Officer Martin: Mr. McCann, it helps me to know all the facts going into this investigation. Who was close to whom? What your employers knew, what they didn’t know. This kind of thing.
JM: Okay, well. Carey and I got close. I mean, we … [gestures vaguely]. A couple of times. Technically three times.
Officer Martin: To clarify, you were sexually intimate with Carey Duncan?
JM: Yes. But things with us aren’t the same anymore. I made some mistakes with her, as far as disclosing certain information is concerned.
Officer Martin: And what information would this be?
JM: Ted Cox and I had a deal that if the Netflix show was picked up for a second season, he would give me an executive producing credit and the job of lead engineer.
Officer Martin: And was Ms. Duncan given a similar deal?
[Note: The subject didn’t answer]
Officer Martin: Mr. McCann? Was Ms. Duncan offered a similar deal if the show was continued for a second season?
JM: Not to my knowledge. [long pause] It was my hope that—I don’t really know what to say. It was complicated.
Officer Martin: Complicated how?
JM: Complicated because my résumé was in the trash, and Carey was in an impossible situation and suddenly I had the chance to help her get out of it but it would mean blowing everything up. I wasn’t sure I was prepared to do that.
Officer Martin: Mr. McCann, you don’t need to be defensive. No one is accusing you of anything here.
JM: Okay, but I can assure you that Carey and I being sexually intimate had no effect on the incident. None at all. What are you writing down?
It doesn’t happen often, but I do have occasional moments of brilliance. Like taking first place in the seventh grade spelling bee. The final word was rhythm. I turned bright red, but spelled it correctly not because I’d been studying for days like I told my mom, but because I’d been babysitting for a neighbor the night before and read their 1972 edition of The Joy of Sex cover to cover. Twice.
Another would be not giving Rusty and Melly the Wi-Fi password in Laramie until the last possible second. Their usual cabin—where Melly collected river rock for wall pieces—doesn’t have Internet or cell service at all. I knew that as soon as we turned down that wooded drive and Melly saw she had zero signal, she’d assume we’d have no Wi-Fi here, either.
See? Brilliant.
But my plan could only work for so long. Eventually I had to relent so we could plug in and collectively stress over the premiere of Home Sweet Home together.
On the night of the premiere, the tension in the house feels like a low electrical hum. I’m on my way to make sure Melly and Rusty are both mentally prepared for tonight but am instead lured to the kitchen by the smell of garlic and onion sautéing in butter, of something chocolate baking in the oven. I find an aproned James at the stove, a kitchen towel over his shoulder and a wooden spoon in his hand.
The sight catches me beneath my heart, near my lungs, sending me into a tight, breathless spiral of imagining this moment in a different context, somewhere far away from this cabin. I stare at the broad line of his shoulders, the way his T-shirt stretches across his back and tapers down to a trim waist, a fantastic ass—
Wait. I lean against the counter, and he glances over at me, raises a questioning brow.
“Are you actually wearing a T-shirt, James McCann?”
“Always so obsessed with my clothes.” He grins and turns back to his cooking.
“There’s definitely a joke in there about being more obsessed with you out of them.” Uneasily, I look around the kitchen and out into the living room. “Where are the prisoners?”
He reaches for a pair of tongs. “They were driving me nuts, so I told them to find something to do.”
I gape at him. “And they listened?”
“I think they can only be obstinate for the sake of being obstinate for so long before even they have to find some way to fill their time.”
“Do I ask or want plausible deniability here … ?”
James smiles down at the stove, sliding some chopped tomatoes from a cutting board into the pan. He adds some browned ground turkey to the mix. It smells incredible. “They’re outside. Rusty found some woodworking stuff in one of the sheds and needed help dragging it out. I told him I could help or I could make dinner—wisely, he chose dinner. And since he didn’t dare ask you—”
“No,” I say. “You mean—?”
Amused, he lifts his chin toward the window, and I follow his gaze. Rusty and Melly are arguing over the top of a dirty old table saw they must have brought outside, a serpent of extension cords coiled on the ground at their feet. Melly is in one of her velvet sweat suits, her bright blond hair piled in a bun on top of her head. Instead of heels, she’s in a rare pair of sneakers and looks almost comically small next to her giant of a husband.
“Should we be concerned?” I ask, watching as Melly throws something across the table. “Aren’t there like, power tools and rusty nails out there? Aren’t you worried someone might use an ax?”
He considers this before pulling down plates from the cupboard. “Worst-case scenario: Someone dies. Easiest to explain is that they were maimed during a tragic woodworking accident that cut short some quality couple time. As far as I’m concerned, either of those options can only improve their image at this point. At least there aren’t any witnesses here to tweet it.”
With Melly and Rusty occupied, I do what I’ve wanted to since walking into the kitchen. Pushing off the counter, I step up behind him, resting my cheek between his shoulders and wrapping my arms around his waist. He makes a low, vibrating sound of contentment, and places his hand over mine to keep me there.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” he says, and I nod against him, breathing him in and letting myself enjoy every second. I’ve never really let myself want someone this way. Never let them know the parts of me that I spend so much time hating or trying to hide. It’s nice to just be me. Everything lately feels so hard, but being with James isn’t.
When he laughs, I feel it move through him in a deep rumble. “They look like a couple of actors in a really weird silent movie.”
I hook my chin over his shoulder to look outside again. It’s really just an excuse to get closer. He’s right. We can see them shouting but can’t hear anything they say. It’s oddly relieving.
Rusty has a set of safety goggles sitting atop his head. Melly is holding a giant hammer, waving it in the air. I’m not sure if I’m more worried she’ll hurt herself or him with it, but I find I have very little energy to go out there and intervene.
With a click of the stove, James shuts off a burner and lifts a pot from the back, full of noodles, transferring it to a colander in the sink. My grip around his waist is clearly making it harder for him to maneuver around the kitchen, but I don’t want to let go until I have to.
“Dinner’s ready.” With one hand keeping me close, he smiles at me over his shoulder. “Should we tell them they’re allowed to come back inside?”
I groan into his shirt. “Do we have to?”
“We don’t have to do anything,” he says, and turns in my arms. “They don’t know it, but that door is locked, so …”