To her credit, Betsy didn’t make me wait outside. She dragged my sorry ass into the house, parked me at the kitchen table, and shoved some tea in front of me. Then she waited.
I didn’t bother trying to regain my composure, since I knew it wouldn’t last. I hiccuped and choked and made an absolute ass of myself as I struggled through everything that happened after our altercation. She listened coolly, an eyebrow arched more expressively than any eyebrow in the history of the world, and sipped her own tea. Waiting.
When I got to “and then he said he’d decide by tonight and I said ‘okay’ and I drove here and I didn’t know where else to go. Tell me what to do, Betsy, I’m begging you,” she put her tea down and folded her hands primly on the pale oak table.
“All right, heifer,” she said. “Most important question first.”
I braced for a rebuke, some homespun insult that sounded nice but carried nasty undertones. “Let me have it. I’m a terrible person, I broke the cardinal rule of friendship, I owe you a thousand milkshakes.”
“Oh, control yourself.” She leveled a bright purple nail with a silver spiderweb at me. “Where the fuck did you learn to do makeup like that? You do not look like you were at death’s door less than a week ago. If I didn’t know for a fact that your ass was laid up in the hospital like a crash test dummy, I’d assume you just had a hangover.”
I exhaled and had to blow my nose again before I could speak. I hated lying to her. Especially if she found it in her heart to forgive me for the Dragomir incident. “I don’t know. The bruises faded a lot faster than I expected.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re not holding out on me with some wacky antiaging serum you brewed up, are you? Is that why you got a billion dollars in fancy science things delivered? And a new generator?”
Some days I really hated living in such a small town.
But she offered me a half-truth. Dragomir’s blood, in a way, was antiaging. Anti-living, sure, but definitely antiaging. “I’ve been experimenting with some new chemical compounds, and figured I’d risk a little of it to see what it did. It was more successful than I expected. But it’s not ready for anyone else to use. I’m not entirely certain of the… side effects yet.”
“Well, one is obviously losing your damn mind. Put that on the bottle before you sell it.” Betsy picked her tea back up and rolled her eyes. “What’s the matter with you, not telling me about a man in your house? Ada Lovelace Montgomery, you have had two boyfriends in the last eight years, and you finally have a man – a weird looking one, okay – in your house givin’ you the business, and you didn’t tell me?”
Real hurt lingered in her eyes, even if the rest of her sounded amused-annoyed.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I…”
“And now,” she went on, barreling right over me. “Now you’re going to sit here at my table and tell me you’ve got another man kissin’ you in parking lots? What the fuck happened to you in those woods? I hardly recognize you, and it’s got nothing to do with your face.”
“I know, I know.” I groaned and my forehead thunked against the table. I couldn’t look at her. “I skipped high school, so I missed out on this kind of ridiculous drama.”
“Well, you’re makin’ it up now,” she muttered, sipping her tea before going into the kitchen. She returned with a fifth of bourbon and a pitcher of coffee. “I think I need something a little stronger to hear this. Start talkin’ or I’ll make you go fix your face.”
I took a deep breath. “I guess…”
“Start with the weird one,” she said, squinting one eye as she looked at me. “He needs some explanation. Like, a lot of explanation. Pale and spidery isn’t your type.”
Spidery was the best adjective I’d run across for Dragomir, hands down.
I made up some vague details about meeting him on a hike and then reconnecting, and brushed it aside as having lost my mind with the painkillers and a near-death experience. My voice hitched a few times as I turned to the documentary crew and Archer and some of the weird things they’d said and done. The switching between flirty and suspicious. What he said in the parking lot. What he told me about saying ‘see you later’ to Jamie so I could find my own adventures for a little while. All of it spilled out until my chest rang hollow. Empty.
A long silence followed as I stared at the table and wished there was an algorithm for evaluating romantic potential.
“Well,” Betsy said. She tipped some bourbon into my mug. “That is some kind of somethin’ you’ve got there. I hate to say it, but I might agree with this Archer fellow.”
She agreed?
“On what?” I asked warily.
“On you taking a break from searching for your brother. Living your own life for a while.” She sighed, shaking her head at me. “Come on, Ada. This is a sign from the universe or Galileo or whoever your heathen ass prays to. Maybe this Archer guy is what moves you out of Chilhowee and on to better, bigger things.”
“Secular humanists don’t pray, Bets.”
She gave me a look. “Then why do you have a weird old guy who ain’t Jesus on top of your Christmas tree?”
I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t holler in my own exasperation. “That’s Isaac Newton. He was born on Christmas. Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe? You are or you aren’t born on a day.” Betsy folded her arms, obviously waiting for me to come to my senses.
“The calendars changed from Julian to Gregorian and it eliminated a bunch of days, so technically he was born on Christmas day but with the calendars they retroactively updated…”
She held up her hands. “Forget I asked. Your weird scientist with the apples mighta been born on Christmas, like that qualifies him to go on top of the tree.”
“Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas, either,” I muttered.
Her eyes narrowed. “Hush your mouth. And stop tryin’ to distract me. Are you tempted to go with this man somewhere else? Or at least take his advice to leave, since you’ve ignored me sayin’ the same thing for the last eight years?”
Another sore spot. I covered my face and hoped the bourbon kicked in faster. “I don’t know. I thought so. But we hardly know each other. It’s been a week and he’s been like a chimera the whole time, changing around as it suits him for each situation. I can’t even say what he’s like. What his last name is.”
“But it sounds like he wants to find all that out.” Betsy fiddled with her phone. “Do you want to know the same about him?”
I thought of Archer and my heart leapt despite the conflicting emotions. Something about him drew me in, mesmerized me just as surely as Dragomir had. I couldn’t look at her. “I think so.”
“Well, that’s your answer.”
“But what do I do? If he says he wants to just have a professional relationship, what do I say? Or if he wants to maybe date or whatever, how does that even work? I don’t know what happens next, Bets.”
She lifted her mug in a somewhat mocking toast. “You’re the genius. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
I groaned and leaned my head back. “How long are you going to torment me?”
“Until you spill the beans on why you’re being so cagey about what happened after you left my house.”
She still didn’t believe me about Dragomir, and I didn’t blame her. I took a deep breath. “Okay. Something is different but I can’t talk about it. I really can’t. I’d tell you if I could, but I… want to keep you safe. I need to keep you safe.”
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Ada?”
“Nothing I can’t get myself out of, I promise.” Like I actually believed that.
Betsy heaved an over-dramatic sigh and leaned back. “Just remember to tell me where you stashed all that mystery cash so I can bail you out when the law catches up.”
Before I could redirect from the cash, she flipped the conversational channel. “Now. I know you’ve been out playing in the woods, but did you hear what Laurie told Mrs. Stapleton about her garden and those awful gnomes?”
My shoulders relaxed as the danger of further interrogation passed. I needed her no-nonsense advice. She wouldn’t blow smoke up my ass to make me feel better. Her questions always cut right to the heart of the problem, and she didn’t believe in mincing words. Except when it came to gossip.
She talked without pausing for breath for the next hour, catching me up on the goings-on in town, and the familiar pattern and names and conflicts eased the rest of the tension away. I didn’t have to think real hard when I hung out with Betsy, and if I started using too many quarter-sized words instead of the nickel- and dime-sized words she preferred, she didn’t hesitate to tell me.
Sitting there with her, drinking tea and bourbon and eating Oreos out of the package, I almost felt like everything would work out.