lab.”
“Yep.”
“Rumors and rumors of rumors.”
“Welcome to my world,” he said.
“You’re welcome to it,” I replied.
***
After that, I went to the convenience store for some Winston Lights and a six-pack of Sam Adams, both of which I took onto Trey’s terrace. It was misty weather, prophetic of rains to come. I sat on a chaise lounge underneath a narrow sliver of roof and took out my phone.
Then I called Eric. To my utter astonishment, he answered. His tone was matter-of-fact, and I kept mine the same as I told him the latest. He didn’t seem surprised.
“Dylan was causing problems for a lot of people. At least the whole mess is over with.”
“Sure it is,” I replied, opening the cigarettes. “Tell me about Gabriella.”
“You know I can’t do that. I work with Trey, he’s—”
“I wasn’t asking you to talk about Trey, just Gabriella. Unless she’s your client too, in which case, just screw it, I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of figuring any of this out.”
There was a pause. “They met through the Beaumonts, and she took him on as a…project would be the best word. Self-described sexual healer, certified massage therapist. I think she does a little fortune-telling on the side.”
I remembered the tarot deck in Trey’s desk. “Of course she does.” I searched the grocery bag for the lighter. “I cannot believe I am having this conversation.”
“Frankly, neither can I. Why are you?”
“Because she’s connected. I just don’t know how.”
His voice softened a little. “You sound upset.”
“It’s been a long day. I need sleep.”
“So come home. We’ll talk.” A long pause. “There are some things I need to apologize for.”
“It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not. We said some hurtful things to each other, and we need to process that.”
Process. He wanted me to process.
“The thing is, I’m staying over here tonight.”
“That shop isn’t safe, Tai, it’s—”
“I’m not at the shop.”
“Rico’s?”
“No.”
Another pause, this one ripe with unsaid something. He exhaled softly. “Fine. Whatever you decide. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Are you going to the reception tomorrow?”
“I’m guessing I’m not welcome there.” I lit the cigarette, pulled in a soft, deep drag. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been staying busy.”
“Staying busy is not helping me get to fine. I just keep veering farther and farther away from fine.”
A curious pause. “Are you smoking again?”
“ No.” I tapped ash into an empty Pellegrino bottle. “Listen, I gotta go. But we’ll talk soon, I promise.”
When he was gone, I sat and stared at the phone for a long time, finishing one cigarette and starting another. The smoke felt lovely in my mouth, velvety and warm, as I watched the streetlights and the bruised purple sky beyond. The rain dripped on my hair, my face. I didn’t wipe it away.
***
I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until my head jerked. The sky had blackened to jet layered with yellow, the infamous Atlanta haze. I checked my watch. Twelve-fifteen. Trey wasn’t back yet.
I slid open the terrace door and ducked inside the darkened apartment. A pencil crunched underfoot next to his desk. When I bent to pick it up, I saw his briefcase lying beside the door, dumped haphazardly on its side. Suddenly I noticed the disarray on his desk, the scattered papers.
“Trey?” I called.
No answer. I closed the terrace door and turned on the light.
I saw him on the kitchen floor, curled on his side, his head at the base of the refrigerator. I ran over and put a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking. Even worse, his breathing was shallow and fast, his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection.
I retrieved my cell phone and dialed Garrity’s number. He’d barely answered when I started in on him.
“Trey is sick, really sick.”
“What do you mean, sick?”
“He’s lying on the floor, he won’t answer me, he’s shaking all over. Damn it, Garrity, I need his doctor.”
“Hold on.” I heard him rummaging through papers. He found the number and gave it to me. “I’ll be right there, okay? Stay with him.”
I hung up the phone. Like I was going anywhere.
I went to Trey and brushed the hair from his forehead. At my touch, his eyes flew open. They were glazed with pain and exhaustion.
“Go away,” he said.
“Not a chance.” I brushed back another piece of hair, and he reached up and knocked my hand away.
“I have to get up.”
“Not now.”
“Now.” He pushed to standing and buckled, catching himself before he hit the ground. I grabbed him, and he put one arm around me, no argument this time.