Last Call Read Free

side and jumped in, saying, “Cool.” Now she bounced on the seat and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yuk. Smells like bean farts and butt sweat.”
    Trish turned down the music and laughed. “You should see the fossil we bought it from. But hey, it gets you where you’re going, right?”
    “Speaking of which,” Stacey said, eyes on her phone again, thumbs busily texting, “can we cruise past Randy’s place? Please, please, pleeeeease?”
    “Girl, you are a glutton for punishment.”
    “Is that a ‘yes’?”
    “Affirmative,” Trish said. “Just wanna swing by my place first and check the mail.”
    “Still haven’t heard from vet school?”
    Trish shook her head and smiled, but she was concerned. It didn’t make any sense. All through high school and undergrad she’d been at the top of her class, and the other two kids she knew of who’d applied to Guelph had already got their replies.
    Stacey said, “Well, don’t sweat it, babe. I sent them some Polaroids from that pajama party we had in the sixth grade. Remember? You? Topless? You’re a shoe-in.”
    Laughing, Trish backed the Jetta into the street.
    * * *
    Dean checked his watch, then dialed her number again.
    * * *
    Trish steered the Jetta into the driveway of the small brick bungalow she shared with her mom and parked beside the porch. She said, “Cover your ears,” and shifted into Park. Stacey said, “Why?” and the car backfired, a crisp pistol shot ripping through the tranquil neighborhood. Stacey shrieked and dropped her phone. Trish said, “That’s why,” and switched off the ignition. The engine ran on for a few beats, then chuffed and quit. “Wanna come inside?”
    “Sure. Race ya.”
    The girls bailed out and tore up the steps, Trish reaching the stoop one long stride ahead of her friend. She unlocked the door and Stacey followed her inside.
    The house was full of cool shadow and smelled of sandalwood. Mom , Trish thought, you old hippie chick . She scooped the mail off the vestibule floor and the house phone rang. As she moved into the family room to answer it, she plucked a plain white envelope out of a stack of junk mail and waved it at Stacey, who smiled and crossed her fingers.
    Trish picked up the receiver and said hello. In the brief silence that followed she opened the envelope.
    “Trish,” a familiar voice said, and Trish’s smile collapsed. “It’s Dean.”
    She set the envelope on the phone table, a bitter wash of anger rising in her throat. Anger at herself. She’d believed she’d put this all behind her six months ago...and yet here she was, flushed and trembling at the sound of his voice. Damn it. She hated feeling this way.
    She said, “I know who it is. I asked you not to call me anymore.”
    Dean said, “I know, Trish, and I respect that. But this is important.”
    Stacey came into the room now and picked up the envelope, keeping her eyes on Trish.
    “Look, Dean,” Trish said, “there’s no way I’m going through all this with you again. There’s nothing more to say.”
    Stacey said, “Is that Dean? I can’t believe that dick. Tell him to go hump a goat. Come on, Trish, just hang up. Let’s see what the college has to say.”
    “This isn’t about us,” Dean said. “It’s...about your dad. I think he’s here, at the hospital.”
    Trish’s knees buckled and she stumbled into the phone table, almost toppling it. One of her mother’s figurines wobbled off and shattered at her feet; Trish gazed at it numbly, thinking, It’s about your dad . She’d waited her whole life to hear someone say those words.
    Dean’s voice: “Trish? Are you alright?”
    She said, “How...?”
    “The tattoo. Remember? You told me about it that night.”
    I remember. “You saw the tattoo?”
    “Yeah, and it’s just like on the album you showed me. The snake swallowing its tail. Break on Through. Bad ’n Rude. It’s all there, right on his chest.”
    Excitement began to eclipse Trish’s shock. “Oh my God. Are you