Stone Cold, page 8
He doesn’t say a word until we get to the house.
That punk Bryan Quick may have started this whole thing a couple months ago, but today during lunch, Jude decided he was going to finish it. What began with Bryan’s usual taunting and name-calling ended with Jude’s surprise left hook straight to his nose. But Jude didn’t stop there. Once Bryan was knocked to the ground, he pounced on him, laying into him until they were pulled apart by a janitor and two lunch ladies.
Bryan was bawling like a baby and blood was dripping from his nose onto his brand-new Nike dry fit shirt. The whole cafeteria was laughing and cheering. Jude’s attack wasn’t only for me—it was for every other kid Bryan Quick had messed with this year.
I thought for sure we were going to be in huge trouble when our teacher said Paul was coming in to talk to the principal. The number of times I’ve seen Jude’s dad upset, I can count on one hand—and it’s never pretty. It usually involves spit flying from his lips and his face turning the color of beets. I’ve even seen him punch his fist through a door once (though that was because he caught his girlfriend cheating on him after he shelled out two grand to fix her car).
But today his anger seemed to be directed at the school, not us.
We head inside, the three of us walking side by side. Before we get to the door, Paul hooks his hands on the back of our necks.
“Good job today, boys,” he says. “But don’t do that shit again.”
Jude and I fight off matching smiles as Paul heads in, cracks a beer, and takes a seat on the back patio alone. We grab snacks from the pantry—a bag of hot Cheetos and two cherry Gatorades—and make ourselves scarce while Paul cools down.
For the first ten years of my life, it was just my mom and me. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever have anything close to a dad or a brother. Now that I do, I can’t imagine my life without them.
No matter what happens, I’ll always have their backs.
Chapter Seventeen
Jovie
* * *
I heat up some leftover sirloin for Domino and push his food bowl toward his bed. He rises, sniffs it, then spins three times before lying back down with a huff.
Grabbing my phone, I play the video Ida sent me earlier in the week, just a recording of her talking to Domino in a lovable grandmotherly tone. The first few times I played it, he’d wag his tail a couple of times.
Now he just looks at me like I’m the idiot in this equation.
He’s not falling for it anymore.
“Want to go for a walk?” I ask, emphasis on walk. His ears perk and his gaze follows me as I grab his leash. A moment later, he reluctantly makes his way to the door, and I pet the top of his head before hooking onto his collar. “Good boy, Domino.”
By the time we hit the sidewalk, it’s dusk. The sun is low in the cerulean sky and the salty air has turned tepid. Summers in Portland are magical—the perfect antidote to punishing winters. Of course, only a handful of residents stick around all year. The overwhelming majority are visitors, part-timers. Here for a good time, not a long time.
Domino stops to sniff a bush before choosing the perfect spot to lift his leg.
“Since when did you get a dog?” A woman’s voice half startles me.
I glance up and find Connie Carrington, the woman who lives above me in the four-plex. She’s always been cordial enough, if not a little on the chilly side. Another neighbor told me she went through a divorce a few years ago, came out with enough to retire early, and now spends her days sticking her nose in everyone else’s business.
“Oh, he’s not mine,” I say. “I’m watching him for Ida Moss.”
“Who?” Connie scrunches her nose.
“The woman who lives in the house to the west of us,” I say.
“Oh,” she says. “Well, what kind of dog is that?”
I glance at Domino, wondering if it’s even possible to surmise such a thing with his polka dotted fur, stubby legs, hazel eyes, and long body.
“Some kind of mix,” I state the obvious. “You’ll have to ask Ida when she gets back.”
“When’s she coming back?” Connie asks.
“Sometime in the next couple weeks?” I shrug.
She inspects Domino again, her eyes squinting and her lips forming a frown. Maybe she’s not a dog person?
“It was good to see you,” I say, giving the leash a gentle tug to prompt Domino to start walking—which he thankfully does.
Connie bats her hand, muttering something under her breath before heading to the mailbox.
“Some people just like being miserable,” I say to Domino. “Don’t take it personally.”
Half an hour later, we’re back from our walk, and he makes a beeline for his bed only to stop short in front of the steak I warmed up for him before we left. In a matter of minutes, he inhales it all, then finishes with a trip to the water bowl.
I text Ida with the good news, and then I plant myself on the couch, turn on some Netflix for some background noise, and spend the hour that follows Googling dog breeds like a woman on a mission. I could easily ask Ida, but she hasn’t replied to my last message yet and I don’t want to bother her.
After growing bored with my fruitless internet searches, I drag out my laptop and check my email.
My life is a constant flux between working ten- or twelve-hour days to meet a deadline and then having weeks upon weeks filled with more free time than I know what to do with. There’s never an in between.
Since my split with Jason, I’ve viewed Portland as a lily pad of sorts. I figured sooner or later I’d hop to the next one, but the longer I’m here, the more I fall in love with this city, with its cobblestone streets, Victorian architecture, and the constant ambience of seagulls, tugboats, and crashing waves. Being a half hour from my hometown means I can go home any time I want, but at the same time, I feel like I’m half a world away.
On the days when I want a change of scenery, there are a countless little towns all within a short drive from here, all of them offering their own brand of charming architecture, lush foliage, and unique vibes.
And the locals here are beyond friendly, most of them happy to chat up a stranger for a minute or two or stop to help you change a tire or give directions.
In a world where everyone’s constantly moving at a breakneck pace, time moves a little slower here.
The past five years have been a giant blur consisting mostly of writing deadlines and bad dates.
I pull up my Facebook account and search up Stone’s profile, tapping through his pictures until I get to the one of the three of us. There were times, I felt like I was dating both of them. Not romantically, of course. But we spent so much time with Stone that it felt like he was a permanent fixture in the relationship.
Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened had I not gotten sick in the bathroom the night I met them. Would I have chatted Stone up all night? Would I have given him my number? Would anything have come of it?
Jude was easy to fall for. If Stone was guarded and subdued, Jude was his outgoing alter ego. Jude was magnetic, making friends everywhere he went, chatting up strangers like it was the most natural thing in the world. Stone was more restrained, careful about who he let into his inner circle. It took a lot to earn his respect.
To be honest, to this day, I still don’t know if he ever respected me—or if he just tolerated me because I was Jude’s girl.
Tapping my messages, I pull up our previous conversation where my question still remains unanswered, and I replace it with a new one.
* * *
Stone—
Did you ever like me?
Best,
Jovie
* * *
I bite the backside of my thumbnail when I see that he’s online. His response comes instantaneously.
* * *
Jovie—
Define “like.”
Best,
Stone
* * *
I tap out my response and sit back, waiting, watching.
* * *
Stone—
Fine. I’ll be more specific: when I dated Jude, did you ever enjoy my company or did you simply tolerate me?
Best,
Jovie
* * *
He replies a minute later.
* * *
Jovie—
I don’t understand the context of this question so I’ll ask a couple of my own with the intention of gaining some clarity. Why do you need to know? And why now?
A little pro-bono advice for you: dwelling on the past has never done a damn bit of good for anyone.
Best—
Stone
* * *
I roll my eyes. I don’t have the energy for his signature deflection and unsolicited advice, so I type one final message.
* * *
Stone—
Please call me so we can discuss further. I’d hate for my sentiments to get lost in translation, and I’d love to put my query to rest in a timely manner. I can be reached at 555-284-7711.
I’ll be standing by.
Best—
Jovie
* * *
He reads my message immediately. I shut my laptop and glance at my phone, willing it to ring, but fully expecting it not to …
I wait another minute, then another before checking to make sure it’s on.
It is.
Trekking to the kitchen, I refill my water, sort through a pile of mail, and grab a fun-sized Snickers from my chocolate stash. I’ve all but given up when the faintest buzzing sounds from the next room.
Jogging back to my couch, I grab my phone off the coffee table and almost choke on my spit when I see an unfamiliar-yet-local number calling.
I clear my throat and answer on the fourth ring. “Hello?”
“Jovie.” Stone’s voice comes through the line.
“Wow,” I say. “I didn’t think you’d actually call.”
“I didn’t think I would either,” he says with a tease of sarcasm in his tone. It’s precisely the kind of response I expected from him.
I pull a throw pillow into my lap and get comfortable.
“Did you ever like me?” I ask once more. “As a person, I mean.”
“What brought this on?”
“I was just thinking,” I say. “Doing some self-reflection. You know me … my mind never shuts off for two seconds. That’s what you told me once, and you weren’t wrong.”
He chuffs. “I seldom am.”
“Anyway.” I roll my eyes at him, even though he can’t see me. “We spent a lot of time together back in the day.”
“We did.”
“Most of the time I felt like I annoyed you, like you were only around me because you had to be,” I say. “But other times, I felt like we were having a good time, like maybe you enjoyed my company? I was just wondering if that was all in my head or were we actually having fun?”
He chuckles. “Were you having fun?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” I say. “What did you really think of me back then? And be honest.”
He’s quiet for a second, and then he exhales into the phone. “I have court in the morning, Jovie. Can we do … whatever this is … another time?”
“It’s a simple question begging a simple answer.”
“And I’m an exhausted man who just worked a sixteen-hour day and has to go before a judge tomorrow and convince her that my client deserves the house in the Hamptons, the vintage Ferrari 328, the collection of rare coins, an eight-figure lump sum, plus alimony for the next twenty years. I really don’t have the mental bandwidth to talk about anything else right now.”
In true Stone fashion, he sounds annoyed … but his actions speak otherwise.
Why call if he’s so exhausted and has to prep for a trial in the morning?
“Fine,” I say. “Rain check?”
He blows a breath into the phone. “Yeah. Sure.”
“When?”
He snickers. “I’ll pencil you in for tomorrow night.”
“Please Sharpie me in for tomorrow night,” I say. “Preferably around seven if your schedule allows, Counselor.”
After a bout of silence, I check my phone screen to make sure he’s still there.
He is.
“I’ll call you tomorrow at seven,” he says.
The subtlest twinge tickles my insides at the thought of resuming this conversation tomorrow, though I haven’t the faintest clue where this excitement is stemming from. Confusion aside, maybe it’s simply the fact that it feels good to reconnect with an old friend? A blast from the past? A piece of my younger years?
Whether Stone liked me or not, we were a significant part of each other’s lives for three years.
That’s got to count for something.
Chapter Eighteen
Stone
* * *
I’m driving back to the office after court when a call from Jovie comes in. I tap the answer button on my steering wheel.
“Thought we agreed on seven o’clock,” I say.
“Oh my god. I’m so glad you answered,” she says, breathless. “I’m in a bit of a … situation.”
“And I’m the first person you thought to call?”
“No,” she says. “You’re the third.”
“Okay …”
“So you know the dog I’m watching?”
“The one eating USDA prime steak dinners? Yes.”
“So … last night, I was walking him, and I ran into my upstairs neighbor, Connie,” she says. “She was asking me a bunch of questions about the dog, and I didn’t think anything of it because she’s always been on the nosier side. Anyway, this morning my phone rings—and it’s my landlord. Connie called to complain that I’m keeping a dog in my apartment … never mind that I told her it was only for another week.”
I can already envision this woman. I’ve met clients like her all the time—the strict rule followers who get off on policing everyone around them. People like that tend to be angry at the world. Not only that, but they have too much time on their hands. It’s an unfortunate combination.
“Anyway, my landlord said I have to find somewhere else to keep the dog,” I say.
“Your landlord sounds like a dick.”
“I’ve called every kennel in town. They’re all full because it’s peak season,” she continues. “I can’t stay at my neighbor’s house with him because she’s having her bathroom renovated and there’s a lot of noise and dust. I called my parents, but they’re leaving for an Alaskan cruise in a couple of days. I asked Monica, but her husband’s allergic to everything under the sun.”
“And now you’re calling me.”
“I know you don’t owe me anything, but I didn’t know who else to call … Ida said she can see about moving her flight to an earlier date, but until then … what am I supposed to do?”
“Can you find a pet friendly AirBnB?”
“I found three in the area, and they all rent for a thousand bucks a night.”
“What about small-town kennels? Surely they’re not all booked.”
“Stone—this dog is stressed enough being out of his element and away from his owner. I don’t want to make it worse by sticking him in a car for a couple of hours and ditching him in some unfamiliar place.” Her voice breaks.
Jovie’s always had a soft spot for animals. The year we lived together she found a robin’s nest that had been knocked from its tree after a bad storm. After determining that the mother had abandoned it, she brought it inside, called up a wildlife refuge and spent hours researching how to care for the two nestlings, and she kept them safe and fed until they were big enough to fly away.
As an orphan myself, her selflessness wasn’t lost on me.
I pull up to my office, shift into park, and sink back in my seat. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I drag in a long breath.
I’ve never been an animal person.
Hell, I’m not even a plant person.
“Stone,” she says. “I’m desperate here … and it’ll just be for a few days until Ida can get back. I will do anything.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
“I know, but I’m just saying, I’ll make it worth your while somehow. I don’t know how, but—“
“—fine.”
“What?”
“I said fine,” I repeat myself.
“Really?” The hopelessness that was in her voice a moment ago is gone.
“I’ll be home around six tonight,” I say. “I’ll text you my address.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says.
We end the call, and I grab my briefcase and head inside. I’ve never owned so much as a goldfish in my life and now I’m going to be roommates with a depressed, homesick mutt. As much as I’m not looking forward to the next three days, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jovie again.
Chapter Nineteen
Stone
* * *
Age 21
* * *
“What do you think of that one?” Jude slurs his words, using his beer bottle to point to a scantily-clad redhead on the other side of the bar. It’s not the first time she’s made eyes at him, and I can tell by the smug glint in his eyes that he’s enjoying the ever-loving sin out of the attention. “Should I go talk to her?”
“The hell’s the matter with you?” I want to smack some sense into him, but I doubt he’d feel it.
A week ago, Jude and Jovie got into some fight and he’s been on the prowl ever since. Deep down, I know he’s afraid to be alone. He’s not trying to be a douche on purpose. This is his built-in defense mechanism. He’s always got to have something else lined up just in case, and he’s been this way our whole lives. I’m not saying I agree with it, but Jude is Jude. This is what he does; what he’s always done.
