Page 19 of Hello, Summer
He went over to the jukebox and studied the playlist, finally nodding and mashing the correct buttons.
“C’mon,” he said, leading her to the dance floor. The last notes of the country song were still fading when Skelly’s selection started to play. Conley recognized it immediately.
“Not this,” she moaned. “Not Shania.” But she put her arms around his neck, and he draped his loosely around her waist.
She’d forgotten what a good dancer Skelly was. He was surprisingly light on his feet, and she was just buzzed enough to forget her usual inhibitions, lean in, and let him lead. He skimmed her gracefully across the dance floor, humming softly in her ear. “From this moment…”
“No, no, no,” she mumbled.
“Remember the last time we danced to this song?” he asked.
“You mean that time your mom made you take me to the country club dance because your real girlfriend was such a skank?”
“Steffi? She wasn’t a skank,” he protested.
“Oh, please. She put out like a gas station Coke box.”
“Wonder whatever happened to her?” He looked down at Conley. “My mom didn’tmakeme take you, you know.”
“You took me straight home after the dance, when everybody else was going out to Cady Alexander’s beach house for the after-party. The next day, I heard you hooked up with Steffi there.”
He winced. “High school guys are pigs. I didn’t know you knew.”
“I knew,” Conley said. “Steffi made sure.”
“But you were dating that dude from the fancy Virginia prep school,so what difference did it make anyway?” Skelly asked. “We were just friends, right? Besides, your big sister would have called the cops on me if I’d tried anything funny with you.”
She waved away his protests. “Water under the bridge.” She yawned widely and just then spotted the neon clock mounted over the bar. “Oh, man. It’s nearly three!”
“So?”
She stopped dancing and shook her head. “I promised G’mama we’d leave for the beach at nine! It’ll take me forever to load up all the crap she and Winnie are taking.”
He grabbed for her arm and missed. “Hey, slow down.”
“Can’t. I gotta go.” She dug in her pocket for her car keys, and Skelly snatched them away.
“No way,” he said firmly. “You’re wasted. Those were double shots Trish was pouring you tonight.”
She grabbed for his arm but missed, stumbled, and nearly tripped over her own feet.
“Whoa. Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Gimme a ride home?”
He tucked his arm through hers. “I think I can remember the way.”
8
The man in black leaned into the mic and let out a long, exaggerated yawn that had become his signature. “Okay, night stalkers. It’s the witching hour, so I’m passing the baton to my friend Mara. This is WSVR, the voice of Silver Bay, and you’ve been listening toUp All Night with Buddy Bright.” He flipped a switch and cued his sign-off music, Wilson Pickett’s “In the Midnight Hour.”
Mara, who’d been standing just inside the carpeted walls of the broadcast booth, nodded, then slid into the still-warm chair he’d just vacated, adjusting her dark hair before donning the headset.
He gathered his stuff—his keys, smokes, and lighter—and walked outside. It had cooled some, and for that, he was grateful. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply to draw the smoke into his lungs. After he’d smoked exactly half the cigarette, he dropped the butt to the sidewalk and crushed it with the heel of his black, lizard-skin boot.
The Corvette was parked around back of the studio. It would have been more convenient to park in the spot out front, the one the station had painted with a sign that saidRESERVED FOR THE MAN IN BLACK, but there was too much traffic out front. Too many passersby and careless drivers. He unlocked and then circled the car, flicking bits of leaves and dead bugs from the body, looking for any dings or dents. Nothing.Good. The white 1986 Vette was the only vestige of his old life, the only thing of value that he’d salvaged from the ruins of his past.
His knees cracked as he lowered himself into the driver’s seat. He was getting too old for this shit. He told himself that every night. Every morning. He started the car and let the engine idle, listening appreciatively to the low rumble of the powerful motor.
