Chapter Thirteen

Thirteen

Steve held the door open for me. We walked outside into the cold air. It was early but past twilight already, the sky a deep amethyst.

My heart pounded, my head full of doubts . Calm, calm…

He slipped a hand into his coat pocket. Immediately, I went for my purse. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm assuming you don't smoke," Steve said after he lit a cigarette.

I shook my head.

"Good for you. It's a crappy habit," he said, taking a long drag.

"Like energy drinks."

"Not as bad as that."

I smiled and started toward my car. He walked with me.

"Okay, listen." He spoke very quietly, his lips barely moving. "I wanted to talk to you in private for a reason."

I looked at him.

"I have met Dylan Welch. Kind of."

"What do you mean, ‘kind of'?"

"He was here once. As a patient."

I stared at him. "What?"

"He OD'd."

"How long ago?"

"Not very. Last month."

"You sure it was him?"

"When I was at the desk, I looked it up on the computer, so yeah. I'm sure." We were at my car now. I didn't unlock the door. I just stood there, waiting for Steve to say more. He didn't. He took another drag and blew out a thick white cloud. He was taller than I'd assumed he'd be. He looked bigger standing up, more serious in the dimly lit lot, his face shadowed like an informant from an old conspiracy movie.

"Did Welch come in alone?" I asked.

"Some woman brought him in," Steve said.

"What did she look like?"

"Hot—like a model/influencer. White teeth, big hair, tight dress, expensive-looking surgical enhancements."

"Sounds like his type."

"She was most guys' type," he said. "But as I recall that night, she wasn't in much better shape than him. Barely able to stand up herself. She kept saying it was a reaction to mango. Guava. Something ridiculous like that. It's funny, the lies people tell when they come in here. Anyway, she was very opposed to taking him to the hospital. Said he wouldn't want it. So we worked on him here."

"What was done for Dylan?"

"We gave him Naloxone. Dr. Conrad—he was the physician on call that night—suggested he rest at least, but he wasn't having it. As soon as he came to, more or less, Welch cussed us all out and left with the guava girl."

"Was there a reason he cussed you out," I asked, adding, "beyond the usual?"

"Someone ripped his fancy-ass shirt while administering CPR," he said. "So maybe the usual."

"Jesus."

"Right? Asshole."

"Well, at least now I know that it was the same Dylan Welch," I said.

"Why are you looking for him?"

"I'm getting paid," I said. "A lot."

"Wow. Well, I guess it's nice that somebody cares."

"He's from a powerful family."

Steve puffed on his cigarette. "Hey…Sunny?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't tell anyone I told you this, okay? I could really get in trouble."

"Never," I said. "I promise."

"For some weird reason, I trust you," he said. "Even though I probably shouldn't."

"No, you should," I said. I gave him a smile. "Really."

We stood there for a few moments, our shadows looming on the pavement like ghosts. In a way, I wished I did smoke, just to make things less awkward and give me something to do with my hands while I figured out how to bring up his coworker again. I decided that with Steve, the best approach was straightforward. "Was Rhonda there the night Dylan came in?"

He puffed on his cigarette and nodded. "She helped resuscitate him."

"She did?"

"Yep. It's her job."

"She never mentioned anything to you about knowing him, or…"

"No. She was totally professional. I assumed he was a stranger. When the two of them left, Rhonda said something like ‘good riddance,' but I assumed it was because he was rude to the staff. I didn't think it was because he was basically her daughter's killer."

I didn't bother mentioning anything about the warning labels this time. I just thought of Rhonda, trying to lose herself in her job, only to come face-to-face with the man who destroyed her entire world. And what had she done? Saved his life. Stop underestimating people.

"This city can be insanely small," Steve said.

I looked at him. "It really can," I said. "It's nice in a way, but sometimes it makes me feel like I know too many people."

"It's why I like England," he said.

"You don't know anybody there."

"Not a soul."

"That sounds nice."

"It is."

"I've been kind of…craving space lately," I said. "Peace and quiet. A break from this town."

"Me too," he said.

I pictured Richie, Richard Jr., Rosie, and myself at this time next year, in Richie's apartment, decorating a Christmas tree. I'd be calm there. Relaxed. A small, safe client list, my days spent checking the online activity of workers' comp claimants or going over nannycam footage. Very little physical interaction with anyone other than the people I loved. My stomach seized up. I felt slightly nauseated. I heard myself say, "The thing is, my life here is tough to quit."

"I get that."

"Really?"

He nodded. "I'd never leave Boston for longer than a two-week vacation," he said. "It's a pain in the ass here, but it's my pain in the ass. You know? Plus, I love my job."

"I love my job, too."

"Even though both of our jobs apparently involve helping out the same dickhead."

I smiled. "We have something in common. For real."

"You have a boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"I figured," he said. "But it was worth a shot."

I laughed a little. He laughed, too. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He took one last drag, then dropped the butt to the pavement and stepped on it. "I talk to Rhonda pretty often," he said. "I'll put in a good word."

"You think she'll ever come back to work?"

Steve shrugged. "I could see her moving away."

"Scary."

"Tell me about it." He gave me a meaningful look. "Of course, everything's got to end sometime. Otherwise nothing would ever get started."

"Huh?"

"It's a quote."

"Um…"

"The eleventh doctor?"

"Oh, right," I said. "Of course."

I thought I caught him roll his eyes.

We said goodbye and shook hands. I walked back to my car. As I was about to get in, I caught sight of a black RAV4 parked in a space behind me. Its engine was running. And there was a man behind the wheel with his head tilted back, a baseball cap covering his face . I watched a few seconds longer. The man didn't move.

I opened my door and slipped into the front seat. I started up the car. After I backed out of my space and pulled into the lot, I glanced once more at the RAV4. The car looked familiar. So did the baseball cap. I saw headlights flash on in my rearview, and so I left the lot quickly, making a series of turns that landed me on a dead-end residential street. I waited for several moments until I was sure I was alone. Then I called Richie's father.

Steve was right. This town could be insanely small.