I’d skipped my way to the office—no, not literally—even stopping for coffee at Dot, my favorite local shop. Although there’d been a distinct lack of kitschy decor and overly friendly patrons, I’d managed to enjoy it, mostly because I told myself that soon enough the Bean would be my local shop.
When I’d reached the HiWire offices, Jeanette had actually come to the lobby to greet me. I’d had a momentary flash of panic, because her face had been contorted into a grimace unlike any I’d seen before, but I realized that was because she was over-Botoxed and smiling in a way she hadn’t since the day I’d signed my contract.
It turned out, readers were flooding my latest post with (mostly) supportive comments and sharing the link on social media. Jeanette’s assistant heard some radio hosts chatting about how “Hagatha got personal” during her morning commute, and Buzzfeed had even done a little blurb under the heading “Agony Aunt in Agony,” which I believed was stretching the issue.
Pfft. By a lot.
But after my meeting with Jeanette, in which we’d come to an amicable conclusion about my future with HiWire, I’d walked home and looked at the clock—10:30 a.m. And… nothing had happened.
I’d strolled on the building’s roof deck. I changed my already clean sheets. I alphabetized the groceries in my nearly empty pantry and took a whole four minutes to decide whether water crackers should be shelved under W or C.
By then it was eleven o’clock.
I called Mason, just to see if Beale had made any exciting discoveries that morning, but Taffy, Mason’s assistant, said Doc Mason was with a patient.
I called Littlejohn, but he didn’t answer, and I remembered he’d mentioned an Extravaganza meeting last time we spoke.
In desperation, I called Jonquil, grateful when she chatted to me for thirty minutes about the mockups the graphic designer had sent her and unreasonably disappointed when she had to hang up so she could have tea—“and by tea I mean tequila, honey! Wish you were here!”—with the Mahjong folks.
I tossed my phone on the couch with a sigh and decided to water my houseplants but found I had none.
Who the fuck didn’t have a single living organism besides himself in his home? Never had such a busy life seemed so damn empty.
By the time Mason called back around four, I was coming out of my skin.
“Mason, precious! Hello! I just called to catch up. By any chance—” Have you seen Beale?
“Hey!” Mason said at the same time, his voice muffled like his mouth was full. “Been a super-busy day here. I’m eating a late lunch while we chat.”
“Delightful. I live for the sound of you masticating in my ear. Why so hectic?”
“Mmm.” Mason slurped his drink. “One of the Stallions, this guy named Bobo—”
“I know Bobo,” I said impatiently, tapping my fingers on the arm of the sofa.
“Oh, that’s right! Convenient. Well, he and a couple friends bought a bar.”
“What? This week?” Already things were changing without me?
“Yeah. He bought an abandoned property on the Gulfside in the middle of the Key, kind of across from the Gas n’ Sundry. Deal went through Monday. Fenn said it’s gonna be cute.” Mason stopped to swallow. “Anyway, Bobo had a huge barbecue thing last night, and half the town went, and Gloria brought a potato salad, and it sat out a little too long, and… well. As I said, busy day.”
I frowned. “Was Beale at the party? Is he okay?”
“Mmm.” Mason shoveled more food in his mouth. “Dunno. Pretty sure. Haven’t talked to him.”
“You don’t know if he’s okay?” I demanded, jumping to my feet. “How’s that possible, Mason? He lives in your backyard. Aren’t there oaths about this sort of thing?”
Mase sounded amused. “I haven’t been in my backyard, Toby. And the licensing board doesn’t require me to accost people to find out their potato salad status.”
I huffed.
“Besides, Beale’s been busy helping Young Rafe plan the Extravaganza since Gage is out of town, and I’ve hardly seen him in weeks. For what it’s worth, Beale and Littlejohn took off in Littlejohn’s car this morning toward Cooter Key like the world’s oddest Thelma and Louise reenactment, and Beale waved happily. Does that satisfy you?”
Beale and Littlejohn, riding off happily. Lovely.
I sat back down hard. “Pfft. Satisfy. I don’t require satisfaction, Mason. I was… I was… I was merely inquiring after the health of a mutual friend. That’s hardly… whatever you think this is.” I cleared my throat. “It’s called basic human kindness, okay?”
“Ah. It’s just that I’ve so rarely heard you express this ‘human kindness’ before,” he teased.
“Excuse you?”
Mason laughed. “I love you, Toby. I really do. And I think you should call Beale,” he said gently. “Just to get closure.”
Ah. So closure was the most likely outcome, then? I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I don’t suppose Beale has, um, mentioned me, or…?”
“Not since the day after the party,” he said sadly. “But I told you, I haven’t seen him. And he did seem really shaken that Saturday morning. And regretf—”
“No, no. No need to elaborate. At all. Something Littlejohn said seemed to indicate that Beale might still be harboring some unresolved concerns, and I was concerned. About those concerns. But all evidence suggests that he’s fine, so that’s… good. Great. Perfect.”
My stomach churned, and the air in my apartment felt stale.
“Toby,” Mason sighed. “As your oldest friend, I’m telling you to call Beale—”
“And I will! Goodness, Mason, I certainly will.” I waved a hand, though Mase couldn’t see me. “His birthday is coming up next month, and I will…. I will call him. I may even sing.”
“Today.”
“Ha. What? No. Absolutely not.” Any confidence I might have had this morning was gone entirely now. In fact, I couldn’t believe I’d ever considered that Beale would see my column, let alone that he would be… what? Moved by it? Nonsense. “I can’t, Mason, as a matter of fact, because I’m going out to… um…” I hesitated, then decided on the spot. “A club. I haven’t been in weeks. Men are probably wondering where I am.” I was confident that was not the case.
“Toby,” Mason said wearily. “Maybe instead…”
“Remember me fondly to everyone down there!” I interrupted cheerily. “Make sure to let anyone who asks know that I am doing well and having just a really, really remarkably wonderful time. I’ll speak to you soon, darling. Kisses to Fenn, and tell him he’s my favorite.”
“Speaking of which, remind me to tell you about Fenn’s competition with my new brother-in-law.”
I was nearly swayed—nearly—but I shook my head. “Next time! Really must dash if I’m going to be beautified by this evening.”
Especially since I could sense I’d need a good cry first.
At nine, after a hydrating mask and a bubble bath, I got dressed in my tightest jeans—the ones that showed my bulge to perfection—and my black Berluti Scrittos. I took twenty minutes to fix my hair. And I was stepping out of the Lyft in front of Dive before I realized I was being an idiot.