Trouble is a Friend of Mine

‘So you’re telling me that you left home and no one noticed.’


‘I have an evaluation meeting with the Texas Association of School Boards in two weeks. If I go to that, no one’ll know I was gone. Not to be dramatic or anything.’

I show him the Edgar Allan Poe Appreciation Society pamphlet I fished out of his trash. ‘Dramatic like this? I mean, you want me to come say good-bye but you don’t want to seem like you do, so you put it at the bottom of your trash, which you conveniently forgot to dump out …’

‘Whoa … now you sound like me. Paranoia isn’t a good look on you. It was just trash, Princeton.’

‘You didn’t take the morning bus and that was the afternoon bus you just purposely missed. What? You’re going to deny you were waiting for me?’

‘Well, actually, I was waiting for her.’ Digby points into the parking lot, where Holloway is walking toward the station. She’s wearing sunglasses after sundown and keeps her head swiveling left and right.

Holloway shoves a plastic binder at Digby. ‘Here. It’s a copy, so you can keep it.’

Digby checks the binder’s heft. ‘Feels a little light, Stella.’

‘Double-sided. Now, are we square?’ Holloway says.

‘Square.’

‘I took a look, kid. Sorry. That case is as cold as it gets.’

‘I have a new angle.’

‘Oh? Something you should share with the police?’

‘Are you sure you want to share so soon after you just got done paying me off for the last time we shared?’ Digby wags the binder.

‘You’re right. I don’t want to know.’ Holloway grabs a piece of chicken from his bucket and walks away. ‘Happy trails. Thanks for the chicken.’

I jump at the loud hiss of bus brakes and the slam of the doors opening right beside me. Passengers stagger up the stairs.

‘This is me,’ Digby says.

‘This bus isn’t going to Maryland. It’s going to Atlantic City.’

‘I’m going to Fort Dix. It’s near Atlantic City.’

‘Fort Dix? What’s that? A Six Flags or something?’

‘Minimum security federal prison, Princeton. I have to ask Ezekiel about my sister.’

‘How are you going to scam your way in there? I doubt you’ll get too far with your usual coffee and donuts scam.’

‘Something will come up,’ he says. ‘I better get on. I hate getting stuck near the bathroom. And there’s always a chatty old lady who thinks I look like her grandkid –’

‘So you’re rude to grandmas too?’

‘No, them I want to sit next to. They always share their food.’

‘Food … of course.’

I don’t know whether I should hug him or kiss him or what, so I choose to do the most awkward thing I could’ve done and offer my hand for shaking.

Digby shakes it mockingly and climbs the stairs. Through the window, I watch him take a seat by some seniors on a weekend slots-and-shrimp bender, introduce himself, and become immediately popular. Someone hands him a sack of popcorn.

The engine starts. There’s a sinking, black hole sucking feeling in my stomach. I hid in a friend’s apartment the day Dad moved out for this exact reason.

Then, just before the bus door closes, Digby runs up the aisle to the door. ‘Hey, I almost forgot. Sabrina Morgan, then TOOTSIEROLL, one word, all caps.’

‘What’s that?’

‘My real estate agent login. In case your dad messes with your mom while I’m gone. Use it to take a virtual tour of the place he secretly bought on the Upper West Side through a corporation that has only him and Shereene as the directors,’ he says. ‘Like I said: no one messes with my crew.’

Best. Parting. Gift. Ever.

Then Digby suddenly reaches for my face and pulls me toward him. He’s staring at my teeth and I know what’s coming. I don’t need to hear it again and so I say, ‘I know … my retainer –’

But what comes isn’t a horse teeth comment. Instead, he leans down and kisses me. I’m so shocked, I don’t close my eyes, so I see that he’s closed his. Then, before I can decide if I’m enjoying myself, the bus driver blasts the horn, and Digby runs up the steps to the claps and cheers of his new senior citizen friends. He never even looks out the window at me standing there in a mute cascade of emotions ranging from confusion to anger and a weird embarrassed suspicion that maybe I didn’t hold up my end of the kiss.

Then the bus pulls away and just like that, he’s gone.