Page 7 of Right Number, Wrong Man

HAILEY

PRESENT DAY

A bouquet of wine-red dahlias answers my video call.

“What do you think?” Andrea’s melodious voice comes through my phone speakers. “Too gloomy for the dinner centerpiece? The florist said it would add a bold pop of color .”

I smile and lean back on the sofa as I take a sip of extra hot, extra sweet and milky coffee from my devil Hey Kitty mug.

Good thing I didn’t cancel our weekly Friday morning call.

After last night’s texting accident with that rude stranger I wasn’t in a chatty mood, but my bestie’s voice is making me feel so much better.

I purse my lips. “Maybe a little too goth for a boho wedding? I thought you wanted softer colors.”

Andrea’s freckled face pops onto the screen. “You’re right.” Grinning, she points the flowers at the wall behind me. “Wow, you finally framed the posters! Let me see!”

“I put them up last weekend,” I explain, swiveling my phone around the living room.

She squeals. “They look amazing, Hails! You got the whole gang. Wraithface, Chucky, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13 th … and a bunch of movies I don’t know. But they still look awesome!”

“Thanks! Now that Mike can’t tell me how tacky he thinks they are, it seemed like a great time to hang them up.”

Andrea huffs. “Fuck him and fuck his stupid opinions!”

Mentally I add, And fuck the guy who got my pussy vids and made a big deal out of it !

I don’t know if it was a man, but his response gave toxic male vibes, so I’m going with it. I’ll never hear from him again anyway.

“Hear, hear!” I say, raising my mug at the screen.

Andrea reaches out of the camera frame before toasting back at me with a matching mug, but her Hey Kitty wears an angel costume. The cups were a set and I gave it to her for our annual friendship anniversary celebration last winter.

“Hell yeah!” she says and takes a gulp of coffee.

“Do you have any other options except the dahlias?” I ask.

“One second…” She looks around and pouts, putting her mug on the counter. “Damn, I think I left them in the car earlier. Be right back!”

Andrea dashes away, leaving me to marvel at her kitchen, decorated with light wood and white paint wash. From this angle, I can see two live, laugh, love signs. I smile. Her place always looks like she recently robbed a craft store and it’s not my style, but I adore her commitment to the aesthetic.

Steve, her fiancé, walks by to grab a cup of coffee from the machine on the counter. With his nose buried in a book about modern architecture, it takes a moment until he notices me on Andrea’s laptop screen.

Hands full, he gives an awkward wave with his elbow, the odd movement accentuating his lanky build. “Hi, Hailey!”

I raise my mug. “Hey Steve!”

“How are you?”

“Eh, just fine.” I shrug. “Excited about the wedding?”

He grins, mustache wriggling. “Oh, it’s only going to be the best day of my life, right? I’ll see you there.”

“I can’t wait!”

As Steve walks out of the frame, a notification appears on my screen. My stomach flips.

It’s Sara Jean, Mike and Colt’s mom. She’s sending another invitation to a monthly family dinner that I’ll ignore—like I’ve ignored her other calls and texts since Mike’s funeral.

I love Sara Jean and Earl like my own parents, but I practically sent their youngest son to an early grave by kicking him out in the middle of the night. They don’t know that, but I do.

I’m the reason for their pain and loss.

Since the wake, I can’t look into their eyes without guilt crushing my chest. Add in my own lack of sadness about my husband’s passing and I can’t breathe around them.

Andrea returns with a bundle of various pink flowers, giving me an excuse to forget about the text for now.

“What about these?” she asks, showing them off one after the other.

I’m not a nature lover—more the plastic succulent type—but they’re all pretty.

“Much better. Add something green and you’re set,” I say.

She nods and puts the flowers out of sight. Elbows braced on the kitchen counter, red curls drape over her shoulders as she frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. ”

I’m not ready to spill the story how I accidentally sent naughty videos to a stranger who then threatened me with the cops.

Her nose crinkles. “You really think I can’t tell when someone pissed in your breakfast cereal?”

“I don’t even eat cereal.”

“Your eyes are red and puffy. You cried.”

“No, I didn’t!” I lie. I did cry, but they were angry tears.

“Is it because of Mike?” she presses.

I veil myself in stubborn silence, but that’s never a valid defense against Andrea. If I won’t talk, she will.

“I’ve said it before but I’ll repeat it as often as you need me to: Mike’s death wasn’t your fault. Cheating was the last straw, Hails! You gave him a million chances and he blew them all. It’s a coincidence he got murdered the same night you broke up. Just pretend The Eyesnatcher got him.”

“The Eyesnatcher doesn’t kill men,” I protest and shudder, remembering the headlines.

Five women were found dead in the last month, discarded like trash along the roadside near the Oregon state line. Their eyes were missing and their lids were sewn shut with black thread. The police still don’t have a suspect.

“Then pretend he made an exception for Mike!” Andrea slaps the counter. “You know, I’m going to say it and I don’t care if it’s mean.”

She knows what a hot mess my marriage was and she’s amazing at smacking me with harsh truths when I need to hear them. I love that about her, but I brace myself for what is sure to be a brutal comment.

“Fate gave you a second chance when Mike died,” Andrea says and my heart skips a beat .

There it is. The words I’m afraid to say out loud despite them spinning in my head for months.

“You took a wrong turn when you married Mike, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep walking along that wrong road out of misplaced guilt.”

She sees right through me. Even if it’s not the current reason for my foul mood, the topic has been on my mind.

I take a sip of coffee, hiding behind the rim of the mug. “That’s not it.”

“Then talk to me! Is Colt giving you a hard time at work again? Did he refuse to give you time off for the wedding?”

I bristle. “Don’t remind me of that ass! I’ll see him later during my shift and until then, I won’t spoil my day with thoughts about his stupid face. But don’t worry, I got the wedding weekend off. Colt could suck a donkey dick if he tried to stop me!”

Andrea laughs. “I didn’t want to mention it when Mike was alive… but the way you and Colt are always at each other’s throats, one might think you have some sexual tension to work off.”

I flinch, almost spilling coffee all over my lap. “You did not just say that! Did the wedding planning drive you crazy? Have you forgotten all he’s done to me?” I point at the pale scar through my left brow. “This is his fault and he never even apologized!”

“Sure, it was a dumb prank gone wrong, but what else has he actually done to you? Do you know why you keep arguing with him or is that just a habit? Shouldn’t you try to put the past behind you and?—”

“No!” I cut in.

“Then why do you keep working with him at the Retro Reel ?”

“The commute is literally thirty seconds, plus I get to watch free movies on slow nights, drink free soda, and eat free popcorn. Running the concession stand is an easy job. I get to take home cool posters and play free games on the pinball machines, too. And I love that we haven’t gone digital!

That aesthetic of proper film rolls is just so nostalgic.

And Colt promised me the manager position when he re-enlists.

In a matter of weeks, I’ll be rid of him and bossing around the part-timers. Really, I?—”

“Okay, I get it! The job benefits are too tempting.” Andrea interrupts, giving me a pointed look. “I’m just saying you two have chemistry. Explosive chemistry.”

“That’s because we’re polar opposites. I’m a delight to be around, and he’s a grumpy prick.”

“ But he’s also tall and handsome. Muscular. The little bump on his nose and that short-boxed beard give him a rugged charm. Isn’t he former special forces?”

I roll my eyes. Why is that always so impressive to people? Because he can aim a rifle and pull a trigger doesn’t mean he’s some sort of sexy superman. To me, he seems more like the kind of weirdo who’d give his gun a woman’s name.

“I think he was a sniper,” I say, annoyance edging into my tone.

“What I’m hearing is that he’s patient enough to set up the perfect shot. And don’t snipers hold their breath when they pull the trigger? Both skills are very useful when a man eats puss?—”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Andrea!”

“And he’s the kind of guy who’d know how to protect you.”

“ Protect me ? That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I regularly have nightmares of being assassinated by him from across the street. Why else would he have bought that building? A little red laser dot on my forehead— BANG !”

I let my head flop onto the backrest of the sofa and Andrea giggles.

“I don’t think snipers use laser dots, Hails. That wouldn’t be very stealthy.”

I groan, sitting up. “Great, then I won’t even see it coming! One day you’ll find me slumped at the kitchen table with my head split open like a rotten pumpkin left over from Halloween.”

She grimaces. “Too vivid!”

“The point is that Colt hates me. The spiders he let loose in my locker in high school got the message across. It’s a mutual hate.”

“There’s a fine line between hate and… other things . Besides, those law enforcement and military guys are all freaks in bed. Remember that cop I dated?” she asks.

“How could I forget? You wouldn’t shut up about his handcuffs here, his handcuffs there.”

“That was the best sex of my life, apart from Steve.” Andrea smirks. “I bet if you asked nicely, Colt would put on one of those masks you like so much.” She points at the bedazzled, pink Wraithface mask on the bookshelf in the corner.