Free The Cocktail Club by Pat Tucker Page B

Roger had walked into my house. I’d signed for a package, and Carla came in at the same time. When she left, she obviously didn’t lock the door.
    â€œIs that who I think it is?” Roger had asked over my shoulder.
    Startled, I jumped at the sound of his voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    â€œYour neighbor was leaving when I came in,” he said.
    â€œOh.” I tried to log off the Facebook chat, but the look on his face told me he had already seen the picture of Chandler.
    â€œWhat are you doing on his page?”
    â€œI was keeping up with him, that’s all,” I stammered. I had done more than kept up with him. Over the years, I had frequently passed by his family’s business and, a few times, I had even followed him. When I thought enough time had passed, I searched for him onsocial media sites. When I first reached out to him, I thought for sure it was a long shot. But, he stunned me with a quick response, and we’d been communicating ever since. My mind left the past, and returned to the phone call at hand.
    â€œGoodbye, Roger. Don’t call back,” I warned.
    â€œDarby! Wait—”
    Once I ended the call, I glanced up at the clock, and began to calculate my time. I didn’t have enough time to go by there, but I could get in a quick chat and some sexting. Carla and I were supposed to hook up to talk about some more business details. I figured as long as that happened before the kids got off the school bus at four-fifteen, I’d be good.
    After I double-checked and made sure the doors were locked, I walked into the home office and locked that door, too. I logged on to the computer, and signed into my Facebook account.
    Since I didn’t find what I needed, I picked up my cell phone, and sent a text message. Only a few minutes passed, but it felt so much longer. When the phone vibrated, I grabbed it, and smiled as I looked down at the message.
    Moments later, my fingers trembled as I signed back into my account, and began a chat.
    Why you keep reaching out to me?
    What kind of question is that? I was glad he couldn’t sense my attitude through the computer.
    I jus’ wanna know what u want from me?
    Initially, I thought he couldn’t possibly remember who I was. Not only did he remember me, but I think a part of him wanted to prove to me that he was not a cold-blooded monster. Sure, he had avoided jail for his crime, but I believed the accident that killed Darlene had changed his life, too.
    I stared at the screen, and thought about that question. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I didn’t understand why the question was necessary. My eyes focused on the screen again when I saw a series of question marks pop up.
    What makes you think i want something from you?
    Ppl usually do.
    Maybe i’m different.
    Bs. But if that’s how you wanna play this thing. Cool w me!
    Do it! The voice in my head taunted me. I wanted to. I desperately wanted to ask the question, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stared at the screen again. My brother’s words echoed through my mind.
    â€œâ€¦what’s wrong is wrong and you know it, too…”
    I shook his words from my mind and focused on the text message.
    TTYL.
    I erased the letters and retyped them again, but I didn’t send the message.
    â€˜Sup?
    My eyes focused in on the new question. I quickly hit the Send button, and logged off. I didn’t realize I had started crying until tears fell onto my lap and wet my skin. It seemed like knowing I had shed tears opened up the floodgates, and the waterworks began with full force. I got up, and rushed to the refrigerator. I wiped my cheeks, and opened the door to grab a bottle of wine.
    The sadness didn’t last long. It would pass. It always did. As a matter-of-fact, by the time I finished the first glass of wine, I felt better. That was a good thing, too, because my cell phone rang. It was Carla.
    â€œDarby,