Now we were getting somewhere. She’d never said that out loud to me. Sure I wanted Blake to open up about it, but I never wanted it to be like this. I never wanted her to feel forced—or cornered—by Grant to do anything ever again, but this was the game he was playing. For all he knew, she couldn’t remember and he saw it as a way out. And a way to cause some shit for Casey in the process. I imagined, in the end, it would eventually go to trial or he’d take a plea with a lesser charge.
“That’s not right, Reggie.” The panic in her voice was unmistakable. “That’s not true. He can’t do that. Why can’t he just leave me alone?”
“Blake, are you sure you can’t remember?”
There was a pause. A long pause. A truth-confessing pause.
I had three minutes to call Nora. Why did I say only ten minutes?
“Hey, don’t stress out about it right now. Okay? Paul said Grant made his statement and asked if I could come in to make mine and answer a few more questions. I’ll be in town on Thursday.”
“What will they do to Casey?”
“They’ll probably call him to come in too, or they might even arrest him. I wanted to give you guys a heads-up. Paul said it would just be a formality, but it’d most likely happen in the next few days. Loverboy might want to call his lawyer, just so they’re ready. I thought maybe you’d want to tell him yourself.” It was a bad position to be in, especially since I knew she remembered some, if not all that had happened. Even I could tell, and I’d only seen her twice since she’d woken up, right before I came back to Chicago, but I’d talked to her on the phone plenty. It was in her voice. My money was to bet on her assuming Grant was in enough trouble—even without her statement or her pressing any charges—and she simply wanted to be done with him.
“That’s … that’s so wrong though.” Sheer terror echoed in her voice.
I hated that motherfucker for what he did to her. I didn’t know Casey all that well yet, but I kind of hated Grant for him too. The Casey I was quickly getting to know wouldn’t put up with his shit though. And despite her efforts, I didn’t think she was afraid of Casey going to jail. She knew what happened. She wouldn’t let Grant do anything to him. She was just scared of letting it all out.
That’s the way my little sister operated. Always had been. One time when we were kids she ripped the shit out of the bottom of her foot. It got infected, but the little shit wouldn’t tell anyone until it started making her sick. That girl could hold things in like no one else I knew, but she had her tells.
“Don’t worry, Blake. Casey will be all right.”
“I know he will,” she said. In the span of two minutes she’d changed her tune. She didn’t sound like a victim, and that was exactly what I wanted. She’d just gotten there a lot faster than I predicted.
“If you know anything, it’s probably a good time to talk to someone. Even if it is just Casey.” I hoped I wasn’t overestimating his control—his ability to stay calm. I also hoped that when she called him, he’d handle it with wisdom and not with emotion.
I didn’t know though.
Part of me thought he’d be more wrapped up in making sure she was okay. The other part worried if he heard the words we both knew were true come out of her mouth, he might snap. Fuck. I’d like to think I’d be wise and smart about it too, but Heaven only knows the reach of my control.
“I know,” she admitted with a new edge to her voice. I had to hand it to her. She was tougher than any of us ever gave her credit for. “Reggie? Speaking of talking to someone, have you talked to Nora lately?”
And she was a goddamned expert at turning shit around.
“No.”
Fuck. Ten minutes. I was breaking my own rule.
“Blake, tell Casey to call me if he wants to know anything. I can give him Paul’s number if he has any questions. I have to go. I love you.”
Eleven minutes.
“I will. Thanks for letting me know. I love you too. Bye,” she said before the line went dead.
I’d said ten minutes. I never told half-truths. I believed in all or nothing, but my finger scrolled to her number anyway.
Fuck my rules.
“Well, well. That was longer than ten minutes. Did you lose track of time?”
Wasn’t she coy? Her voice was covered in sarcasm knowing that it was eating me up to be late.
“Well, it was either not call and possibly miss you while you’re in town—or call.”
“Look at you meeting me halfway.” Why wouldn’t she do the same?
“That’s not what this is and you know it.” The women in my life never went easy on me.
“Our place?” she asked.
“Ten minutes.”
“Don’t be late this time.” Then she hung up and there was no chance in hell I’d be late twice.
Monday, June 14, 2010
“ALL RIGHT, MAN. WHAT do you think of the place?”
The new Bay Brewing satellite branch was still a ways out from up and running, but it had the promise of being a great location. The building was in a thriving part of town and the fucker was huge. The equipment it could hold was awesome. Since we’d just expanded the San Fran branch into a neighboring building, we were getting the kettles and other brewing machinery from the same manufacturer we’d used before. For now, we had a few guys from California cleaning the empty space to prepare for the large equipment.
There was a lot to be done, but we’d get there.
“It’s great,” he said, wide eyes looking around. The big brick building was impressive, and since there was nothing inside, it seemed to go on and on.
“We’ve talked about putting in a small bar/retail area and having tours here in the future.”
“Yeah, you’ve got the space for it.” He chuckled. “Shit. You’re really doing it, dude. This is great.”
“Where’s your poker face? You're supposed to make me beg you to work for me.”
“Nah, I’m in. I’ve been wanting something a little more stable and what you’ve done—I can’t say I’m not a little jealous.”
Pride swelled in my chest. I’d worked hard and this was the result. It wasn’t mine alone, but I owned my fair share. Troy would be a solid, permanent addition.
“So what are you thinking? Sales, management, shipping and receiving? What are you interested in doing here?” It was time to cut the shit and find out what he was into. I wasn’t a manager by nature, but it wasn’t that different from sales. Give someone what they want and they’ll be happy. Happy workers make happy beer. Or some shit like that.
“I don’t want to travel like you do. I’m ready to work nine-to-five, Casey. You know how I grew up. I’m ready to put my roots down. But management?” He was skeptical.
“Yeah, management. I’m not a fool. This isn’t some ‘Hey, let my bro run my shit into the ground’ kind of thing. I trust you. I know you’ll call me if you need something, but mostly I need someone to be here when I’m not. Make sure orders are entered. Make sure trucks leave full and get where they’re going. Keep the peace.” And as much as it sounded like bullshit, anyone who could manage having six different jobs at the same time for as long as he did—well, fuck if that wasn’t qualification enough. I needed a juggler and one that everyone would like.