As soon as I get into my car and shut the door, I get a text from Bowen.
BOWEN (4:10PM): Hildy said you’re going to Costco so I’ll start dinner when I get home
A second text comes through a few seconds later.
BOWEN (4:10PM): Can you get some of those voodoo mama juju pretzels
I snort as I text my response.
ME (4:11PM): The Zapp’s pretzel sticks? You got it.
BOWEN (4:11PM): Love you
After letting Waylon out and making sure he’s safely back on his bed by the fireplace with his favorite rawhide, I disappear into the bedroom to change into a pair of jeans, a sweater, and boots. I slip off my wedge ankle boots and tuck them against the wall under my clothes hanging on the left side of the closet.
I pause, my eyes wandering along the floor to the space where I found the photo of Bowen and Hannah. I shake my head, still astounded by the audacity that woman has to come in here and leave shit on my closet floor. Then I recall that night—New Years Eve—only a few days ago when I secretly watched the heated exchange between her and Bowen in the parking lot of the bar. He never did mention it, and I never asked about it.
I check the time and head into the bathroom to give myself a once-over. I straighten my sweater in front of the mirror and give my hair a scrunch. For some inexplicable reason, during the winter my lips drain of color as soon as my lip balm absorbs, transforming me into a walking corpse. Digging in my work bag, I find my reliable tube of Black Honey, which immediately turns out to be not so reliable. The metal edge scrapes across my lips, the tube all but empty. Reluctantly, I toss it into the garbage can with a groan, making a mental note to order more as I start digging through my makeup bag for a different tube.
Maple Sun saved me at the wedding, and it’ll save me again for the time being. Except that my fingers come back empty. The black tube with the gold band around the middle is gone. I pause, glance around the vanity, and then dig into the makeup bag a second time. The outcome is the same. When did I start misplacing things and losing everything?
I don’t.
I don’t just misplace things, much less multiple things in such a short amount of time.
My gaze shifts to the mirror, staring at my reflection, thinking. When I leave the bathroom, I stop in front of my vanity and stare at the drawers. A lot of things have gone missing lately. I turn and stroll out of the room, a black powder of suspicion igniting deep in my gut. I sweep my coat off the back of the couch and head back out to my SUV, pulling the front door behind me with a slam.
I’m still thinking about it as Hildy speeds down the county roads toward Costco like they’re about to run out of everything in the next 10 minutes.
“You’re a dead giveaway,” she snickers at me from the driver’s seat.
“What do you mean?” I glance up from my phone, pausing mid-text.
Hildy scoffs and rolls her eyes, “You’re texting Bo, right?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s obvious,” she flips the Yukon’s turn signal, “you wear your emotions on your face, especially when you’re texting.”
I screw up my face in disbelief, “How?” Until now, I always thought I had my poker face on lock.
It goes hand-in-hand with an avoidant personality.
“Oh, please,” she hits me with a side-eye, “whenever you’re looking at your phone, you get this sneaky little grin on your face. You’re probably sending him nudes, aren’t you?” she laughs.
“I am not!” I shriek.
At least that’s not what I’m doing right now…
Hildy’s right about everything else, though. Bowen’s spicy pretzels are sitting on the floorboards next to my feet and I can’t wait to get home and see the look on his face when I set them on the counter. More than that, I can’t wait to walk through the door and see him standing at the kitchen island with his back to me, his muscles showing through his shirt, and his buzzed hair fading into the black swath that hangs over his eyes by the end of the day.
So, yes, Hildy is probably right about how I look when I text him.
“Yeah, whatever, liar,” she smirks. “Oh, do you mind if we make a quick stop? I told Hannah I’d run by her apartment, bring in her mail, and check on her cat since she’s out of town.”
I may not be able to hide my facial expressions when it comes to Bowen, but I can remain stoic in about every other situation. Hildy doesn’t notice the small fire ignite in my chest, the tiny spark in my eyes, or the subtle malice clawing its way from the back of my mind. She only sees the cheerful smile and agreeable nod.
My mind begins to wander—back to my makeup bag, back to my vanity, back to the creased photo on the closet floor, and back to every little flirtatious smirk Hannah gives Bowen.
Before I know it, Hildy throws her car into park and we’re suddenly sitting in front of a nondescript apartment complex with white vinyl siding and a pond out front. I follow her up the stairs to the second door on the right and wait for her to unlock the door with a gold key attached to a Bone Collector bottle opener keychain. Once inside, a black and white cat trots across the living room, its tags jingling, and rubs against Hildy’s leg.
“Hey Marco,” Hildy’s voice shoots up an octave as she bends down to scratch his chin.
Hannah’s apartment looks strangely how I imagined it would.
A light grey sectional takes up most of the living room, accented with white wooden furniture and shabby chic decor. While Hildy busies herself with feeding Marco, I wander over to a tall shelf next to the sliding glass door leading to the deck. It’s smattered with small potted plants, tactfully arranged books, and framed photos.
I immediately recognize one of the photos. Next to an overflowing pothos is the same photo that’s on Bowen’s wall—the one with Hildy, Jay, Hannah, Bowen, and the redheaded girl I now know as Evie Maguire. I glance over my shoulder at Hildy scuttling around the kitchen and meander away from the shelf toward the hallway. From the edge of the hallway, I see two doors. One leads to a bathroom and the other to the master bedroom.
As I stare into the dark bedroom, an idea slowly forms. My eyes relax, glazing over as they fixate on the corner of a yellow comforter just visible in the residual light from the kitchen. I bet there’s something interesting in that room. Maybe a few interesting things. Maybe I could take a peek and try to find them…
“All set!” Hildy calls, flipping off the kitchen light.
And that’s that. We head out the apartment door and I wait as she locks the deadbolt before following her back down the wooden staircase to the parking lot. But I make sure to look over my shoulder at the black numbers marking the edge of the building.
Snuggling into my winter coat on Hildy’s heated leather seats, I indulge in the same deep thoughts I had prior to arriving at her house. Except, this time, I have a new plan. It forms gradually, as we make the drive back out to the Garrison compound, Hildy’s cargo area filled with bulk paper products, 2-pound bags of coffee, and a cardboard box of 5-dozen eggs. And once we arrive, I help Hildy lug every single thing inside, happily lingering at her kitchen counter, waiting and watching.
Hildy reaches into her coat pocket, my eyes trained on the key ring as she fishes it out. She tosses it into the identical teak bowl that Bowen has, except hers is on the entry table near the hall closet under a rustic wooden sign with “Rhinehardt” etched across it.
