please let me know when you talk to him.”
“Will do. Thank you, Cherry.”
When I hang up, I’m dreading his voicemail. And when his voice fills the car, I understand that Cherry was right to call me.
“Hey…”A pause.“It wasn’t what you think, you know.”A shuddering air intake.“I would never do that. Even though we agreed to go our separate ways after the cabin,”a sad chuckle,“I never could, you know. You’re all I can think about.”He laughs sloppily.“You know, I always laughed at guys at the base when they said they fell in love at first sight and got married a month later. But I get it now.”A sniffle.“I get it. It’s crazy how much you consumed me after such a short time. You’re deep here,”a sound of a hand hitting something. His chest? That was loud.“So deep I can’t get rid of you. But I must. Because it’s so fuckin’ toxic. I’m dependent on you, and you don’t need this fuckin’ burden. I’ll only drag you down. You’re so young and so pure.”A deep sigh.“Thank you for what you did. The work you’ve done…”he pauses,“is tru…tram…huge.”He laughs.“Sorry, I’m drunk. Can’t speak. You’ve given me the biggest gift. I’m too deep though, for it to change me, but I am grateful to you. And I love you, Leila. I want you to know that.”A sad laugh.“Fuck, I’m mumbling. Such a pitiful sack of shit. Anyway, I’m happy I met you.”
By the time the line goes dead, my cheeks are wet and my eyes blurry. My heart stops, my palms begin sweating, and I hit the accelerator, willing the snow to disappear so I can drive faster. In fact, I’ve never driven this fast before. I’m a grandma behind the wheel, but instinct tells me to rush, because every minute counts.
That voicemail…That sounded like a goodbye.
I push the pedal deeper and pray I’m not late.
I reach his house faster than I could have dreamt of. Without even turning it off, I rush to the door and begin knocking. Nothing. I ring the bell. Nothing again. Alternating between ringing and knocking and yelling for him to open the damn door, I kick it for good measure and run back to my car. A good reporter knows how to pick locks (don’t tell anyone). I grab the tools from my bag(yes, I have them, and again, don’t tell anyone),and run back, slipping on the snow and landing on my ass. I’ll have a few bruises, but the tiny tool bag is firmly in my grip.
I kneel by the door and pray that his locks have the same key—that will make my life easier. It takes me a couple minutes, but I hear the orgasm-inducing sound of an opening lock. I carefully try the doorknob, and it moves! Just one lock!
I open the door, and it bangs against the wall from the force. I rush inside.
Only to stop in my tracks.
He sits on the floor, leaning on the couch. An empty bottle on the floor. A gun in his hand.
