Swing (Landry Family 2)

Silence. It’s a relief for about fifty seconds.

“Fuck,” I say, getting back to the floor again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Humming a tune from the radio just so it doesn’t seem so empty in here, I pad into the living room. I’m not sure why. There’s nothing to do in there, either. I gave up video games a long time ago. There’s no one I want to hang out with, no party I want to attend. I’d just go to Savannah if I didn’t have therapy.

Testing the rotation in my shoulder, I feel it pull deep inside. The cringe that usually accompanies the movement doesn’t come, but still, it doesn’t feel good.

“Is this what I have to look forward to? Being lame?” There’s no one to answer my questions but me, and I sure as shit don’t have answers. I don’t know anything—what the future holds, what my friends are doing, who in the fuck decided an almost-orange-colored blanket was my style, or what Danielle Ashley is wearing under that red shirt. I know nothing anymore.

My phone starts to ring. I consider not answering it, but I’m too bored not to. “Hello?”

“Hi, Lincoln. It’s Danielle Ashley.”

Her voice is sweeter on the phone than in person, and it catches me off guard. Even though I’d hoped she’d call, I really hadn’t expected her to, even though I bolded my phone number on the form she had me fill out. She’s too unpredictable. The fact that I’m listening to her faint breathing on the other end of the line is, to put it mildly, a nice surprise.

“Well, look who it is,” I kid. “How are you?”

“Good,” she replies. “I had to hear about how awesome you are all afternoon from Rocky.”

“Glad to know I made a good impression,” I laugh. “It was a lot of fun. Thank you for letting me stay.”

She waits a moment before responding. “Thanks for coming by. It was really nice of you.”

“Maybe you’ll let me come by again,” I suggest. “I have a lot of time on my hands these days.”

“We’ll see.”

I take that for what it’s worth and dig in. “So, did you call to thank me for coming today?”

“I’ll humor you and tell you that your left your wallet on my desk.”

“Did I? How irresponsible of me.”

“Uh-huh,” she laughs. “I love how your phone number had a big black box around it. Super subtle.”

“Hey, it got you to call, didn’t it?”

She laughs, but doesn’t answer. I know she knows I did it on purpose and find a little gratification that she isn’t pissed about it.

“I guess now we need to negotiate how to get it back,” I suggest.

“It will be at the front desk for you tomorrow.”

Walking over to the large window in the living room, I look out across Memphis. It’s beautiful this time of the evening, the buildings lit up by the early evening sun behind them. Something about the scene makes me want to watch it, breathe it in. Maybe that’s what I need.

“I was afraid to leave it there overnight,” she continues, “so I just brought it home with me. I’ll drop it off on the first floor when I go in tomorrow.”

Ding! Ding!

“Ah, that’s nice of you, Dani—”

“It’s Danielle.”

“—but I have plans tonight so I really need my wallet.”

There’s no response, no witty comeback or snort that I’m crazy. I take it as a good sign.

“Should I just come over and get it?” I prod.

“No,” she says hurriedly. “I’m sorry you have plans. I guess you’ll have to cancel them.”