THIEF: Part 5 (4 page)

              “You didn’t call him first?”

              I shrug as we pull onto the highway, the heat in our rental car cranked to its highest setting.My suitcase bumps against my seat every time Alex changes lanes, gaining speed.“I tried.But it was really hard, you know?”

              “I don’t,” he confesses, “but I can understand it.I’m just wondering if…you know, just showing up at his office is the best thing to do.”

              “I tried,” I say again, and finally, Alex drops it.I don’t add just how many times I tried: the dozens of times I’ve called the number of Collierville Insurance, my heart thundering in time with that chirpy, electronic ring.The way my mouth cakes up as soon as the receptionist picks up.How she asks, “Hello?” in the exact same voice—polite, sing-songy, and with a heavy Southern twang—exactly four times before, finally, hanging up on the silence that is me.

              “Nothing like a road trip,” he says, when we’re on our longest stretch of the drive, nothing but trees around us, a strip of cold, gray asphalt underneath, and a swipe of blue and silver sky above. He sips the Starbucks latte I picked up for him before we left my apartment this morning, the sun barely up, and smiles at me.

              “Guess this is pretty much heaven for you, huh?”

              “Being alone with you in the car for almost eight hours?” he asks.“Yeah, it’s got its perks.”He laughs slyly.

              I force a non-miserable expression back; my stomach’s in knots, and I’m not sure how much is nerves and how much is my breakfast unsettling itself.“No,” I explain, “just…traveling.Not being in the same spot anymore.”

              “I like it,” he confesses.“It’s easy for me to get bored, staying in one spot for so long.”Alex glances at me again.“It’s funny, though—I’ve been in your town for…what, two months now?Three?”

              “Five.”

              “Exactly.It doesn’t feel that long.I’m not bored, like I usually would be.I didn’t even stay in Japan this long, and I loved it there.”Alex sets his coffee down, sliding his hand to my knee.“It’s something about you, I guess.”

              “Taking care of me,” I mutter.

              “Nope.Just you.”He squeezes, making my reflex jump a little.“You give me that feeling I always get when I go somewhere new.I’ve never felt that from a person before.And what’s really crazy is, I feel it every day—even when we’re just sitting around, doing nothing.”

              I don’t know what to say to this.I’ve never had Alex’s wanderlust—perhaps because I never viewed globetrotting as an option for myself—so I don’t understand his feeling.And besides, this trip isn’t just a road trip for me, or a vacation.I don’t think there’s a name for whatever this trip is to me.

              “You hungry?” he asks.“You only ate, like, half a bagel earlier.Let’s get a bunch of fast food and mess this rental car up.”

              The thought of breakfast food—or any food—tightens the knots in my stomach.“I’m too nervous,” I tell him, hugging my midsection.I rest my forehead against the cold glass of my window.

              “Butterflies in the tummy?”

              “More like elephants.”

              Alex chuckles, taking another sip from his coffee.“I think it’ll go really, really well, Erin.It might not be this huge, tearful reunion—”

              “Ew. I don’t even want that.”

              “—but it won’t be bad.I bet he’ll be happy to meet you.”

              I imagine this: my father, the mystery man who gave me my double-jointedness and long lashes, whom I knew nothing about but spent hours pretending I did, when I was little, stepping forward and shaking my hand.
Good to meet you
, he might say, smiling.

              It’s a nice image.But it doesn’t seem right, somehow.Estranged or not, fathers should hug their daughters—shouldn’t they?Now, picturing it, I’m not sure I’d let him.Not at first.

              “I don’t know how it’ll go.”

              “Well, no one does.”

              “No,” I say, elaborating, “I mean, I don’t know how I
want
it to go.”

              Alex pauses, pondering this.“Maybe that’s because you don’t know him.”He shoots me a look.“He doesn’t know you.”

              I nod.This fact is nothing new to me—and truthfully, it’s a little depressing.Still, something about it comforts me.

I get carsick at the state line.Alex holds my hair back, not once complaining about the rental car’s upholstery—though I’m absurdly careful for a sick person, leaning as far from my door as possible as cars fly past us on the exit ramp.When I finish, Alex finds a gas station and buys me Pepto-Bismol and Dramamine. I don’t know which to take, since I’m not sure if my stomach’s upset from motion, nerves, actual illness, or some terrible hybrid of all three.I take one dose of each, then sip the icy ginger ale he hands me with gratitude.

              “Should we get a hotel, maybe start again tomorrow?” he asks, looking worried.

              I glance at the dashboard clock.“But it’s still so early.”The sun, in fact, is right above us in the sky.“It doesn’t make sense to stop.Let’s get to Tennessee, at least.”

              Alex hesitates, then nods and goes to fill the gas tank.I listen to the tick-tick-tick of the meter, gulping my ginger ale like magic tonic, and try to be excited.I’ve imagined meeting my dad a million times—chances are, he’ll be friendly.And, I reason, even if he isn’t, it’s not as though I haven’t encountered worse people.Half the guys my mother dated would make a dictator look friendly.

              “Huh,” Alex says, sliding back into the driver’s seat.He glances in the rearview, a little nervous.

              “What?”I crane my neck, seeing only frost on the back windshield.

              “It’s nothing,” he says, shaking his head, then reconsiders.“It’s just…this car, back there—two lots down, in the Shell station?I could swear it’s been behind us ever since we left your place.”

              I move around as best I can without vomiting again.“What’s it look like?” I ask him, my heart clenching with my stomach.

              “Dark green.Can’t tell much else.”Perhaps sensing my panic, Alex gives me a reassuring, though meaningless, smile.“Probably coincidence.Or I could be mistaken.It’s not like I’ve been looking behind me that much, after all.”

              I twist back into my seat.My back has a deep ache, not unlike kidney pain.Alex notices my wincing.

              “You promise you’d tell me if you feel sick again?” he asks gently.“You know—really, really sick, like your…”

              “Like my kidneys are exploding?”

              “You know what I mean.”

              “Yes,” I tell him, managing a brave face.“I promise.This feels like food poisoning, honestly.Can’t imagine nerves would do this much.”

              “You’d be surprised,” he says, pulling back onto the route.I try to watch, surreptitiously, for the dark green car to follow, but can’t see anything in my mirror.I wonder if Alex is secretly checking too.

              “Yeah?”

              He nods.“When I was studying for the SATs, I got so stressed I started sleepwalking.Wound up pissing in the hall closet next to the bathroom, then took the dog for a walk around our block.”He takes a breath.“Without the dog.”

              I laugh.“No way.”

              “Way.The police found me dragging a leash, muttering to a dog that wasn’t there, with pee stains on my boxers.Made it two blocks from my house before somebody called them.Guess I scared a few people.”

              “Would’ve scared me too,” I say, still cracking up.

              We dissolve into silence again, talk radio crackling.Alex’s smile stays in place.

              “What are you so happy about?”

              “You,” he answers.“Hearing you laugh again.”

              “Was I ever…not…laughing?” I ask slowly, confused.

              “Well, no,” he says, “but kind of, yeah.When you were sick—”His voice catches, but just briefly.“I’m just happy to see you happy again, Erin.And healthy.The way you were when we met.”

              I squeeze his arm on the wheel, then lean my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes.

              We only knew each other one day before I got sick, I think about telling him,
and technically, I was already sick—we just didn’t know it yet.

              I can’t think of a way to say it that isn’t bitchy, though, true as it may be.So I stay silent.

              The sign above Collierville Insurance has an “L” missing, but the building looks pretty nice.It’s a house-turned-business, I think; I see a double fireplace on the roof, and the windows have shutters nailed to the brick.For a second, I feel absurdly calm.Like maybe I’m really entering somebody’s house, and I’ll be greeted with a fire and hot chocolate and smiling faces.

              Actually, I’m not wrong about the last one: the receptionist’s grin is at full-wattage when I step inside, Alex in tow, both of us blowing on our cupped hands and shivering.

              “Welcome to Collierville Insurance,” she says, and I can hear the same chirpy tone from my many hang-ups the last few weeks.She glances at the clock behind her desk.“Do you have an appointment?”

              “Um….”My heart feels like a rocket, and I’m not sure if it wants to take off or just explode right on the launch pad.I give Alex a look, then turn back to the receptionist.“No.I wanted to speak with—with someone specific, though.”

              “Sure thing.”This girl’s smile is eerily reassuring.I feel like I could request something crazy, like a sundae balanced on a new puppy’s head, and she’d run right out and get it for me without complaint.“Who’d you want to see today?” she asks, swiveling over to her computer, hands poised over the keyboard.

              “Benjamin Brinsley,” I answer, my voice weakening.I think about adding, “My father,” but the last thing I want is a stranger alerting my dad that “his daughter Erin” is waiting up front for him.I’ve got to tell him on my terms, even if I’m not sure what, exactly, those are.

              The receptionist’s fingers fly across the keyboard.“He’s out right now, but he’ll be back in an hour or so.Would you like me to take a message?”

              I feel a strange mix of relief and tension.I’m happy to not have to dive into this family tree yet, but after the long car ride of mostly silence and a churning stomach, I’m kind of ready to just get it over with.

             
Maybe I could leave a message for him, saying who I am
, I think.If he comes looking for me at the hotel, or if he calls, I can get to know him.And if he doesn’t, I’ll have my answer, too.

              It’s tempting; at least that way, I wouldn’t wonder if Benjamin Brinsley only stepped up to the father plate because I was right there in front of him, in person, and it’s hard to ignore a living, breathing being.A piece of paper with a receptionist’s message?A lot easier.

              But part of me doesn’t want to give him that option.If he’s anything like me, my father will avoid all difficult news until it’s standing right in front of his face.

              “No,” I tell the receptionist, wrapping my scarf around my neck again.I take Alex’s hand and pull him to the door.“We’ll just come back later.Thank you.”

              “You’re welcome,” she smiles, and starts typing away at God knows what while Alex follows me out into the gray afternoon.

              “Want to grab a late lunch?” he asks.

              I shake my head and resist the urge to hold my rolling stomach, ducking against the wind and into the car.

              Alex doesn’t notice my reason for saying no.“Actually, yeah, we should wait.Maybe your dad will want to grab dinner or something.”

             
Grab dinner.
Like this whole thing’s so casual, as though it’s just Alex meeting his girlfriend’s dad, instead of his girlfriend meeting her dad, too. I can only be so annoyed, though.It’s not a normal situation by any stretch; I don't even know the protocol here, so I can't get mad at Alex for not knowing etiquette.There probably isn't any.

              Alex starts the car and blasts the heat.We weren’t gone long, so thankfully, the air coming from the vents is already hot.I hold my numb fingers in front of it and tell my heart and stomach to get their shit together.

              “Guess we can drive around for a while,” he says, shifting out of park.When he doesn’t move, I look at him, and he puts the car into neutral, turning to me with his arm resting on the back of his seat.“Actually, before…before anything happens, I just want to tell you something.”

              I nod, keeping my nausea at bay, and turn to face him.

              “You’re really brave, Erin.I know you didn’t want to do this at first—hell, for all I know you still don’t want to—but I think you made the right choice, even if it wasn’t the easy one.And I think it’s going to have a good outcome.”

              “Thank you,” I mutter, and manage a smile.We turn back to the windshield, watching the frost melt from the top of the car in dripping silence.We don’t drive around.Instead, we stare at the glass, at the Collierville Insurance sign, at the sky above as it swirls from gray to soft black.

Four agents have entered the Collierville Insurance building by the time an hour and a half passes.Three are male.I have no idea if any of them are Benjamin Brinsley; bundled in hats and coats and scarves, faces turned from the wind or pressed to cell phones, it’s hard to see their features at all, let alone long enough to compare them to my own.

              Finally, near the office’s closing time, I open my door.Alex sits up with an intake of breath, startled, and gets out even faster than I do.

              The receptionist gives us her bright smile.“Welcome back,” she says, and motions through a doorway.“Mr. Brinsley is expecting you.”

              I stop in my tracks, halfway out of my coat.“He is?”

              “Yes, I told him a walk-in would be here when he got back.”

              “Oh.”My muscles relax as I remember I never gave her my name, or any information; as far as Benjamin Brinsley knows, we're just two clients.Strangers.“Good.Thank you.”

              Alex takes my coat and follows me into the room.It’s set up like a living room, and a fireplace-style heater, fake, is in the corner.I can smell the pot of burnt coffee from here.

              “There it is,” he tells me, pointing.The back wall has a series of painted doors, deep navy, with plaques on each.In the middle, the half-open door reads, “Benjamin Brinsley.”

              “No,” I say, as Alex takes a seat on the couch.“Come with me.”

              He looks at my hand gripping his arm like it’s an actual wrench.“Are you sure?I thought…”

              “I thought I’d want to do it alone, but…but I can’t.”Suddenly, I feel like I want to cry, as though my panic is so strong it can only escape in tears and vomit.“Please?”

              Alex smiles, slipping his hand into mine.“Of course I will, Erin.Whatever you need.”

              For the millionth time in the weeks since Jane’s wedding when I hooked up with Silas—or, more specifically, since the next day when I’d failed, time and again, to tell Alex that I’d hooked up with Silas—I feel so grateful for his presence, yet unbelievably undeserving.Guilt burrows into my panic, a barbed nest deep in my stomach.

              We approach the door too fast, my feet moving on their own.I knock on the wall with a shaking fist.

              Benjamin Brinsley does not have my long lashes or double-jointedness, at least not as far as I can tell; his fingers have the arthritic swell of a desk job, and his build is somewhere between aging athlete and typical American.His teeth are large and square, blindingly white and maybe porcelain.There’s a healthy tan to him that makes me think he spent Christmas somewhere warm.

              His eyes crinkle with his smile.I notice a vague resemblance to myself with this, and the way his earlobes meet his head in one smooth curve.

              It isn’t much, but it’s something.

              “Hi, Mr. Brinsley,” I finally say, and he holds up his hand.

              “Please, call me Benxi,” he smiles, motioning for us to sit across from his desk.We do.

             
Benji
. My father is a Benji.

              “What can I do for you two?” he asks.His voice has a sales-pitch tone to it, but not sleazy—just confident.I wonder how long he’s been doing this.

              Alex, realizing my voice is ensnared, clears his throat.“We’re actually here on a personal matter, sir.”

              He seems taken aback, just a little, but smooths over it nicely.“No problem—shoot.”The smile he gives me is brief, his attention focused mostly on Alex, the only one making steady eye contact.

              This time, though, Alex doesn’t speak for me.He places his hand over mine on the plastic armrest and squeezes.I know he’s not rushing me, just nudging.

              “Um,” I begin, and take a deep breath to stop my voice from squeaking.I reach into my wallet and slide the picture onto his desk.“Did you happen to know this woman?”He picks it up, and I study his face carefully as I add, “Her name was Anna St. James.”

              Benji’s face falls. Not into a frown, or angry expression—not much of an expression at all.But I can tell.He remembers.

              It’s quiet for a long time.His aquarium, full of tropical fish, bubbles and hums from the wall behind us.Alex taps his finger against my hand, and I realize I’m holding my breath.

              “‘Was?’” he asks, finally, setting the photo down, but not sliding it back.

              It takes me a second to realize what he’s asking.“Um…yes,” I manage.“She passed away this summer.”

              He sighs, leaning back in his seat.“I’m really sorry to hear that,” he says, and I can tell he means it.“Anna and I dated for a time—didn’t end well, but still.Some good memories.”His eyes focus loosely on the wall just above our heads.“Haven’t seen her since we broke up about…jeez, almost twenty years ago, maybe just a little over.”Suddenly, he stops and sits forward, his eyes latching on my face.

              “You look like her,” he says.