Forgotten Evidence: A Novel by Al Macy

Author:Al Macy [Macy, Al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798694950718
Google: vLb1zQEACAAJ
Amazon: B08KW5W5Z4
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2020-10-07T04:34:28+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

IN THE PARKING LOT far above our favorite surf spot, Camel Rock, I watched Carly make the final steps of the steep, railroad-tie trail from the beach. Evidently not realizing I was watching, she dropped the boards on the grass, tilted her head toward the sky, closed her eyes, and let out a big exhale. Carrying just one board was hard enough, especially after a big-wave session like the one we’d gone through.

I felt bad about holding her to our bet, saying I’d carry my own board, but she shook her head. “You tricked me fair and square.”

While I was watching her fasten the boards to her car, a guy with his wet suit halfway off came over to me.

“Great session, huh, dude?” He’d walked over from a truck with an Oregon license plate.

“The waves were a little big for me,” I said.

“Hey, I gotta ask you. How do you get your wife to carry your board for you?”

I looked at him sideways. Nice compliment. People rarely thought I was Carly’s husband since her looks put her far out of my league.

I smiled. “She’s not my wife.”

“Huh, but—”

“She’s my servant.” I was sure he’d just laugh at what was obviously a joke.

He didn’t. “Wow, dude.”

“I won her in a poker game.”

He went back to his truck, shaking his head. Probably an Oregon pothead.

Carly was staring at me. She signed, “You won me in a poker game?” She’s an outstanding lip-reader.

Back at Carly’s, I got two bottles of beer from the fridge while she started the cold, damp procedure of caring for the wet suits. I handed her one then reclined like an Egyptian king on her chaise longue. She dropped the suits into a plastic tub, added a dash of Pau Pilau wet suit cleaner, and started filling it with water.

Holding both the hose and her beer in her left hand, she one-hand signed, “This is an intervention.”

“Intervention?” I frowned.

She agitated the suits in the tub and nodded.

I sat up and looked back toward the house. “Don’t you need, like, a group of friends and family for that?”

“I’m a proxy. For Jen, Nicole, and Louella.”

Not sure what was going on, I waited. Carly pulled the wet suits from the tub, hung them on the clothesline, and started rinsing them with the hose.

I pointed. “You missed a spot.”

She ignored me. She put the hose down and pulled up a patio chair. “Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“I heard what happened after you went to the morgue.”

“Oh, that,” I said. “I’ve got things under control.”

“No, you don’t. Raquel and Patricia died six years ago. Yes, we both miss them every day, but we have to move on. You can’t go back into depression every time something reminds you of them.”

I said nothing.

“You need help,” she said.

“I’m getting help. My doctor’s given me medication.”

“It’s not cutting it. Has she suggested talk therapy?”

I started to get up from the chaise. “I don’t want to—”

Carly pushed me back down.

“I’d rather be depressed than go talk to some stranger every week.

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