Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,59
endorsement. “But maybe I should just listen while you talk instead of trying to solve your problems?”
“It feels… impossible. Like the list of things I have to do is growing. Like I’m running a goddamn race, and someone keeps moving the finish line.”
“Oh, Tug. That’s kind of how all of us feel.”
“All of who?”
“Grown-ups. You just gave the perfect description of being an adult. It’s not like you reach a finish line and they give you a medal. Even if you succeed at one challenge there’s just another, bigger, probably nastier challenge waiting.”
“I thought you were Mr. Glass Half-Full.”
“You know, a glass is always full,” I pointed out. “Even if half the volume is composed of air.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Somebody has on his cranky pants.”
He blew a very soft raspberry. “I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything if I can’t sleep. But every time I try, I just lie here with racing thoughts. What if, what if, what if. I’m all full of dread and worst-case scenarios.”
“That must be awful.”
“Whenever I used to feel this way, I did whatever I could to take the edge off, but now I just have to lie here, listening to every fucking sound. This house isn’t new, so it makes settling noises. Joanne’s door squeaks, and when anyone flushes the toilet, it sounds like a jet engine revving.”
“I hate adjusting to new environments too. It always takes me some time.”
“There was a spider on my towel.” He hissed the word spider. “I nearly wiped my face with a spider, Luke.”
“Oh my God. Did you burn it? I’d have had to burn it. Just the thought—”
“You totally suck.” A pause. “Aren’t you going to tell me what I should do? Are you even paying attention? Are you reading right now?”
“I’m not reading. I’m sitting on a bench at the embarcadero in Morro Bay, watching the boats rise and fall.” Maybe Tug just needed something else to focus on. “Some are fishing boats, but there are sailboats too. Some kind of hardware is pinging off their masts, and it makes this really recognizable chiming sound. Their hulls smack up against the bumpers on the docks and the boats bounce off. It’s cold here. You can see Morro Rock from where I’m sitting. Clouds are coming in from the ocean, not rainclouds, but those drifty, fluffy ones that bunch up and curdle like cottage cheese around the moon.”
It took him a few seconds to respond. “Yeah?”
“Mmhmm. You want me to read to you? I have Bram Stoker’s Dracula on my phone. It’s good. Have you read it?”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think I’ll read to you for a few minutes, and the drone of my very boring voice will put you to sleep better than anything you’ve ever tried.”
“I doubt that.”
“I said, ‘put you to sleep.’ That’s the only guarantee I make.”
“All right.”
I read Dracula to Tug for what seemed like a long time, and honestly, I don’t know if it helped. He didn’t fall asleep, that much was obvious when I stopped.
“Time’s up already?” I heard the yawn in his voice. “I want to read the rest now.”
“I’m sure there’s a library in town.”
“Aaaaand another thing goes on the fucking list.”
“Spoiler alert. That will never, ever end.”
“Shit.”
“Even on vacations, you’ll have a never-ending list.”
“Fuck.”
“Even on your deathbed, your lists will dangle in your head with all the unfinished things you know you should have done, wish you could do, wanted to have completed.”
“I have some experience with that, you know.” He yawned again. “What you say is painfully true.”
“You got a do-over, Tug. Don’t keep life waiting.”
“Thank you.” Tug’s voice softened. “God, Luke. What would I do without you?”
I hesitated, suddenly feeling very much on the precipice I’d been warned about. “You’d think of something.”
“Luke, I—”
“Night, Tug.” Something made me stop his next words.
Whatever he had to say, my gut told me to pull back hard before he could get it out.
“It’s getting pretty chilly out here,” I told him. “I should head back.”
“Oh. Okay. Night, Luke.”
I disconnected the call.
Chapter Eighteen
St. Nacho’s, Day 2
After a piss-poor night’s sleep, it’s almost as if the conversation I had with Luke was one of my nicer dreams. But Luke’s voice, soft and warm with affection as he read me the first few pages of Dracula over the phone had been solid and real.
I shouldn’t have bothered him like that.
I need to take care of my own shit.
I’m supposed to live in my skin without calling for backup every