The Matchmaker's Medium

“That’s funny,” he said, chuckling a little bit, “you don’t really think I’ll go away if you can’t see me, do you?”

“No, but at least I won’t have to look at your stupid smiling face!”

He chuckle-snorted for a few minutes, as my anger slowly dissolved. Eventually, I gave in, when my adrenaline had run its course. Yawning, I reached for the keys to turn the car back on, until –

“Wait a minute,” I said, turning to Jamal, “did you move the steering wheel back?”

He just stared at me for a second, with that cliche deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Jamal…” I said, like a mother who caught her first-grader in the cookies before dinner.

“Well,” he said, pretending to have something very important going on outside the passenger’s window.

“Look at me, Jamal,” I said, wishing for the millionth time I could physically touch him.

He kept staring out the window.

“When did you figure it out?”

“Couple of weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He just shrugged his shoulder, still looking out the window.

I sighed. Loudly.

“All right, let’s go.” I turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling as it warmed up. Slowly pulling away, I said, “Next time don’t hide things from me.”

He didn’t answer, his back still turned to me.

* * *

I dropped my keys and purse on the table, just as the sun peeked its way above the horizon. As I kicked my shoes off, winding my way past all my secondhand furniture, I felt exhaustion taking hold. Great sex— twice—plus the rush of nearly being smashed to death by a semi, equals too much adrenaline and a huge crash.

“Jamal, if you have something to tell me, you better hurry up, or I’ll be asleep before you can get a word in edgewise.”

He was nowhere to be found.”

She yawned again, a glamorously overdone yawn, feeling like a huge lion in the Serengeti.

“All right, big guy, goin’ once—goin’ twice—“

“I know why Victoria’s grandmama kept showin’ up.” I couldn’t see him, but he was nearby.

“Okay—why?”

“Trevor.”

I froze in mid-yawn, dropped my arms to my sides, adrenaline suddenly kicking in again.

“What about—him?” I still felt bad saying his name. Even thinking his name made me feel terrible all over again, like it was just yesterday.

“Y’know that kid that killed him?”

Of course I did. After that day in the bank, I followed the case through the newspapers, online, even called the police station and the courthouse for updates a few times, posing as a reporter. Although I never set foot in the courtroom, I knew more about the proceedings than some of the detectives on the case. That’s the beauty of modern technology: spectators seem to know more about crimes and their subsequent legal proceedings than those catching and prosecuting the criminals.

“Sure.”

“Well, he ain’t a kid no more.”

I felt goosebumps forming on her arms, spreading to her legs and the back of her neck.

Why did he say something was wrong with Esteban and then start talking about the kid who murdered Trevor?  

“Don’t worry, girl, it ain’t Esteban,” Jamal said, finally strolling into view. He paced a little, back and forth in front of me, rubbing his goatee in thought. I watched for a while, until I felt like I would pop.

“Okay, then what?” I asked, antsy and jumpy from everything, but especially the idea that my new love interest might be somehow connected to a child’s kidnapping and murder.

“You know that shop of his?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that kid—the one who killed Trevor—he works there.”

Time stopped.

Well, not really, but it felt like it.

I could have passed a lie detector test with flying colors, when the question of time stoppage came up, in the moments after Jamal told me that horrific truth. Why, yes, Mr. Officer Sir, time did, in fact, stop when he told me the kid who killed Trevor worked at my new lover’s mechanic shop.

“Please tell me you’re just messing with me, Jamal.”

“Nope. No jokes or playin’ around this time, girl. It’s a total drag, but I knew I had to tell you before the fuzz starts pokin’ around and you find out on your own.”

“Why would the police be involved?”

He just looked at her.

“Who told you about this?”

“The grandmama.”

Wait, what?

“Why would Victoria’s grandmother want to tell her to—ohhh.” I caught herself in mid-sentence, when I realized Victoria’s son could be in very real danger, if he—

“Oh, my God! I have to tell Esteban! What if his son—“

“Now you see what we’re workin’ with,” Jamal said, walking quickly toward her purse on the front table. “Go on, get that sale-phoning thing and call him up. Tell him to get The Man over there and cart him away.”

“It’s a cell phone, Jamal. How many times do I have to explain it to you?”

“Till I get it right. Which is probably gonna be never. So don’t get yourself all worked up, foxy thang.”

I scrambled through her purse (so much crap in here) and finally managed to grab onto my phone. Dialing the number, I sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t yet be asleep from all his ‘exertions’.

“Nah, he’s still up. Get him hip to the groove, so we can make it right.”

“Hey, there, Esteban. Long time no talk to,” I said, when he answered with a sleepy-sounding ‘hello’.

“Hey, you. Do you miss me already? Wanna make it round three?”

“That would be great, but I have something else to tell you.”

“Oh, this sounds kind of serious. Okay, let me get serious with you,” he cleared his throat, scratched his face across the phone a couple of times, then finally came back on the line. “Ready.”

Oh, Lord, give me strength.

“Remember that story about Marcus?”

“Oh, yeah, I remember. Sad.”

“Right. Well, there’s a little, um, problem.”

“With what?”

“With you.”

“Me.”

“Well, not exactly you, but—God, this is all wrong. Okay, remember Victoria?”

“Yeah, the chunky southern lady with the wrecked car?”

“Her, yeah. Well, remember the whole ‘the ghost of her grandma keeps showing up’ thing?”

“Oh, yeah. You never did tell me why that was happening.”

“Because I didn’t know. But now I do.”

“Good, cuz that was gonna keep me up all night.”

Smartass, I thought, smiling to myself.