Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,47
I don’t think any of us are going to be fine for quite a while. You’ve heard of suicide clusters? Well, we’re right in the middle of one, and if we don’t take care of ourselves, it’s going to get worse.” On the phone, she sounded flat, almost distracted, as though she were finishing up dinner and couldn’t manage to get me off the phone. “I’m telling you as your doctor, I don’t want you to be alone tonight. Who can you call? Go to a friend’s house. Go out and have dinner, see a movie, do something until Richard’s on his way home. I’ll tell him to call you. I think you and I should meet as soon as we can. How about Monday?”
“What’s the conference?” I said.
“The Louisiana Mental Health Professionals Network. I’m serious about having a session together, Elien. You missed the support group this week.”
“Well, funny story: someone tried to shoot me last week.”
“Elien.”
“I’d really hate for Richard to have to miss his fucking conference.”
I disconnected and glanced up the block. Dag was still sitting on the trunk of his piece of shit car, and he gave me a wave. He’d been there for hours now; it was early afternoon, and the coroner’s office had already come and taken Tamika. Kenny was gone, and the firetruck had left a while before. The cops were packing up too.
When I got to the Ford, Dag hopped off the trunk. “How are you?”
“I want to pick a fight.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I want to break some of Richard’s expensive shit.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I want to scream.”
“You can scream. Screaming is allowed.”
I cocked my head, studying him.
He gave back an uncertain grin.
“One time,” he said, “I stepped on a canebrake rattlesnake. It was just a baby, and it zipped off as fast as it could. I screamed so loud I hurt my throat.”
“No,” I finally said. “It’s no fun if it doesn’t bother you.”
“Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
“Home, I guess. Please.”
So we got in the car, and thankfully the windows were down, because on the drive over I was sure I had smelled a Big Mac lurking in the back seat. Dag pulled away from the curb, and we looped north and then east, following the edge of Moulinbas toward the state highway.
Then Dag pulled into a small parking lot; the building ahead of us looked like the rest of Moulinbas, a Creole townhouse with ancient panes of glass, the wrought-iron balcony pulling away from the brick in places. A sign proclaimed this place Taverne Grise.
“They’ve got good po’boys,” Dag said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You had half a croissant and some coffee.”
“And about a million calories of Coke.”
“Nobody thinks clearly on an empty stomach. You’ll feel better too.”
“Oh, really? I’ll feel better about my friend blowing her brains out if I eat a po’boy? Jesus fucking Christ, where were you last week? Or the week before that? I really could have used some great fucking advice like this.”
Dag sighed and got out of the car.
“You can’t just leave me out here,” I screamed after him.
“The windows are down.”
“I’m not a fucking dog.”
He muttered something that sounded like, “Yeah, I like dogs.”
I stalled for five minutes after he went into the restaurant, getting angrier and angrier, revving myself up. Then I headed into Taverne Grise. It consisted of a single, large dining room, with one wall painted lilac, picture windows looking out onto the street, and a bar. Dag was sitting at the bar, a drink, maybe whisky, in front of him while he did something with his phone.
Sliding onto the stool next to him, I said, “Where the fuck do you get off?”
“I told you: I don’t like being talked to that way.”
“I’ll talk to you however I—”
“Please don’t talk to me like that.”
It was the tone, more than the words, that stopped me: he sounded like a kid. I forgot what I’d been about to say. His dark eyes flitted over my face, and then he looked back at his phone.
I squirmed on the stool, pressed hands to my flushed cheeks, and took a few breaths.
“Maybe some food would help,” I said.
He swiped at something on his phone.
“I guess I got out of control again,” I said.
He swiped again. I tried to look over his shoulder, but he angled the phone away. I wondered if he was on Grindr.
“I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”
Dag held up two fingers.
“I know, I know. It was the second time.