“I have to ask you some stuff,” I tell Z. “When’s the last time you talked to Charlie?” I try not to act like this isn’t the whole point of being here.
“Charlie?” Z’s brow furrows. He lifts one hand for the bartender, like he’s been doing it all his life. He’s twenty, though, so he’s been doing it for at least two years—one of the major perks of being back in Europe. “I don’t know, three or four months ago? Yeah, we met up in Mumbai. I was there with my family. He was nostalgic, I guess, asked if he could come crash with me. Why? You’re not still with him, are you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” It’s obvious he doesn’t know what’s happened to Charlie, and he thought me calling him meant I was done with my relationship. And here I thought they were such good friends; that’s what Charlie always said.
“Forget it,” he says. “What’s up, Lena?” He hands me an Amstel Light and grabs one for himself, slipping a wad of bills toward the bartender without bothering to count.
“I need to know what you meant by that,” I shout over the deep thrum of the music. “Charlie’s gone. That’s why I’m here.”
“Gone?” Z’s mouth drops open, his forehead squinches.
“Dead,” I affirm, drawing a line across my throat. Okay, so maybe it’s callous. But it’s also like, we’re in a club. I’m trying to keep it light; and it’s not like I believe Charlie is dead. If I cry, Z’s not gonna talk to me; he’s going to get all nurturing and pity-party on me in an unsubtle effort to get on my good side. And then I’ve lost.
“Jesus. How did it happen?”
“He crashed in his dad’s plane,” I say, steering him away from the bar. “There was an explosion. He was alone.” I catch a glimpse of Aubrey. She’s not dancing anymore; she’s looking around for me, and that lost puppy look’s back. I almost ignore it but I feel guilty, so instead I hold a finger up to Z to let him know I’ll be back in a sec.
“Hey!’ I grab her and she turns to me, looking pissed. Her eyes move to my beer and then she looks even more pissed. “Look,” I say. “I’m making headway with Z. Why don’t you ask around about Charlie? These dudes are always hanging out here.” I jab the air around us, pointing out guys in hoodies, guys in wife-beaters, guys holding cigarettes, short guys, paunchy guys. “So make use of it,” I continue. “Some of them probably hung with Charlie at one time or another. This was his favorite bar. He loved coming here, meeting new people. Just give me ten minutes.”
“Okay. Just don’t leave without me.” Her voice is anxious. She’s hands down the most high-strung girl I’ve ever met.
“Obviously.” As much as I need her, it’s feeling like she’s the brick tied to my ankle right now.
I glance over at Z, who’s been chilling in the corner drinking his beer, but he looks a little dazed. For a second I wonder why we’re doing this; if deep down I don’t want just to confront Charlie and make him pay, but also to touch him and see him. But how could I feel anything for Charlie, given what he did to me and Aubrey? It makes me feel sick inside. The really healthy thing would be to write him off altogether and let the past be the past. But what he did doesn’t erase those years, those good memories. The times I loved him and felt him love me back. Those are what I’m mourning right now. They’re why I need answers. But I wonder: Am I looking for Charlie to find answers, or am I just looking for him? The thought causes another wave of shame to burn through me; he was a jerk who treated me and Aubrey like crap, and now I can’t accept that he’s gone.
“Continue,” Z says to me when I catch up with him.
“He’s presumed dead, but they never found his body,” I tell him when I plop down next to him on one of the benches that line the room where the bar is, just off the dance floor. “Just his bloody jacket.”
“Everyone thinks he’s dead,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“The cops, his family. Everyone but you.”
I flush. “It sounds crazy. But I have reasons to believe it. Real, tangible reasons.”
“What reasons?” Z’s eyes are intense.
I look down at my clasped hands. I’ve been digging my thumbnail into my palm so hard, it’s begun to draw blood. I gasp and move my hand to the side so Z can’t see.
“I can’t tell you the reasons,” I say, my voice thick with desperation. I want him to believe me, but I can’t trust what I know with Z or Aubrey or anyone else.