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She could hear Paul push the covers off of
himself as he got up. “Babe, stop being silly. If you need help,
I’m here for you. What’s going on?”

“I just need a place to sleep for the
night.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, sure, and I’m the first
person you call? Come on, Alma, don’t treat me like I’m an idiot.
What’s the matter?”

“You weren’t the first person I called.” She
had a spiteful bite to her words. “I literally called everyone else
I could before I called you.”

He stayed quiet, and Alma felt bad for
attacking him.

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Alma. “I’ve had a
crappy day.”

She heard his beard scratch on the phone and
then a beer bottle hiss as it was opened. The cap clinked on the
counter and she could imagine the scene, his kitchen littered with
bottles, some upright and others overturned, and a seared pan on
the stove, probably filled with burned macaroni. He was always a
mess when they weren’t together.

“Door’s open,” he said callously. “You know
the address.” Then his tone softened and Alma could tell that he
was sorry for being gruff with her. “If you want my help, I’ll
always be here for you. I didn’t mean to sound nasty, I’ve just had
a long day. A buddy of mine got in some trouble and I’ve been
trying to help him out. It’s a long story.” He groaned and Alma
could hear his beard scratching on the receiver again. “I want you
to come here, Alma. I’ve been meaning to call you, but just haven’t
worked up the courage. Come to my place and I’ll help you with
whatever you need.”

“You’ve been working up the courage to call
me by banging some girl?” asked Alma.

“It’s complicated,” said Paul.

“I’m sure it is.”

His voice lowered and he spoke quickly,
“Look, babe, I want you here. The door’ll be open.”

He hung up.

She looked down at her phone in shock, as if
he’d cursed at her. “You asshole.” She tossed the phone onto the
passenger seat and then stared up at her apartment as if the
conversation might’ve given her strength to attempt to go home, if
for no other reason than to avoid giving Paul the satisfaction of
seeking his help.

She grinded her grip on the top of her
steering wheel as she looked up at the swirling bugs in front of
her apartment door. If her father was going to hide, where would he
do it? She looked at the shadows that plagued the space between her
car and the apartment door. He could’ve been in the bushes along
the building’s façade, or on the other side of a stairwell, faced
away from the parking lot and out of her line of sight. Maybe he
was already in the apartment. He could’ve lied to the office, and
showed them his license to prove he was her father, convincing them
that he was here to surprise his daughter. He could be in there
right now, hiding.

Had she left the bedroom light on?

It was on now. She could see her bedroom
window from the car. Had she left the light on this morning? She
often did, but how could she be sure? What if it was him? What if
he was in her room, searching through her drawers, planning his
assault? He couldn’t have gotten here before her, could he? What if
he did?

“Fuck that.” She yelled out as if
celebrating her decision not to chance fate. She put the car in
reverse and sped out of the complex’s lot, a chill running down her
spine the whole way as if she’d just barely escaped with her life.
Whenever she finally decided to come home, she wouldn’t be
alone.

Alma intended to go to a hotel, but she
passed them all on her way to Paul’s. His studio apartment was in
the city, in a neighborhood that was in the midst of a planned
renewal. It was going to be called ‘LoDo’, standing for Lower
Downtown, and city officials promised that the rejuvenation would
attract new business. They hoped to push out what they called the
‘unwanted element’ and restore a sense of pride to the
neighborhood.

Alma wondered what element Paul fell
into.

His studio was above a tattoo parlor, and
was accessed by a stairwell in the rear. She parked next to a row
of Harleys beside the parlor and could hear the raucous music as
soon as she turned off the car. Tattoo parlors often stayed open
late to host parties, and this one was no exception. When she’d
lived with Paul, they attended several of the bashes that the
parlor’s owner threw, and she had a couple lasting reminders of
those nights on hidden parts of her body. It’s hard to turn down a
free tattoo when you’re drunk.

“What the hell are you thinking, Alma?” she
asked herself. “Don’t do this. Just go to a hotel. Don’t get out of
the car.”

She fiddled with the keys as they dangled
from the ignition. The teddy bear keychain that Paul bought her on
their first date, back in high school, spun from its chain.

“Fuck it.”

She took the keys out and put them in her
purse along with her phone before she got out and headed for Paul’s
door. She raced up the wooden stairs as if scared she might
reconsider. She didn’t have a coat, and the chilly night caused her
arms to break out in goose bumps.

She stood in front of the simple white door,
hesitant to go in. There was a new mat at her feet that read,
‘Welcome.’ She wondered when he bought that as she wiped her
loafers on it.

Why did she wear such plain shoes to work
every day? She looked at her drab outfit and thought about how nice
Rachel looked at the restaurant. Alma needed to start dressing
nicer. She was suddenly embarrassed that she had been filmed for a
news program today. And now she was standing in front of Paul’s
apartment, dressed in clothes she should’ve thrown out years ago.
The once purple top had faded to mauve and her jeans were worn out
in all the wrong spots. Then a terrifying thought came to her that
she hadn’t considered before: What if his new girlfriend was
here?

The door opened and Paul greeted her. “Hey
beautiful.” He glanced up and down, inspecting her. “You look good.
Did you start jogging again?”

“Don’t patronize me. I look like shit.”

He rolled his eyes, sighed, and turned away
from her. “Fine, whatever. You look like a washed up hag. Get in.
It’s cold.”

Paul looked good. He was a big guy, both in
height and width, but his weight was sexy. He lamented his former
football physique, but she often tried to convince him that some
girls liked hefty men, and she was one of them. He had a gut, but
it wasn’t a loose one. It was as if he were just a big, bulging
muscle. His beard was trimmed down from its once bushy length, but
was still thick, and he’d shaved his long hair down to stubble,
revealing a head tattoo of a snake that she’d never known about. He
had a tank top on and a pair of torn jeans that he hadn’t bothered
buttoning or zipping up all the way.

“I like your hair,” said Alma as she walked
in.

He rubbed his palm over the stubble. “Yeah?
Thanks. I lost a bet.”

Alma glanced around the impeccably clean
apartment. She couldn’t believe the sight, and knew that he hadn’t
been able to simply clean up in anticipation of her possible
arrival. “What the hell is this?” she asked as she looked around.
“Did you hire a maid or something?”

He rubbed his belly, which was a trait that
she’d always loved about him. Every morning when he got out of bed
he would stretch and his long arms would nearly touch the ceiling
before he’d bring them back down to rub his stomach. It was one of
a thousand endearing traits that she recalled.

She knew she was falling back into the same
old trap. Alma let this happen far too frequently, but even when
she recognized the pattern she was helpless to avoid it. The
comfort of familiarity was alluring. She recalled all of the things
she loved about Paul, but none of what she hated.

Alma glanced around the studio apartment,
relieved to see that Paul had asked his slut to leave.

“No. I’ve been trying to keep things nice
around here. It hasn’t been easy. You know how I am.”

“Yeah, I do.” The cleanliness was a nice
change, but she felt oddly uncomfortable in the apartment that had
once been her home away from home. It seemed somehow foreign
now.

“Want a beer?” he asked, already headed to
the corner of the studio where the kitchen was set behind a
breakfast counter.

She nodded and walked with him while still
surveying the changes in the apartment. A new flat screen
television was mounted on the wall and had tall speakers one either
side of it. All of the changes were welcome ones, but she felt a
pang of sorrow that she hadn’t been around to see them. She
would’ve preferred that Paul stayed exactly as he was the day she
walked out, as if it was impossible for him to live without
her.

When they got to the kitchen, Alma was
almost sad to see that there wasn’t a burned pan of macaroni on the
stove. She felt like a mother visiting her son’s new home for the
first time, expecting disaster, only to discover that he didn’t
need her anymore.

“Here you go,” he said after he popped the
top off a Milk Stout Nitro and handed it to her.

“Glass?” she asked.

He smirked and winked. “That’s my girl.” He
retrieved an extra tall pint glass from the cabinet and gave it to
her.

This was their beer, and she knew how it was
supposed to be poured. As opposed to most brands, this one needed
to be hard poured. Instead of daintily tipping a glass to keep the
head from exploding, this beer had to be overturned and plunged
into the glass. It was a technique that they’d taught a hundred
guests, and it had a noticeable effect on the flavor of this
beer.

She took a long drink and then sighed in
satisfaction. “I needed this. Thanks.”

He put the two bottle caps in the garbage,
which wouldn’t have surprised anyone but her. In all their time
together, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him throw a bottle cap
away instead of just tossing it onto the nearest surface.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he
asked. “Or am I going to have to get you drunk first?”

She sat on a stool on the opposite side of
the breakfast counter from him. “My dad showed up.”

He stiffened and raised his eyebrows. “Oh
shit. Really?”

She nodded and tilted her glass to watch as
the foaming brown color of the beer slowly turned black. “Yep. He
found me at a restaurant where I was meeting with a reporter.”

“A reporter? What was that for?”

She smiled as she recalled the start of her
day. “My school surprised me with a new music room, and the local
news sent a reporter to cover it. They wanted to interview me, so I
met up with them at the China Buffet on Fairmont.”

“That’s awesome, about the room and the
reporter, not the buffet. That place sucks.”

“I know, right? I hate that place.” She
smiled as she looked down at her beer. It was nice to be with Paul.
They understood each other, which was a comfort she direly needed.
“All in all, I was having a pretty great day until Dad showed up.
Turns out the reporter had interviewed him in Pittsburgh…”

Paul interrupted her, “What? Why?”

While the two of them had shared a lot,
she’d never revealed anything about her history with the
Widowsfield incident. “They were, I don’t know, doing a story on
the king of assfucks or something. Doesn’t matter. The point is: He
followed them to me.”

Paul drank his beer and stared at her over
the rim. She could see by his expression that he sensed she wasn’t
telling him the whole story. When he lowered the glass there was
foam on his mustache.

He wiped his mouth on his arm. “Want me to
beat his ass?”

“No. I already had a guy do that for me. Now
there’s a Dad-sized dent in the side of my car.”

Paul frowned and his eyebrows sunk as if he
were scowling, but his menace was comedic as he asked, “Who do you
have beating up guys for you? That’s my job.”

“Yeah, well you’ve been busy porking bar
sluts.” She thumbed in the direction of the nearby queen bed that
Paul had made up in an attempt to hide what had occurred there just
hours before.

“Hey,” he said as if offended, “don’t call
my hand a bar slut. She’s a fine lady.” He wiggled his fingers.

“Gross.”

He ignored her condemnation. “I know you and
your dad have a bad relationship, but is he dangerous?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said as if he should’ve
known.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, you never told
me the details. You just said he was a dick, and that you never
wanted to see him again.”

“And I don’t.”

“Do you have a restraining order or anything
like that?”

She shook her head. “No. My mom moved us
back here where she grew up. I moved in with my grandparents after
my mom…” She was surprised by the grief that swelled from the
mention of her mother’s passing.

“I gotcha,” said Paul to end the
conversation and spare Alma the pain of recounting any more. “Maybe
you should think about getting one now.”

“Could I? I’m not sure I’ve got enough
against him to warrant it. Hell, I hurt him more than he hurt me at
the restaurant.”

“Still might be worth looking into.”

She nodded and took another drink. “Maybe.
For now, I just want to stay as far away from him as I can. I’m
afraid he’s going to show up at my place or something.”

“Hey, if you want, I can go round up some of
the guys downstairs and we’ll take you home. If the fucker shows
up, we’ll make sure he never does again.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said sarcastically.
“That’s the answer. We’ll just beat him to death and bury him in a
shallow grave. That’s a good idea.”

He tilted his head to the side as if
convinced it was a good idea. Then he laughed and shrugged like
he’d meant it as a joke all along. “I didn’t say anything about
killing him, just hurting him a little.”

“I didn’t come here to hire a hitman.”