No Ordinary Life by Redfearn Suzanne

Author:Redfearn, Suzanne [Redfearn, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2016-02-01T23:00:00+00:00

47

In front of the crew’s barracks, a two-story building that looks like a budget motel, heads lift as I approach. I recognize most of them—cameramen, grips, sound techs. They sit around a fire pit. One of them strums a guitar, another plays along on a harmonica. When I get close, the music, laughter, and conversation stop. A few offer mechanical smiles, but most don’t bother. I’m on their turf after quitting time, and I’m not welcome here.

But I’m one of you, I want to say. I love sitting around a campfire, listening to music, and roasting marshmallows.

With a small smile of I mean you no harm, I move past, and the music and conversation resume.

My feet carry me to where I know Griff is, the same place he was yesterday, swimming in the wide part of the river. I round the last bend, and there he is, his back facing me—broad, bare, and spotted with drops of water.

He turns. “Took you long enough,” he says loudly. He has a beer in his hand, and I realize he might be drunk.

My mouth glubs. “You’ve been waiting for me?”

“Well, go on, spit it out. Thank you. You’re wonderful. My next child will be named in your honor, blah, blah, blah…” Belch.

“Why are you waiting out here for me?”

“You think I’m going to let you grovel in front of my crew? That’s just what I need, to put on a performance for my guys.”

“A performance?”

“Pretend I’m fucking pissed off because Molly almost got hurt and they think it’s your fault. Those guys really like Molly.”

“You don’t think it’s my fault?”

“Of course it’s your fault. I’m just not pissed at you.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Livid as hell, just not at you. Damn asshole.”

I figure he’s talking about Chris.

“Can’t blame a squid for not having a vertebrae.”

Now he’s talking about me.

“Or for being sliced and diced into calamari by a fucking shark. Damn, that’s a hell of a metaphor. I should write that down.” He swallows the remainder of the beer and drops the bottle to the dirt.

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe. How many bottles are on the ground?”

I step closer. “Twelve.”

“Then I’m only half-drunk,” he says, looking around to locate an untouched six-pack on the dirt behind him. He pulls out one of the bottles, twists off the top, and takes a swig.

“How about I help you back to camp?” I say, hating that he’s so drunk that he might not remember this conversation, which means I’ll need to thank him again.

“The squid wants to help. I’ll tell you how you can help. Help me out by telling me what the hell you see in that guy. I mean, really, inquiring minds want to know. That asshole puts your kid in danger, she lands in the hospital, and the next thing you know, you’re trading saliva with him in the pasture.”

Blood rushes to my face. “How’d you…”

“Know? Hell, everyone knows. You’re lucky your little make-out session wasn’t on the six o’clock news. I mean, Rhonda you expect to be doing that shit, but you almost seem normal.

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