You’re strong enough, I repeated, until the words became a litany to counteract blatant desolation. You are strong enough to face this.
“Gordon!” Robbie waved from the bar and I experienced a blast of déjà vu, a rush of unreality so potent I had to brace a hand against a chair to remain upright. I saw the way his expression changed, registering surprise – even more so as I engulfed him in a hug upon reaching him, squeezing with real force and holding on well past the point of normalcy. He couldn’t understand; how could he possibly realize?
“What the hell?” He drew away at last to study my face. He was flawlessly tanned, smooth-skinned and spit-shined, same as always. Clad in posh clothing and smelling of some expensive cologne as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Feigning overt concern as he examined my face, he concluded, “Gordon, your vacation did zero good. Zippo, zilcho. You look like something the cat ate and regurgitated. No offense, baby doll.”
“None taken,” I muttered wryly. If only he knew how little I cared about my current appearance.
“Sit, talk,” he ordered, then leaned immediately closer, positioning his mouth near my left ear. “Tell me the truth, as my friend. How did you know?”
I knew he was referring to Christina and leaned back to search his eyes, wondering how much to trust him with; further, I realized I had to tell him what I knew about his death before I left this place.
Tonight, I decided, and faltered only a little. It was not a conversation one could well prepare for, let alone initiate.
“Tish, come on. My nuts are on the line here. And I’m pretty damn attached to them.”
“It doesn’t matter how I know. She’s bad news, Rob, trust me. Horrible news.” I shifted on the bar stool, responding to an uncomfortable twinge in my gut. I lowered my voice. “Besides, my dad is screwing her, too.”
“Shit, how do you know about that?” Robbie appeared dumbfounded, his spine straightening as if electrocuted.
“I know way more than I wish I did, believe me.”
“Such as?”
“Tell me about work,” I requested rather than elaborating. “What do you know about Ron or Christina’s connection with the Yancys?”
“Can I at least have a drink to accompany this interrogation?”
We ordered our old favorite, gin and tonic; two limes for Robbie. He bypassed the skinny cocktail straw and drained half his glass but I set mine aside without a sip. I could not stop thinking of the way Case had looked at me when we were standing alongside the corral three nights ago. Of how he’d held my wrists and wanted to believe what I was telling him. I bit the insides of my cheeks hard enough to leave wounds, willing myself not to cry. I imagined Camille out of control with grief, throwing a glass at Eddie’s pool table, and the urge to weep intensified.
Tish, focus.
I gathered my wits and cut to the chase. “I need any and all available information on Franklin Yancy. I have reason to believe he’s dangerous, potentially criminally insane.”
“Wait a second. What are you talking about?” I was relieved to hear that the level of skepticism in Robbie’s tone was middling rather than explicit. He was attempting to remain open-minded out of respect for me.
“Just go with me here. I need information. If possible, I have to find him.”
“You ‘have’ to find a criminally insane man whose family could purchase its own major airline or tropical island?” Robbie searched my eyes with more sincerity than I’d once thought him capable. “What is this about? Why the sudden interest in the Yancys at all? You’ve always done your best to avoid them, especially Derrick.”
It didn’t matter that Derrick wouldn’t remember anything about our original timeline – or so I hoped. I clung to the knowledge that Derrick had become my recent, unexpected ally; he was also the last person I’d spoken with before everything in my world changed. I calculated the odds of his willingness to join us this evening and actually consider as factual what I would tell him. I recalled his opinion about Franklin/Fallon losing touch with reality and what I’d learned regarding Derrick’s motives. Loyalty to his family only went so far; he recognized the threat Fallon presented and had been ready to take action despite the potential danger to himself. In short, Derrick Yancy was a better man than I had once believed. My perception of him had undergone a complete turnaround. But would the Derrick of this timeline be of the same opinion about his ancestor?
You have to chance it.
Robbie continued to wait for an explanation, tapping his empty glass atop the bar, ice clinking in conveyance of his growing impatience.
“Here, finish mine,” I muttered, stalling.
“You haven’t even started it.” He accepted my glass and drained its contents. But it took a lot more than two gins to get Robbie drunk. His eyes were troubled, tanned forehead creased with concern; of course he couldn’t understand my unwillingness to sip booze when I’d been so recently pregnant. Though the baby was no longer a part of my physical being she was safely rooted within my heart and I refused to damage even the essence of her.
Robbie ordered a third round, allowing me a moment to regroup, before insisting quietly, “You can trust me with this. Whatever it is, I swear. It’s something huge, isn’t it?”
The image of the glossy, expensive coffin his parents had selected for him loomed in my memory and pain blazed along my nerves. The chapel in which his funeral service had been held was only a few blocks from where we currently sat. I winced, gritting my teeth, and surprised him yet again by gripping his wrist, my fingers curled like claws.
“You might not believe me.”
“I will,
