Page 54 of The Sin Eater
And fuck you, too. “You should get busy finding someone to use your football ticket.”
“I was thinking you could use it.”
“I’ve got stuff.”
“You can spend the day at the gym another time, baby bro. The Huskies are only going to play UCLA once this year.”
Aw, damn. UCLA. To disguise my eagerness, I take a sip of coffee. That game is going to be tight, and for once I could text Roger a picture of me doing something besides lifting. “All right. If you can’t find anyone else who wants the ticket, I’ll go.” I manage a smile that hides most of my annoyance.
Her huff says she sees it anyway. “How very noble of you to fall on that sword.”
“Thank you, big sis. You da best.”
“I was thinking, though, that you should add to your Reddit post, asking for that Cat person to message you.”
“I will, although I doubt he’ll respond. Or she will. Or whoever.”
“Just try.” Her grin is the same one from when we were kids. “Game starts at one, and Ashley and Mo will be here at about eleven thirty.”
“Hey, you didn’t tell me Mo was involved with this.” Her nonbinary friend Mo and I had gone out on one misguided date, and while we both agreed we didn’t need to do that again, things are sometimes awkward.
“Get over it, bro. I can guarantee you they have.”
Flapping my hand at her, I duck into my room. “They’re a librarian,” Dorinda calls after me. “If you ask them nicely, they might be willing to search old newspaper archives, or whatever, to find out about our mystery woman.”
Dorinda has a point. Since last night, I’m even more interested in finding out who the victim is, but beyond the Reddit post, I haven’t done shit. “All right,” I holler back. “I’ll be nice.”
Deciding I have time to go to the gym, I grab my workout gear and head for the train. It’s arms-and-shoulders day, though I can’t do as many reps on my right as I can with my left. Goddamn shitty rotator cuff. I spend more time on the treadmillthan I do with the weights, which gives me plenty of time to play back the trip to Neighbors and the conversation with Dorinda.
I focus more on Dorinda so I don’t have to try to hide a hard-on while on the treadmill. Besides, while it’s awkward to admit, she’s not wrong. From Patty to any of my ex’s, I’m better at taking care of other people than I am myself.
There’s more to life than being somebody’s doormat.
Hell, there is more to life than being a security guard, for that matter. I can’t seem to figure out what the future should look like. That fortune teller at the Carnival said I already knew what I wanted, but I swear I don’t, beyond a vague desire to help people.
I’m a college grad with a degree in sociology, one of the three majors the team academic adviser picked for guys who intended to play ball as a career. I coach Little League during the spring, so I know I get along with kids okay, and it wouldn’t take too much work to get my teaching certificate. It’s a year-long program, something like that. Sometimes I can even see myself being a PE teacher.
And sometimes I can’t.
The rest of the time, I float through my work week wondering what the hell happened to D-Clem. That guy knew where he was going and how to get there.
I shower at the gym, grab a breakfast sandwich from Café Allegro, and get home right before Mo and their friend Ashley are supposed to show up. In honor of the occasion, I dig out a purple and gold sweatshirt. Team colors and all. I’ll wear my heavy winter coat on top of it, so no one will see that D-Clem is embroidered on the back.
While Dorinda’s organizing her friends, I have enough time to add to my Reddit post.
If the person named Cat sees this, I have questions. DM me.
I figure it’s pretty low yield since they’ve gotta know my primary question ishowthe hell did you get my address?, followed byhow did you get in here?I also want to know if they’ve got any more information about James Smith. Anything we can use to identify the woman in the picture.
The whole thing is sketchy as hell.
I’m chewing over ideas as Dorinda, Ashley, Mo and I walk through the University District, heading for Husky Stadium. It’s cold, for sure, and the clouds are so thin that a hint of weak sunshine penetrates them, which adds to everyone’s good mood.
We kick through the piles of leaves from the trees that line the sidewalks. Ashley’s a typical white girl; blond hair worn straight and parted in the middle and the kind of curvy body I’d appreciate if I wasn’t completely hot for a guy with messy hair and an intermittent Southern accent.
A guy who’s apparently psychic. At least. I’m not a fan of secrets, but this feels different from the ones I’ve dealt with in the past.Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Clemens.
Damn, I’m in deep.