Page 76 of Poison Wood
I exit the elevator back on the ground floor, and as soon as I step off, I feel as if my legs are going to collapse. Could I have been wrong about Johnny? About the timing? The answer comes in swiftly. Of course I could be wrong. I was stoned and drunk. I was seventeen. He very well could have walked into a scene after it unfolded. If so, what the hell happened in that cottage?
I step down into the lobby. The bar has thinned out. No more bachelor party. But my friend from the airport is still there. He smiles when I sit at the bar.
“Another Macallan please,” I say to the blond bartender. “A little heavier pour this time,” I add. She obliges, and I take two giant sips.
“Hey.”
I look up from my drink.
“Hey,” I say back.
“Glad the douchebags left,” he says.
I laugh. “Amen.” I finish off my glass and wave my hand at the bartender. She walks over and refills it.
He eyes my large suitcase. “You leaving?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay, fine,” he says, setting his drink down. “I’m stalking you.”
I frown, and his smile falters. “That came out sounding really creepy, didn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Can I try again?”
I debate which look I’m going to give him, the one that will send him packing very quickly or the one that will do the opposite. Before I can decide he moves to the stool next to me.
“Bold move,” I say as he sits.
“You strike me as the type to like bold.”
If he recognizes me, he’s not showing it. “You have no idea what my type is,” I say.
“I hope you’re wrong.”
I sip my drink. “I’m rarely wrong. What’s your name?” I add.
“Grant.”
I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Grant.”
“And you are?”
“Trouble,” I say.
He laughs again, and I know I’m not going home anytime soon.
“You don’t look like trouble,” he says.
I sip my drink. “Just wait.”
He holds his glass up, and I clink mine against it. Maybe this shit show of a day can be salvaged after all.
Poison Wood Therapeutic Academy for Girls
Kisatchie National Forest
