Page 48 of Grand Slam

“I tried,” I confess. “It went to voicemail, then Liz,” right then my phone beeps with an incoming call.

“Gran, it’s Liz.”

“You find out where Em is and you go to her. Do you hear me?”

“I do.” She is the only one I want to talk to right now.

“Love you Kelton, remember those tabloids are nothing but gossip from people that don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”

I smile and end the call, flipping over to the other line. “Sorry,” she says, sounding out of breath. “A friend of mine is moving away and we are having a going away party. It was too loud.”

“Where’s Emerson?”

“Work.” Liz laughs and covers the phone.

“Liz?”

“Yeah, sorry, she had to work tonight. I tried to get her to call out but she said Mel would be mad so she worked a double.”

“Are you outside?”

“I am now,” she says. “Put me on speaker and go to Google. Search for my name.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” I tell her and wait.

I can hear her mumbling along and then silence. “That bitch!”

I flinch at her words.

“Not Em.” She puts the phone back to her ear. “Libby,” Liz clarifies. “Emerson and I were in the salon a couple days ago. She was her normal asshole self and I threatened to Edward Scissorhands her.”

I wrinkle my face in confusion but don’t get the chance to ask what she is talking about before she once again is rambling.

“She was such a dick, but I swear now I feel like I wasn’t too hateful in fact I was too nice. Somehow the dream I had later that night about tossing parts of her off a cliff while shooting off fireworks in celebration doesn’t seem so psychotic now.”

“So this story, is Libby the source?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I’m gonna need a favor.”

“Name it,” she doesn’t hesitate.

“I’m booking a flight, I’ll send you my arrival time. I’ll need you to pick me up.”

“Okay.” And then she falls silent.

“Don’t tell me.” I don’t want her to.

“I wasn’t going to.” This is between Emerson and I, and Liz respects that. “Send me when. I’ll be there waiting.”

“Okay.” I end the call. Dialing Jerry, he picks up the phone and instantly starts talking about the news and tabloids. Interrupting him, I tell him I need a flight and when he tries once again to figure things out I correct him.

“It’s not true, you know Emerson. You’ve been around her, she isn’t that person. If she is pregnant, then there is a reason why I’ve not been told. Now get me a fucking flight to Chicago.”

I end the call and make my way to the coach’s office. He won’t like it, but I’m leaving tonight. Tomorrow night I would be where I needed to be, but tonight I needed to be with Emerson.

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