Truth or Beard(57)

“Anyway, the point is, I think I can talk Tina into helping us.”

Beau studied me before asking, “Aren’t you worried about what they’d do to her? If they find out?”

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “But it would be her choice. I thought we could pay her. She’s always short on cash. And she’s shrewd, crafty. She’d be careful, I know she could do it and not get caught.”

“What if she uses this as a way to get back at you? You’re right, she is shrewd. What if she takes the files for herself and then we got two people blackmailing us?”

I gathered a deep breath, let my gaze wander as I thought about this possibility—because it was a possibility. “I don’t know, Beau. I guess you’re right. She might double-cross us. But can you think of any other options?”

I settled my eyes on my brother, waited, hoped he’d have an alternate solution.

He looked resigned as he asked, “How much time do we have?”

“Dirty Dave said we have two weeks, and that was on Wednesday.”

“Shit.”

“But I think we can stall for a bit. I got the sense they’d like to do this real friendly. They’d like us to be willing. In fact, they offered to give us a cut.”

“Well, we can work with that. Maybe put them off for a week or two, tell them we need to think it over, not say yes but not say no.”

“Yeah, then delay another few weeks, tell them we need to get the shop ready—or even say we’ll do it off-site. Maybe buy us enough time to get the files, or at least until Jethro gets back and we can beat the shit out of him.”

Beau smirked at this, but it lacked any real humor. “You want to hold him down? Or should I?”

I returned his humorless smile with one of my own. “Let’s take turns. No reason to be greedy.”





CHAPTER 11


“We all know that light travels faster than sound. That's why certain people appear bright until you hear them speak.”

― Albert Einstein





~Jessica~


I was in a funk.

It wasn’t a fun, funky-town funk. It was a full-on, pseudo-depression funk. Not even researching Aztec Temples and reading travel blogs about New Zealand’s geothermic sites did anything for the funk.

And it was all my fault.

Before Halloween, the majority of my fantasies centered on world heritage sites. Now I caught myself daydreaming with alarming frequency about the time we’d shared. Also the reluctant curve of his smile, the shape of his torso, the cadence of his voice, the texture of his beard, and the radiance and intensity of his sapphire eyes.

Not to mention that incorrigible circumcised penis.

Accursed penis!

Making matters worse, I was second-guessing myself. Yes, I still had the insatiable wanderlust, I still desperately needed to see and know the world, but maybe there was more than one way to kill a rooster. Maybe I could save my money and go on really long vacations.

Teachers typically had the option of taking summers off; I could live the year in Green Valley and use the summer to backpack around the world. But this idea felt like settling, like giving up, and it gave me heartburn.

My point, I argued with myself, is that it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. If you really like Duane and you do—don’t try to deny it!—then you should try to find a way to make something between the two of you work…

But with these thoughts also came fear, fear that I would be tied down, unable to travel, unable to leave. Fear that, if my intense like for him eventually turned to love, I would lose my freedom. It would be akin to having those National Geographic magazines read to me instead of losing myself in their pages. My dreams would be diluted and I would be stuck.

It was the fear that held me hostage, trapped in indecision purgatory.

I didn’t call him after our disastrous date, and it had been a disaster. We’d consumed our food in silence; it had stuck in my throat, settled like a lump in my stomach. Duane had packed up, and this time he’d accepted my help. Our walk back had also been silent. Though he was just as solicitous and polite as he had been on the trek out, he hadn’t looked at me. When we arrived to the car he’d opened my door.

Then he’d taken me home and again opened my door when we’d arrived. He’d walked me to the steps of my parents’ house, not touching me, and that’s where I was left.

He gave me a short impersonal nod, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and said politely, “I’ll see you around, Jess.”

Between the hot ache in my chest, the ballooning lump in my throat, and the stinging tears in my eyes, I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just stood there and watched him leave, drive away, feeling sick and sad and stupid.