A Small Voice

Chapter Forty-Two

10:43 p.m. Sunday, September15, 2001

I got into the car and fucking floored it. The whole day was starting to feel like a goddamn dream. I hoped it was; I hoped I could just wake up, in my warm bed, holding Rachel in my arms.

"Fuck!" I hit my steering wheel three times, as hard as I could. Shit just took a bad turn—the point of no return.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Brittney. The whiskey was really starting to kick in now, so it took me a couple of tries to get it right.

"Hello?"

"Puppy, it's me. Can you meet me at the graveyard? I should be there in about forty minutes, maybe less. I'm fucking hauling right now."

She laughed, "I'm glad you're excited to see me, but don't kill yourself. I can wait."

"Darling," I replied, "time is not on my fucking side."

I hung up, and realizing that there was no way in hell I would be answering my cell when it started to inevitably ringing, I tossed it out fucking window.

"Hello, anonymity."

***

I kept up my pace and made it to our meeting spot in thirty-five minutes. Taking a big breath, hoping the oxygen would calm my nerves, I walked out of the car. I could see Brittney, waiting by the gravestone where we'd fucked six months ago.

Heading toward her, I stumbled. "Fuck." I was wasted, I knew that, but I was hoping to seem normal to Britt. This was going to be a tough conversation, and I needed all of the sobriety I could muster.

"Jesus Christ," she said by way of a greeting. "You're fucking loaded. You're not even wearing fucking shoes!"

Busted, I thought as I leaned on the tombstone. "I'm fine. It's been a strange fucking night. Besides, drunkenness is just a state of mind."

She gave me a quizzical look. "I don't know what that means."

"Shit, neither do I." I replied, laughing.

She walked over and gave me a hug. "I missed you, why do you have to go to parties, get drunk, and have fun while I'm stuck at home?"

"Oh Britt, you wouldn't like this party."

She pouted her lip playfully. "You leave me out all the time." She kissed my right cheek and then the left. "Besides, I would be the belle of the ball. You would be lucky to have me by your side. Rachel would be so jealous."

I sighed. "Fuck."

"What?" she asked. "Are you mad now because I joked about Rachel being jealous of me?" The pouty expression vanished and instead she looked annoyed, steely-eyed, calculating. "What the fuck is going on, Dan? Why am I here? Usually, I would be sucking your fucking cock by now. You asked me to come here in the middle of the night, and you show up drunk and crabby. What the hell?"

I was silent.

She pushed at my chest. "What? What the fuck, Dan? What's going on? It better not be what I am fucking thinking."

"Britt, I have some good news and some bad news."

She stared at me. "Bad news?"

"Listen," it came out as a slur from the booze and drugs, which was terrible timing, since I had hoped to come across sincere and loving. "Me and you are not going to be spending our lives together."

She just stood there staring, wearing the perfect poker face.

I continued, "I know last weekend we flirted with the idea of running away together, but it's not going to happen. Something came up. I want you to go find a nice guy and have a great life. And since that's what I want for you, I did something to help you get there."