Derrick pressed his lips together and shook his head, staring across the room as he sat down. “Do you ever feel like you have no idea how you got somewhere?”
Oh, no, here he went again. I willed Stephanie and Jonathan to hurry up.
“Everybody feels that way sometimes,” I said casually. “I think they call it being an adult.”
Though, for my part, the honest answer was: No. I did not feel lost or disappointed or confused. I was where I’d always wanted to be. And I’d worked really hard to get here.
Derrick turned and looked at me, smiled. “Yeah. Maybe that’s it.”
I did feel sorry for Derrick. Things for him really hadn’t turned out the way they should have. His first book got some well-deserved attention. But then his second barely made it into bookstores. He finished his third book two years ago, but it was never published at all. I did believe things were turning around for him, though. He’d started work on a new book, and now all he needed was to leave Beth and find the right girl, a doting student perhaps. I’d have told him so if I wasn’t so afraid he might say I was that girl.
“Where did Finch and Keith go?” When I looked around, I clocked an unshaven man watching us. We’d drawn attention when we came in, of course we had— our clothes, our money. And there was nothing good about standing out.
“God only knows where they went,” Derrick said.
Finally, Stephanie and Jonathan were spit out of the crowd, looking put off.
“They don’t serve food here, of any kind,” Stephanie declared when they reached our table. “So if you’re keeping score, we just started off our intervention at a bar, on an empty stomach.”
Jonathan looked around a little sheepishly. “Peter told me they had barbeque. I’m sure that he did.”
Stephanie dropped herself down into a chair. “Maybe we should be a little more careful about blindly following Peter.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonathan shot back.
Stephanie held up her hands. “Nothing, sorry. I’m just hungry.”
“Did you guys see where Finch and Keith went?” Derrick asked.
“They’re up at the bar getting shots, naturally,” Jonathan said. “I’m sorry, you guys— I really did think they served food.”
“Maybe we could order something to be delivered here?” I offered.
“Sure, how about pad Thai or macrobiotic beets?” Jonathan said.
Stephanie turned to Derrick. “Do you think you could get Finch to leave? It would make this situation a lot easier if we didn’t also have to worry about navigating around him.”
“I did start that conversation,” Derrick said. “But I have to be careful. If Finch sniffs out that he’s got something we want, we’ll be screwed.”
“Keith seemed extra jumpy on the drive over,” I said. “What if he tries to buy drugs in here, right now?”
“Well, that would be unfortunate.” Jonathan looked around the room suspiciously. “If he gets arrested especially. I got a speeding ticket once, and I can tell you the local authorities do not like weekenders.”
Dealing with the police up here would be worse than unfortunate, though. It would be a disaster.
“Maybe we should just get Keith checked into that rehab now,” I suggested. “I mean, why wait until Monday? Some kind of drug deal with strangers— that could be really dangerous.”
“Apparently Bright Horizons only takes new admissions on Sunday afternoons,” Jonathan said. “They have a lot of rules. I guess you have to when you’re dealing with addicts.”
“I see Keith and Finch,” Derrick said. “They’re coming.”
Finch was snaking his way through the crowd, a cluster of shot glasses pinched in his fingers. Keith was hustling to keep up, more little glasses in his hands, chattering earnestly. But Finch seemed to be focused only on us as he got closer— actually, on Stephanie. Oh, I hoped not. Because nothing about that would end well.
“How about pizza?” Stephanie pulled out her phone and stood abruptly. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go call outside.”
She headed toward the door, brushing past Finch and Keith without a word.
“Shots!” Keith deposited his glasses on the table. “Clase Azul. I can’t believe they had it.”
“What’s that?” Derrick asked, peering down at the glasses.
“Jesus, man, tequila!” Keith called.