Chapter Fifteen

Dreaming about Dr. Emmett wasn’t a new thing. For months, the man had taken up residence in Wade’s subconscious teasing him, stripping him, feeding him, mocking Jessa, switching places with her in his dreams. But today’s dreams ended with a shock of violence. Wade smacked the dream dentist across the face. His skull rolled off his head and shattered upon the ground, like it was made of porcelain.

Wade awoke with a start from his forced, lengthy slumber, and he felt normal for a moment, a side effect of being well-rested in a quiet house. For a few moments, the room blacked out except for some slight light creeping past the edge of the blinds, he forgot what time he’d gone to sleep or even what time it was.

That sensation did not last.

First, he considered his dream. Then, he looked over toward the crib. Wait, where was the baby? Where was his phone?

Scooping himself out of the mattress, putting the soles of his feet on the tough basement carpet, he forced himself upright. He had to piss. He had to get on with life. He had to rejoin the mess.

He hit the power button on the iPhone, left it on the desk attached to the charger and went to the toilet. Almost immediately upon waking, the phone began vibrating alerts to him. It did not stop. When Wade finished using the bathroom, the phone kept buzzing for nearly two minutes. It was 3:58 p.m. It was Thursday, maybe. He was afraid to touch the damn thing, wondering if World War III had somehow begun or the zombie apocalypse or some shit.

Instead, to his annoyance, it was all just personal chaos.

First thing he noticed was the voicemail from the dentist’s office. He hit play and listened to Celeste’s voice. And it returned him to Hell. What did she want? What did she know? This was too much. He dialed the number back, but it just rang and rang, going to that stupid cheery voicemail for Dr. Emmett’s office. No matter how many times he’d called the man, he never got used to the sing-songy voice his lover used on the outgoing message from his office.

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” He remembered that from the news.

The whole thing pissed him off. Wade was never going to stop running from this, he feared. He shouldn’t run. Particularly not from some damn dental assistant.

“Look,” he said into the phone message. “I don’t know what you think you know, lady. But you better keep your fucking mouth shut. I’m not scared of you. DON’T CALL ME AGAIN.”

He hung up the phone, felt bold for a moment, and then that bravado just left him like so much hot air. He wasn’t dangerous. It was an act. Hitting the dentist hadn’t made him bloodthirsty. It frightened him. Wade felt like a goddamn chickenshit.

The voicemails from his mom and Jessa, basically repeated all of the stuff that their texts said in caps lock. The baby was in the hospital. There was a bee sting. It was probably nothing, but they were keeping Lydie overnight. Though Jessa sounded frantic, Wade reasoned to himself that she always sounded like that. His mom was a medical professional. She sounded more reasonable but mostly pissed off.

Should he take a shower? No, they’d be upset if they found out he hesitated at all. They’d want him to treat it like it was an emergency, but the past couple days had made him immune to emergencies, he hated to think it. But everything was shit. So, what was even the point of caring at all?

Wade pulled on a T-shirt and some underwear. He texted his mom. When he found his jeans, he also looked over his missed calls. The one unknown number was probably the hospital, so he dialed it back, just so he could find out what room he should go to. Or maybe it was some bill collector.

The answer came on the first ring.

“Hi Wade,” a cheery voice said quickly.

“Hi, who’s this?”

“I’m Trevor, the guy with the couch yesterday,” the voice said. “I hope you don’t mind me reaching out. I just—”

The guy with the couch. The pretty one. The one with the gaze that wouldn’t leave him. The guy he lied to.

“Look, Trevor, I can’t talk right now. I gotta go.”

“Oh, OK—”

Trevor sounded upset.

“How did you get this number?”

“You sort of gave it to me,” Trevor said. “Sort of—”

“Well, yeah, I wanted to talk to you again. Maybe coffee or something.”

Wade paused.

“This isn’t a good time, Trevor.”

“It could be, Wade,” Trevor said, a bit boldly. “If you’re having a bad day, I can totally relate.”

“All I have are bad days,” Wade muttered.

Through the phone, Wade heard Trevor sigh.

“Preach,” Trevor said.

Wade, in spite of himself, chuckled.

“Say Wade,” Trevor continued. “I live right near your dad’s office. Whenever you like, I could come by, pick you up and make your day a little better. I’m good at that. I promise.”

The earnest confidence in Trevor’s voice was kind and seductive, almost in equal measure, but all Wade could think about was Trevor showing up at the dentist’s office, telling Celeste or anybody about the couch delivery.

“Don’t go there,” Wade said.

“Really? Because, if it meant seeing you again, I’d get a root canal.” Wade smiled.

“Thanks for not saying you wanted any cavities filled,” Wade joked.

Trevor replied quickly, “Dude. No.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were doing a thing.”

“Oh, not what I mean,” Trevor said. “I wouldn’t want your dad filling any of my cavities. This isn’t a porno.”

Wade gasped, then chuckled. Who the hell was this Trevor?

“See,” Trevor replied. “I knew we were flirting. You have got to get coffee with me now.”

“Um.”

“I’m just going to call you back ’til you say yes,” Trevor said with the certainty of someone in one of Jessa’s teen romances. “This is going to happen. You know it is. You know it’ll be great. Come on.”

Since Trevor wasn’t to be dissuaded and since he wanted the guy nowhere near the dentist’s office, Wade dared complicate his life even more.

“Fine, I work at the Super Kroger tomorrow night ’til 11.”

“Late-night donuts and sensual massage at 11:05 then,” Trevor asserted. “I’ll see you in the parking lot.”

The phone clicked.

Δ

Trevor’s last sentence was a phrase that struck Wade as entirely too familiar. Given how things had worked out with the last guy, Wade should probably just let the delivery man down easy.

Wade put on his sneakers and walked out into the yard. Wade heard the pounding before he rounded the house. It was a knock, an insistent and angry knock. He crossed the front lawn, headed toward his car. But it was blocked in by an Oldsmobile. The trash bag in his window was already flapping in the wind from where someone had pulled on it. On his mother’s doorstep, that assistant Celeste, braids askew from her terrible day, crazy eyes, wearing Miss Piggy scrubs to cover her ample frame, was banging on the door with her open hand.

He froze in his tracks, unsure of which direction to run, but he didn’t get the chance.

Celeste turned her head toward the footsteps on the grass, and she saw him. She glared at him with an intensity he was unprepared to match. He could talk tough on the phone, but, faced with her, Wade was more than a little scared. She held all the cards. And he knew it.

“We need to talk about Dr. Emmett, kid,” Celeste said to Wade. “Right. Fucking. Now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wade spat.

Celeste rolled her eyes and said, with a chuckle, “Bitch, please.”

And she stepped off the front stoop, on to the lawn and walked up to him like they were gunfighters in a Western. He pretended like they weren’t, though.

“I’m sorry,” he said, speaking with the unearned confidence of an entitled white boy. “I’ve got to go to the hospital right now.”

“The hospital?” Celeste asked. “Oh, little man, you gonna finish the job?”

She knew. All of it, she knew. He knew she knew. And whatever happened next was up to her.