Doris tucks the notepad back away, winking at Beth. “Sure thing, darling. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”
Beth settles back against the seat, setting her phone down in front of her as Doris walks away.
I glance at the clock on the wall above the door. Ten after two. The condensation building on my glass absorbs into my hand as I take a sip of the chilled soda.
“Did you tell your aunt and uncle where you were going today?” I ask Beth, wanting to keep her talking. Needing to keep her mind off the nearly vacant parking lot she’s staring at.
Shit, I need to keep my mind off it. Where the fuck is he?
She nods, focusing on me, a hint of a smile touching her lips. “Danny lectured me for an hour when I told him what I was doing. He seemed slightly less worried about it when I said you were going with me.”
“Slightly,” I repeat, laughing at Danny’s protectiveness.
Bastard knows me well enough, but still gives me shit for dating his niece.
I cross my arms over my chest and lean back. “Like I’d let you do this alone.”
“I don’t think I could’ve done this alone,” she says quietly. Her eyes lower to the table, her finger moving along the edge of the black, floral phone case. “Especially if he doesn’t show up.”
A pressure builds in my chest. “Look at me,” I demand. She raises her head. “Don’t do that. He’ll be here. He’s probably just stuck in traffic.”
Her eyes wander to the window.
I repeat the same words to her over the next hour, reassuring her, trying to keep myself convinced.
By three o’clock, I’m emphasizing how awful traffic must be coming from Tennessee. She dials her dad, frowning when he doesn’t answer. Every time Doris begins to make her way to our table, I keep her back with a shake of my head.
By four o’clock, I’m ready to drive to wherever the fuck this dickhead is coming from and drag his ass here myself.
Beth tries to reach him again. And again, each time greeted with a voicemail. I try to engage her in conversation about anything, monotonous rantings spilling out of my mouth. Every thought that pops into my head I’m throwing at her, but it’s as if I’m alone in the diner. The self-possessed woman across from me becomes a ghost of her former self. She stops smiling, stops flicking her eyes in my direction when I tap her foot. The sound of her name doesn’t warrant the same reaction I’m used to getting from her. Each minute that passes drags her further away from me.
By ten after five, my body is rigid against the seat, my vision vibrating with anger. A single tear rolls down Beth’s cheek, and I can’t take this anymore. I’m ready to kill this man. I want to take his life away from him, and I want to do it slowly.
Drag it out over hours. Make him feel a fraction of the pain Beth is feeling. Then make him feel it again.
I lean over the table and grab Beth’s elbow, pulling her hand into mine.
“He’s not coming,” she whispers through a shattered voice. She doesn’t fight my hold. She allows me this, this one part of her to comfort. Her eyes fall to the phone on the table. “I don’t understand. Do you think he could still be stuck in traffic?”
No.
“Maybe.”
“Or he forgot? Do you think he forgot about me?”
I stare into her eyes when she lifts them, the unshed tears threatening to wet her cheeks. “When was the last time you spoke to him?” I ask, thinking maybe he did forget. Praying for that explanation, and not the one I fear kept him from showing up.
He doesn’t want to know her.
My jaw clenches so tight, my teeth ache.
He doesn’t deserve to live.
She swallows noisily. “Last night. He sounded really excited again, like he did when I first spoke to him. He was talking so fast. I reminded him where we were meeting and what time. He said he would be here. He promised. I tried calling him this morning before you picked me up but no one answered. I figured he left already.”
“Beth.” I squeeze her hand when her lip trembles. My forearm shakes against the table. My whole body charged, ready to detonate at any second.
“He sounded so excited,” she repeats, blinking heavily. Tears stream down her face. She pulls her hand out of mine and slips out of the booth, nearly stumbling, but righting herself quickly. She pushes against my shoulder when I lean to help her. “Don’t. I’m fine. I just need to use the bathroom.”
My back slams against the seat. I wipe both hands down my face, trying to keep myself from flipping over this table.
How could he does this to her? How could that fucker get her hopes up and then bail on her like this? He has her fucking number. He could’ve called if something came up. I’d still think he was a worthless piece of shit, but I’d be thinking it somewhere else with Beth. Not here. I wouldn’t be watching her break down in the middle of a fucking diner.
I swipe her phone off the table and hit redial. A generic voicemail picks up. I disconnect the call and hit redial again. And again, the stress of the phone against my ear building to an unbearable pressure. If he’s sleeping, if his ass is still home and he did forget, if he tries to give me one fucking excuse, I’m tearing into him. I press redial. Six attempts, seven, on eight I’m ready to give up, until . . .
“Hello? Yeah?” Two coughs, then the sound of bottles clinking together comes through the phone. “Shit,” he mumbles, groaning. “My fucking head. Christ, what time . . . who is this?”