Delusion Road (11 page)

She hadn’t known whether to laugh or cringe when her dad had told her about the guy’s father phoning to say he couldn’t make it but his son wanted to help out. “Volunteer” is how he’d put it but, judging from the guy’s body language now, she could fill in the blanks—the guy’s dad had found out how he’d been treating the boss’s daughter and this was his way of making amends.

Reaching her, the new guy offered a mumbled “Hi,” like he had to swallow a bottle cap to say it.

“Hi,” she returned, still smirking. She had no intention of making any of this easier for him.

His face reddening, he looked around, obviously grasping for something more to say. “You’ve got quite a lineup already, even with the rain.”

“There’s always a great turnout for Casino Night,” she said. There was an awkward beat of silence. Then another.

He dragged a hand through his hair, which fell immediately into his eyes again. “I, uh … I hear all this is your dad’s idea.”

“Yes, it is.” She let the silence continue to unspool around them.

His eyes wandered around the space again and then, after a long moment, returned to her. He cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she said, wondering how much that compliment had cost him. But she appreciated it nonetheless—she’d shopped for days before deciding on the designer dress she wore this evening, a low-cut, off-the-shoulder sheath whose emerald colour contrasted dramatically with her blond hair. “What you see is pretty much what you get, right?”

He grimaced. “Yeah, about that,” he said. “I, uh, I’d like to, uh …”

“Yes?” she asked.

He glanced away, his body visibly tightening. Then, “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

“For saying
what
exactly? That I’m unbelievable or that I’m not the centre of the universe?”

He turned to her again. In place of the grimace was something less wounded. Almost cocky. “Everything’s easy for you, isn’t it? Even this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I occasionally have a bad hair day.”

“So there
is
a God.”

She suppressed a laugh. “How does it taste?” she asked.

He blinked. “How’s
what
taste?”

“The crow you’re eating.”

“I’ve had better,” he said.

“Too bad. We Jaffreys usually serve only the best.”

Now he was the one laughing, and she liked what it did to his face, smoothing out those stern lines on his forehead and crinkling the skin around his eyes, which she noticed were grey. Like pewter with hints of silver melted into it.

He put both hands up as if in surrender. “You think maybe we could start over?” he asked. “Pretend yesterday didn’t happen?”

She studied him for a moment, considering his suggestion. After all, he
had
apologized. Besides, there was something about him that intrigued her, something vaguely mysterious, although she had no idea why she’d think such a thing. She held out her hand. “I’m Willa Jaffrey,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Willa Jaffrey.” He took her small hand in his large one and squeezed it gently. “Keegan Fraser.”

His handshake surprised her, and it was more than the heat of his skin against hers, more than the obvious strength she sensed in his grip. Something else, like the feel of her fingers sliding into a glove that fit perfectly.

She pulled away. “They’ll be opening the doors in a few minutes. We should get inside.” She turned and led him across the foyer toward the gymnasium.

The space looked nothing at all like the recreation centre it had been two days before. Bolts of rich fabric covered the
concrete walls and formed brilliant backdrops for the various gaming tables scattered throughout the huge space. A temporary bar made of dark walnut lined the far wall, and young men and women dressed in black slacks, white shirts, and red bow ties stood behind it involved in last-minute preparations. Positioned on an equally temporary platform was a tuxedo-wearing quintet tuning their instruments, and in the centre of it all stood a sculpture made of roses arranged in the shape of the Rotarian emblem. The place looked spectacular.

Willa couldn’t help but feel proud. It was her father who’d come up with the idea of Casino Night five years ago, ditching all those little flea markets and rubber ducky derbies for something much bigger and far more fun. As a minor, she couldn’t gamble or drink alcohol, but she didn’t care—she was there to support her dad. Besides, Brookdale’s social scene didn’t offer many opportunities to show off an Arthur Mendonça original.

She found herself wishing once more that Wynn were there with her, but he’d called an hour ago to say he was running late. So, as weird as it was, it turned out to be a good thing that Keegan had shown up. Not that she couldn’t have handled her station alone, but it would be far more enjoyable having someone there to make fun of the over-forties with.

Keegan scanned the room. “Where’s your boyfriend? Home reading
The Mountain and the Valley
?”

Picturing Wynn hunkered over a book, Willa almost laughed. “He’s coming later,” she said, then turned and made her way across the large room, leaving Keegan to trail in her wake.

“So, what’s my job?” he asked when he’d caught up to her at a long table.

“Punch patrol.” She pointed at an enormous crystal bowl
surrounded by dozens of sparkling glasses. “I pour the stuff and make witty conversation. You keep me supplied with punch and clean glasses from the kitchen.”

“And you
volunteered
for this?”

“Didn’t
you
?” she asked pointedly. “Look, it could be worse. We could be on cleanup duty. Besides, I don’t expect we’ll be too busy. There’s no alcohol in the free stuff.”

“My luck,” he muttered.

This time her laughter just slipped out.

They were a lot busier than she had expected, and Keegan’s decision to “volunteer” turned out to be timely because Wynn had cancelled on her—he called to say he was sitting in Valley Regional Hospital’s outpatient department waiting to get a tetanus shot. Since the number on the paper he’d pulled from the Please Take One dispenser was 219 and the one glowing redly below the Doctor Is Now Seeing sign was 174, he would be there most of the evening.

Willa couldn’t believe it. “Tetanus shot?” she groaned. “What for?”

He’d stopped to fill up his car at Grant’s Gas ‘N’ Go and had gotten fuel on his hands, so he’d gone inside to wash them off. Grant’s was one of the valley’s oldest independent gas stations, and its washroom was the size of a coat closet. A nail had been sticking out of the back of the door, and when Wynn had turned in the tight space to get a paper towel to dry his hands, the nail
had scratched his cheek. It wasn’t bad, he said, but the nail was rusty and he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Something wrong?” Keegan asked as she returned her phone to her purse.

Sighing, she explained about Wynn being a no-show, and she was surprised when he offered no reaction. He’d already made at least a dozen trips from the kitchen carrying trays of clean glasses and fresh punch, and she thought he’d have welcomed the help. But he hadn’t said much of anything since he’d apologized to her. Not that she hadn’t tried to draw him into conversation, but she’d grown tired of making small talk and getting little in return. Earlier, she’d pointed out Wynn’s father, Laird d’Entremont, explaining how he’d just agreed to run for a second term as Brookdale’s mayor, but Keegan had barely nodded. Not long after that, Ms. Ericson had stopped by their table for punch, the armpits of her dress already darkening, and after the teacher had moved off, Willa had made what she thought was a hilarious comment about problem perspiration. Keegan hadn’t even grinned, just looked away as though embarrassed. It was like he had no idea how to behave in a social setting.

“Where’s that young man of yours?”

Willa turned to see her father appear beside her, handsome in his tux and sporting a broad working-the-room grin. “Wynn’s not coming,” Willa pouted, telling him about the call she’d just received.

“That’s too bad, sweetheart,” said her father. “Good thing you had backup,” he added, nodding over her head. “You must be Evan’s boy.”

Keegan shook the hand offered to him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jaffrey.”

“I’m glad you could help out, but I’m sorry your father couldn’t make it. I’d like to have had the chance to introduce him around, have everyone get to know him.”

“My dad,” said Keegan, seeming to choose his words carefully, “he’s not big on the social thing.”

Like that’s a surprise, thought Willa. The apple didn’t fall far from
that
tree. She turned to her father. “Where’s Mom?”

He frowned. “One guess.”

“Still at Rachel’s?” Celia had texted her earlier with news about Dairy Queen Dewayne breaking up with her mother—by email, no less—just before Brookdale’s biggest event of the year, and Lenore had driven over to Rachel’s that afternoon to console her. Willa had expected her mother to arrive late, but she’d assumed she’d still make it. It was, after all, her husband’s fundraiser.

Her father seemed eager to change the subject. “There’s some people over there I need to see. I’ll check back with you later, okay?” He kissed his daughter on the forehead, nodded at Keegan again, and then moved off to continue mingling.

Moments later, a woman carrying an impressive camera approached them, her hand extended. “Willa?” she said. “I was speaking with your father earlier. My name is Carolyn Pierce. I’m a reporter for the
Chronicle Herald
covering tonight’s event.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Pierce,” said Willa, shaking the woman’s hand and introducing Keegan.

“Hello, Keegan,” said the woman, but her eyes returned immediately to Willa. “That’s a fabulous gown you’re wearing. Is it an Arthur Mendonça?”

Willa couldn’t help preening. “Yes, it is,” she said.

“Absolutely stunning.” The reporter held up her camera. “Would you mind if I took a picture of you and your friend?”

“We wouldn’t mind at all, would we, Keegan?” Willa said, turning toward him.

His reaction surprised her. His face looked drained of every drop of blood, and he stepped backwards, bumping the refreshment table and making the glasses clink. “S-sorry,” he stammered, “I, uh—I have to get more punch.”

Watching him hurry off, Willa flushed with embarrassment at his rudeness. “I guess it’s just me,” she said.

The reporter frowned. “I have to be honest, photos of one person tend to look static. Staged.” She raised her camera to eye level. “I’ll take a couple, but I doubt the paper will use them.”

Willa waited in agonized silence while the reporter took two shots, but she was suddenly grateful neither would appear in the newspaper—try as she might to hide it, she was certain her mortification was written all over her face.

The reporter thanked her and moved off, leaving Willa to scan the crowd for Keegan. He hadn’t gone to get punch, she was sure of that. He’d simply vanished.

K
eegan stood in the far stall of the men’s washroom, his forehead pressed against the cool surface of the metal door. Listening to the muted sounds of music and activity at the gaming tables floating down the hall from the gymnasium, Keegan silently cursed his father again. It was bad enough having to kiss Willa Jaffrey’s ass, not to mention being her lackey while she flaunted that goddamn designer dress. But then being asked to
pose
with her for a newspaper pho—

The washroom door opened and a burst of Casino Night noise flooded the room, then diminished as the door whispered shut on its hydraulic hinge, halting footsteps marking a man’s unsteady progress toward the urinals lining the left wall. As the guy pulled down his zipper, fumbled in his pants, and began relieving himself, Keegan stood motionless. No way was he going to be found hiding in a washroom stall.

Keegan listened as the stream hitting the porcelain shrank to a dribble, and a moment later the man zipped up his pants and staggered toward the row of sinks opposite the urinals. Through the narrow opening between the stall’s metal partition and door, Keegan saw the guy’s reflection in the mirror above the sinks, and he recognized the man whom Willa had pointed out as Wynn’s
dad. Keegan concentrated on remaining silent as he waited for the guy to wash his hands.

He didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward toward the mirror, reaching up to touch the pouchy skin beneath his eyes, gently smoothing out the lines beneath his lower lids. When he released it, the skin drooped to its original appearance. “Christ,” he muttered.

The washroom door opened as another man entered. “What are you doing hiding in here?”

Keegan winced, wondering what he’d done to give away his presence before realizing the question hadn’t been directed at him.

“Everything okay, Laird?” the second man continued, and Keegan winced again as he recognized the speaker: Willa Jaffrey’s dad.

Leaning back against the sink behind him, d’Entremont groaned softly. “Jus’ fine,” he said.

Jaffrey stepped into Keegan’s view, his eyes darting toward the stalls. “Anybody else in here?”

The mayor grunted a negative.

Jaffrey cleared his throat. “Laird, if you don’t mind my saying …”

D’Entremont’s eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. “Wha’s on your mind?”

Jaffrey looked in the mirror and adjusted his tie, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just—” He cleared his throat. “You’ve had quite a bit to drink.”

D’Entremont straightened, turned around, and held his hands under the faucet, triggering a stream of water. Bending down, he cupped some in his palms and splashed it on his face.

“Look,” Jaffrey began again, “I know it’s none of my business, but this really isn’t the time or place to … overindulge.”

The mayor grabbed some paper towel from the dispenser and buried his face in it. When he pulled the soggy mass away, Keegan could see the man’s forehead was furrowed with misery. He turned to Jaffrey. “She’s gone, Carleton.”

“Who?”

“Sharon.”

“I know,” said Jaffrey. “You told me earlier she was visiting her parents in Toronto.”