you to get back with me. You know how many houses I could have bought by now?”
I wince. He had me waiting for his punchline, but he’s right. As desperate as I am to hit gold status, I was a fool not to return his call. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?”
Leaning forward, I clutch my side, slightly panting. “Runner’s cramp.”
“Here.” He takes my arm, and the feel of his hand gripping my wrist is pure electricity. He pulls it over my head and to the side. “Breathe deep,” he says, stretching me out.
After several deep inhalations, he releases my wrist and motions toward the swing. He holds it in place as I take the seat. He smiles, but it’s not attached in a proper and typical way. I feel bulldozed.
I tilt my head back as he pushes me off, and, upside down, I get the chance to see a different side of him. It makes me angry with myself, angry for not reaching out after his accident, angry for not keeping up with things, angry for not knowing. Maybe there’s a part of me that expects him to be angry, too. Unfortunately, that’s not at all what I see staring back at me.
I know he keeps up with me on Facebook. He likes everything I post, and on occasion, he comments on my photos. That’s Alex for you, though. He’s always been supportive of my endeavors. I rarely, if ever, reciprocate. A few years ago I ran into his brother at a gas station. He peeked his head around the pump and said: “I thought that was you.” After a bit of small talk, he’d told me Alex still talks about me all the time. I told him that was nice, and I threw in that I’m happily married, not wanting the conversation to veer any other way. He’s painfully aware, his brother had said. Then he said I should block him. That way he could move on.
I guess he had. But now?
Head thrown back, staring at the upside-down version of him now, I can wholeheartedly see the full picture. “I was sorry to hear about your wife and child.”
“Girlfriend and child.” He corrects me in a way that says he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I just heard. I’m sorry I haven’t kept up with things very well. If I’d known, I would have reached out.”
He pushes harder. I fly higher. “It’s probably better you didn’t. I wasn’t myself.”
I drag my feet, slowing myself down, eventually coming to a full stop. “Who would be?”
He walks around and leans against the pole. Then he shrugs. “So, I checked out your guy like you asked,” he tells me in his usual nonchalant way. It’s strange, even with all the time that has passed, it’s as though nothing has changed at all. And yet, I have a powerful urge to get up and actually do what I said I was coming to do. Run.
“Thank you. I really appreciate—”
“It’s nothing. Not a big deal.”
Typical Alex. Always leaving things between the lines. Even now he reminds me of bedrooms filled with pot smoke, sunlight, and the belief that the future held magic. He reminds me of dancing in the rain at midnight, freedom, and deals made under the table. “And?”
“He got out three months ago. Traveled up to Oklahoma where his mother lived.”
“Lived?”
“He has a sister there. His mother remarried—and married well—after her kids were grown. His stepfather had gas and oil connections. He passed, and then nine months ago, Mooney’s mother died, leaving him with a bit of coin.”
“I see.”
“He’s staying in a rental out by the lake. His reservation is through the end of December.”
It starts to properly rain as the fine mist turns into big fat drops. I close my eyes and brace myself for what comes next. “He really—”
“How long has this been going on, Aim?”
“Not long.”
“You could have called sooner.”
“I reached out as soon as I needed to.”
“Not soon enough.”
“I need someone who knows the law…” I try to steer the conversation away from the direction I fear he might take it. “Can’t they just lock him up again?”
“If only crimes of thought were a thing.”
I sense the double meaning behind his words. “I just want to know if he’s capable of bringing harm to my family.”
“Oh, he’s capable, all right. The question is whether it’s worth it to him to go back to prison.”
“Unless he intends on not getting caught.”
“Men like Mooney enjoy the cat-and-mouse of it. It’s a game