Devil in the Waters, Book 8, Chapter 9

Tuesday morning, before lunch, Josh got an unexpected call to his personal phone.

When the name Devlin Stone displayed on the screen of his iPhone, Josh chilled. The name carried so much existential dread. Though that was attenuating, wasn’t it? Kimmy led him away from Devlin’s power. It was all in his head, and Kimmy helped show him that. But old habits die hard, and when you see an incoming phone call from the dude who made your youth miserable, you couldn’t help your throat constricting, your chest tightening, the pounding of your heart.

But he’d answered it. Answered it because the plot had twisted. Now that existential dread brought a strange glimmer of hope. No, not hope. Desire. Lust. Dirtiness.

By the time he’d tapped to receive the call, he somehow transformed from timid angst-ridden Josh from high school to something even more evolved from the Josh that emerged on vacation in Grand Cayman. He lounged back in his office chair, kicking away from his work, wondering what nefariousness would emerge from this phone call. Devlin couldn’t harm him anymore. He and Kimmy had worked together to somehow make the poisonous thorn stuck in his growth rings squeeze out, slide down his bark. Now nothing emerged from that hole but a sickly sweet syrup. “Hey Devlin, what’s going on?” That’s what he said? Like a call from an old buddy. Well, sure, last time they saw each other they’d shared a nice steak dinner.

“Hey Josh, how’s it going?”

“Just fine. You in Toronto?”

“On my way,” Devlin had said.

That meant it had been six days since Kimmy had seen Devlin Stone. Kimmy’s boss a whole week away from work in Toronto, and yesterday, too, but it looked like now he was returning. Would Kimmy bring up with Devlin the dirty thing he and she discussed in bed on Sunday morning?

If she did or didn’t, it didn’t even matter anymore. It was all fun, anyway. He doubted Kimmy would do it. That would be going too far. And yet . . . Part of him did want her to really do it.

Their niceties over with, talk about the weather, Josh mentioning again how great it was in Cayman—I got some good color on me and it hasn’t left yet—Devlin said, “I’m going to be going past Ajax at lunch time. I don’t have a meeting till two. Meet me for lunch.”

And this new Josh, the one less anxious and war-torn, said, “Sure. Sounds like a great idea. Where you want to go?”

Now he was sitting at The Convivium Café Lounge & Restaurant, feeling foolish. Devlin was late. Fifteen minutes late. Five minutes ago he’d sent a text saying Almost there. And all that protective cocoon shielding his wife delivered to him began to crumble. It all wore away. Devlin was late. He’s making a fool of you. And then as the minutes ticked on, it became worse. Devlin’s waiting for the others to arrive. Rumble, and some of those other guys. Once they were all here, Devlin would lure him into the bathroom where they’d beat the shit out of him and humiliate him. Or they’d wait for him to leave in a huff, embarrassed and humiliated that he sat in the restaurant for a lunch date who never showed. Everybody in the restaurant thinking this middle-management loser just got stood up on a date—not knowing he had a beautiful and talented wife at home. He’d storm out of the restaurant, stung and hurting, and four guys would be waiting around the driver’s door of his car with their arms folded. What’s wrong, pipsqueak, get stood up? They’d all share a chuckle. Then one of them would grab him by his tie and bring him up real close, and say—

A tall man stood with the maître d’, a young college girl. She pointed toward Josh’s table, smile on her face. Yes, big, tall, handsome guy in a great suit sure could put that expression on a young woman’s face. Devlin Stone was here.

Shit. It was so true: he was his own worst enemy. This morning started out with so much confidence. A phone call from Devlin. I can handle that. Have lunch? Sure.

It only took 50 minutes for that façade to crumble and show all the rot in the framework. He’d erected a nice Victorian storefront onto a building with iffy construction, built by nonunion workers under bully foremen who like to give guys wedgies when their heads were turned, hammering in framing nails. His whole foundation was shaky. But this had been a good reminder. And in the end, the façade hadn’t crumbled. It had only cracked. The cracks him know there was still some work to be done, deep in the bare-bones.

He stood up as Devlin approached, then felt stupid. What is this, the 1800s—these are the manners we’re using? Instead, he turned it into a moment of stretching, working out kinks in his shoulders and adjusting his jacket. He sat down before Devlin showed up at the table. “Hey Devlin, thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Fucking traffic. You eat without me?”

Josh shrugged as Devlin turned away, not even waiting for an answer. He said to the waitress, “Two single malts,” unbuttoned his jacket and sat down across the table. He leaned back in the chair, feigning a look of exhaustion, though he was otherwise unruffled. “It’s been hectic. Last week, this week. Looking forward to getting out of Kingston.”

“What’s going on in Kingston?”

“Just a bunch of headaches,” Devlin said, then leaned to grab a water glass. He drank half and set it back down. “What’re you having?”

“I’m not sure yet, I’m—”

“We should have a couple of steaks. You have long for lunch?”

“Only like half an hour now.”

“Shit,” Devlin said. “Fucking 9-to-5 sucks. I’d rather work 80 hours a week on my own schedule. We can grab something quick.”

“No, I can extend my lunch.”

It pleased Devlin. He winked. “Let’s grab some steaks, Josh.”

“You think they’re going to be as good as in Cayman?”

“I don’t know. Ontario cattle.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The waitress returned—offering much better service since Devlin arrived—and set down two short glasses of single malt from her tray. Devlin told her they were ready to order. “My man here has to get back to the office so we’ve got to be quick. We’re going to have steaks, the New York strip, rare as you can legally make them. Shouldn’t take too long, right?”

“I can have it out to you really quick,” the girl said, smiling like she was dazzled, not even looking at Josh anymore. She disappeared from the table.

Devlin turned to watch her go, the girl’s butt swinging side-to-side in a black waitress skirt. He gave a look of admiration, but said nothing. “Fucking Cayman,” he sighed as he returned his gaze to the table.

“It was pretty great.”

“Hope you guys get out there again.”

“I guess that’s up to Kimmy.”

“It’s up to me, I think. But I like Kimmy. I’m sure she’ll impress me again.”

“I’m sure she will, too,” Josh said and raised the whisky glass silently to his wife before taking another drink.

“Kind of a surprise, don’t you think?—Me calling for lunch.”

“I sure didn’t expect it,” Josh said.

Devlin looked down, then raised his eyes, peering slyly across the table from under his brow. “Yeah, look, I know you probably don’t like me. I totally get it.”

“No—”

“I don’t expect you to, Josh.” Devlin raised his eyebrows now, lifted the whisky glass to sip. “I get it, like I said. But school’s long time ago. Kimmy’s a fantastic lawyer. You and I have got to figure our shit out. That’s why I wanted to have lunch with you. I can hear the disdain in your tone, every time you talk to me.”

“I’m not doing that on purpose.”

“I’m not saying you are. What I’m saying is we’ve got to get past that. I don’t want to hear that tone of voice.” Devlin held up both hands to stop Josh before he said anything. “Not because it bothers me. . . . Well, it does because I don’t think I deserve it anymore. We should do it for Kimmy’s benefit. And what’s good for Kimmy is going to be good for both of us,” he said, wagging a finger between them. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I would say so.”

“So how do we get past this?”

Josh expected a squirming stomach. But he felt nothing except flatness. Like a soda bottle left out for two days with the lid off. You expect fizz, take a swig and find the opposite. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, making sure no server would arrive to interrupt them.

“Let’s just be honest,” he said in an even tone, voice low and serious. “I want you to tell me the truth.”