Page 81 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“Who’s gone?”

“Key!” I shout. “I just watched him take off in my fucking car.”

A pause. “Where’s he going?”

“Oh, I dunno, the store? We’re out of milk,” I mutter into the phone. “Does it sound like I fucking know where he went?”

“Okay, okay. Jesus Christ. Maybe he went to get smokes?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this.”

James sighs. “What do you need me to do?”

There’s nothing else I can do, so I grind my teeth and say, “Can you come get me? Drive me around and see if we can find him?”

“Yeah, man, sure. I’ll be there in twenty.”

I hang up and get dressed, my stomach tumbling like a dryer. As I pass by the kitchen, I glance at the phone again. I wanted to call Dusty today. Maybe arrange to take her out on another date. But now I have all this to deal with. Hopefully she doesn’t think I’ve forgotten about her.

James crunches into the driveway and I head out, climbing up into the front seat of his black van, and put all thoughts of Dusty on hold.

“Right, which way did he go?” James asks without missing a beat.

I glance out his driver’s side window and point. “That way.”

“Maybe he went to the studio? Or to see Al? They’re both that way.”

Something makes me doubt that’s where he’s gone, but at least it’s a start because my brain is too jumbled and anxious for much else. “Yeah, okay. Let’s check.”

James pulls out and drives, going a touch over the speed limit. I press my head back, digging my fingers into the leather bench seat.

“I’m sure he didn’t go far,” James says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

I shake my head. “I just have a bad feeling.”

We’re quiet for a while, scanning side roads and parking lots for any sign of my Honda.

“Nothing down that way,” I mutter after an hour of aimless driving.

“Are you guys okay?” James asks.

I narrow my eyes. “Okay? What do you mean?”

James’s cheeks flush. “Well, I know you guys sometimes . . .” He rubs the back of his neck. Is he blushing? “Oh Jesus, don’t make me say it.”

“What?”

His face scrunches. “You know! You and Key and the girls?—”

“Oh!”

“I can’t believe you made me say it, you asshole.” He flicks his turn signal harder than necessary.

I try to smile. “No, I mean. I think we’re fine. I talked about it with him like two weeks ago. It’s got to be the songwriting shit.”

James lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course. I’m sure it is. Just wanted to check in case something had happened, and you needed to talk about it.”

“Like I’d talk about it with you, whittle baby Jamesey,” I tease. “You couldn’t even ask me without blushing.”

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