“I wish I had known,” I whisper, not meaning for them to hear.
“I wasn’t looking for a handout,” Haverty responds. “There’s nothing that you could’ve done.”
“You think helping you would’ve been a handout?” I frown into the rearview mirror. “You looked out for my family, drove our asses around, dealt with my constant drinking and abuse toward everyone. You’ve sacrificed your time with your family for mine and have never asked for anything in return. You’re a saint, Haverty, and my friend. And you deserve better and so did your mother.”
He’s quiet again, staring out the window, a tear streaming down the side of his face.
“You know, my entire life I’ve felt sorry for myself. Poor me. Poor Cove Everton, right?”
“With good reason,” he says.
“You haven’t acted that way, and you’ve dealt with as much pain and sorrow as me, especially over the past two years,” I respond. Alyssa puts her hand on my leg, either to offer support, or to get me to shut up. I’m unsure which. I’m silent as we drive into the basement parking garage of our building, keeping my remaining thoughts about what a pussy I am to myself, that is, until Haverty speaks up as if he can read my mind.
“It’s alright, asshat. We all know you’re a pussy.”
I park and glance back at him in the mirror and he winks while Alyssa lets out a soft laugh. I smile and nod, locking the Escalade and leading them to our place.
“I take it Sophia’s alright, considering you showed up at my house and aren’t out scouring the city for her?” he says.
“I believe so.”
“You don’t know for sure?” he asks while holding Alyssa’s hand. She leans against him as we ride in the elevator; the bulldogs’ on their best behavior.
“I have a feeling she can handle the situation on her own.”
“Are you saying you chose me over your wife?”
“This time, yes,” I pause. “She’s with her brother, Mark Jameson.”
Alyssa’s eyes widen as she lifts her head from Haverty’s chest. “Her brother? Nuh-uh. The one she said would laugh if an iron fence post speared her? Sounded like she hated him.”
“He’s Marcus Wild.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Cove...” Haverty shows concern, but I cut him off.
“She left a message that she was fine and would be home soon. And I’m not gonna lie, I’m nervous about the whole set of circumstances, but if she comes back to me...” I look down at Prudence with a smile and think of the twin boys in the street. “If this isn’t some sick Jameson plot to get the best of me, take the money and run... if she comes back, then she loves me, and all is well.”
“Why the fuck was he harassing you?” Haverty asks.
“It’s a long story that I’m just starting to figure out. But my mother, believe it or not, has been able to sum everything up about him without even knowing the full story.”
“Your mother’s incredibly perceptive about the world around her,” Haverty says. “She just pretends not to be when your father’s around, like a lot of women from her generation.”
I nod. “She referred to Mark as the ghost from A Christmas Carol.”
“Is he the past, present, or future ghost?” Alyssa asks.
“All three, I think.”
“So, did he transform you?” Haverty questions.
“We’ll see,” I say as the elevator opens and I unlock the door to our penthouse. Alyssa’s eyes are even larger now as she grips Haverty’s arm.
“For realz, Cove? Your home’s beautiful.”
I drop my keys on the counter and show them the guest suite as the dogs sniff the furniture in excitement, leaving drool and slobber on our hardwood floor. “Feel free to use the kitchen and don’t hesitate to ask for anything.” The dogs jump on the bed and pant while Alyssa lies next to them, slipping off her sandals and petting their big stomachs.
Haverty extends his hand and I push it away to replace the handshake with an embrace.
“I’m sorry, Buddy,” I say. “You guys are welcome to stay for as long as you’d like.”
I see Max out of the corner of my eye jump down and lift his leg on the side of my grandmother’s antique dresser. Alyssa scolds him and Haverty shakes his head at the scene.
“You sure about that?” he says.
“Maybe you and Alyssa can stay, and your beasts can hang out in the pool room or on the terrace,” I say, only half-kidding.
They offer to clean up the mess but I insist on taking care of it then close the door to give them privacy for the evening. I’m sure Haverty will need some time to grieve. I’ll help him figure out the funeral arrangements when he’s ready.
Now, where the fuck’s my wife?
I try Mark’s cell again, but there’s no answer. All I can do is wait and try to stay calm, which everyone knows is like... well, like telling Max not to piss on a dresser; it’s not gonna happen.
What I need is a distraction while I play the waiting game, change out of my wet clothing, and to chill the fuck out. I head upstairs to our bedroom, take a hot shower, slip into a clean pair of boxers, and turn down the bed. Fuck, that took a whopping fifteen minutes, now what? I exhale and call my parents, giving them an update and then try Mark again.
“Answer your goddamn cell, you dick.”
Nothing. Where are you, Sophia?
The bed’s empty and cold without her, and the house is extremely quiet. Even with Haverty, Alyssa, and the dogs downstairs, it’s just too still. It’d make my day to have her in this room, jumping around and shouting, “potatoes!”
That daydream of her at least puts a smile on my face, and as I lounge in bed with my back against the headboard, I decide to use the iPad to see if I can find more information about her brother.
Again... nothing. It’s like he doesn’t exist. The Jameson Industries porn site has no photo or any detailed information about him, and the contact page has a generic email. With the number of Mark Jamesons in this world, and after scrolling through ten pages of search results, I give up and move on to something more important... my wife’s Facebook page. I want to see her ‘face.’
She’s signed in, and I can see more posts now than when I was in my office. Shit, she has a lot of friends. There’re sixty comments from people I’ve never even heard of, telling her how beautiful she looks in the new green dress she bought the other day. And they’re right, it’s a beautiful selfie and she’s puckering her lips, looking all badass in the shot. My wife’s fucking hot. I click some of the names and see most of the people are from her hometown of Philly or Temple University where she attended college. They must be random acquaintances. I’ve overheard people at the Scarlett mention only around ten percent of their friends on Facebook are people they actually hang out with in real life, and the rest are, I’ll use a Fight Club term for it, ‘single-serving friends.’
My body jolts when my cell rings and I tap the answer button as rapidly as humanly possible.
“Hello?”
“Ahh, now that’s a civilized way to answer your phone. So you’ve learned how to show some respect to your elders finally?”
“Listen, Mark. You sick, twisted...”
“Whoa, now. Hold on. I was calling to apologize. My baby sister’s given me shit all night about the fun you and I had together over the past two days. I guess I should’ve kept our play dates a secret.”
“Where is she?”
“On her way up.”
I release a breath and close my eyes. “Alone?” I ask.
“Umm, she has a few childhood friends with her, but more or less, yeah, she’s alone.”
“You know, if I ever see you again... you dumbass... you put me through hell... I’d love to pound my fist into your face. I think I’ll rip your eyes out and shove them up your ass.”
“Whoa, whoa, the violence, Cove,” he laughs. “Besides, little Sophie already gave me a good shiner. I forgot how tough my sister is, which is good because I know she’ll do the same to your face if you ever fuck with her.”