You Believers by Jane Bradley Page B

Randy. Billy didn’t want anybody to know about Randy. He’d read about him in the journal, the journal he’d promised not to read. She’d written, “Randy the randy man. Yikes! Ha ha!” What kind of grown woman wrote things like that? No hearts around Randy’s name the way she did with Frank, just little doodles of firecrackers and stars
    He glanced at his bedside table, the half-empty bottle of Jim Beam, the bag of pot. Nothing worked. He sat, nerves jangly at 3:35 A.M. If he finished the bottle, took a couple hits of weed, he could sleep again and maybe wake again when it was a civil time to rise. But his mouth was thick and dry as cotton, so he drank the glass of water instead, what should be Katy’s glass of water, and there it was, in case she came in, on his side of the bed.
    He grabbed his phone, punched in Frank’s number—of course he remembered Frank’s number. He’d gotten it off her phone when they’d first gotten together. She knew he’d done it. After that the phone stayed locked. It was a sign of guilt that she had to keep her phone locked. She just sighed and shook her head when he asked about Frank. “We’re friends, Billy. Old history. Sometimes old lovers, the chemistry dries out. I’m marrying you, Billy.” She said it like it was the biggest news of the world. Then she’d turn away, say something like “Sometimes old lovers can just be friends.” Yeah, he knew that. But he knew she was lying. He’d seen the heat between them, the kind of heat that never fully went away. And now he had some guy named Randy to worry about too.
    He listened as the phone rang a few times, wondered if Frank would bother to answer. Probably not. He’d be with some girl. Maybe Katy. The phone kept ringing. Well, it was 3:45 A.M. Hardly a civil time. It switched to voice mail, blah blah , Frank’s voice, “Leave amessage.” He sat in the silence. What could he say at 3:45 A.M. ? Frank had to be sick of him calling just to ask, “Is Katy there? Tell me the truth, is she there?”
    Then there was a click and the deep, thick voice. Frank, with the kind of voice women liked, dark and smooth. A goddamned white Isaac Hayes. Shaft and you can dig it. The voice said, “Hello,” but Billy could hear it really saying, Yeah, what now ?
    “It’s me,” Billy said.
    “Billy,” Frank said, “I’ve got caller ID.” Billy could hear him sitting up, maybe readjusting the pillows. “She’s not here, Billy. I swear I’ve got no idea where she is.”
    “Yeah,” Billy said. “I’m sorry, man. I know you said that. But you’d tell me if she’s there? ’Cause I’m going crazy not knowing. I mean I’ve called her mom. Nobody knows where she is, and I just keep thinking if it’s anybody, it’s you. ’Cause, oh, hell.” He sucked back a breath. “Hell, everybody knew she still loved you. I was just the safe guy. You’re the danger guy, and the girls, they like the danger guy.”
    “Billy,” Frank said, calm like a doctor, like his daddy, who had this preacher’s soft way of saying just about everything.
    “What?”
    “She’s not here, Billy. I haven’t seen her since y’all came back here for the engagement party.”
    “Are you alone?” Billy said. There was a pause. “You’re not alone, are you, Frank? Shit, guys like you never sleep alone.”
    “I’m gonna hang up in one minute, Billy. I’m just trying to be decent here. I’m trying to help, but I got no idea where she is. Hell, I wish she was here, and I don’t mean for me but for you. I know it’s been three days, and I know this ain’t like Katy.”
    “Her mom’s coming,” Billy said. “Her mom’s so worried, she’scoming down.” Billy didn’t know why, but it soothed him just to have her mom come down.
    Billy heard Frank saying something, then the mumbling of a girl’s voice in the background. She sounded sleepy. She sounded pissed. It wasn’t Katy. “I’m sorry, man,” Frank said. “It’s just three days.