“I love you.”
As Dean put on the headphones, Quentin went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed himself a bottle and cracked it open—a nice IPA, cold and bitter as Reg Sharkey’s heart. He pulled a bottle of Cabernet out of the wine cabinet, uncorked it, and poured Dean a glass, and brought both drinks into the living room, where Dean was just removing the headphones. Finished already.
Quentin said, “See what I mean?”
Dean took a long gulp of wine, draining nearly half the glass, which seemed to Quentin more a stall tactic than anything else. “He called you fake news,” he said. “I mean who actually says that when they’re not intending to be ironic?”
Quentin sighed. “It’s funny. People are so much more complicated than characters in movies. But that complexity is what makes them so much less interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the real world, you can be both a grieving father and a complete asshole—as Gramps here proves,” he said. “But sadly, that combo makes for shitty radio.”
Dean looked at him. “Did you ever tell him about your mom?”
Quentin shook his head.
“You could go back. You could tell him. Not like he deserves to know, but... I mean... He should be told, don’t you think?”
“Dean.”
“He’ll see how much damage he’s caused.”
Quentin cringed. “I’m not going back. Ever.”
“You said you need closure.”
“No, honey.Yousaid I need closure.”
There was a long pause, Dean with those sad, soft blue eyes, Quentin trying to avoid his gaze.
You’re too good for me. That’s the problem.Quentin would have said it aloud, if it wasn’t so true. “I think I may have to pull the plug on this podcast.”
“Come on. There are tons of ways to tell a story. You’ve said that yourself.”
“But this ismystory.”
“It still can be,” Dean said. “You just need a different way in. Isn’t there a book about the Inland Empire murders?”
“Only one that’s worth reading. A cheesy paperback put out by a tabloid that came out right after the Gideon fire. They based the TV movie on it.”
“So? Maybe there’s something in the book you could investigate.”
Quentin shook his head. “It’s been out of print for years.”
Dean sighed. “Oh... Wait.” He reached into the side pocket of the laptop bag, removed theClosureburner phone and waved it around like a prize.
It was Quentin’s turn to sigh. He and Summer had one of these for each of their podcasts—a private line for listeners to call in with tips and info. It had been Summer’s idea—a way to keep the information for each story physically separated, should they be working on two podcasts at once. Plus, Summer was a bit paranoid—the only twentysomething Quentin had ever known with virtually no social media presence, not even when they were in college together. Summer claimed burner phones were less hackable or traceable than a simple line at the office. Why she thought anyone would try tohack or trace a tipline, she’d never bothered to explain, but that was Summer—careful to the point of not even knowing why. Dean said, “When was the last time you checked the tipline?”
Quentin brought the bottle of beer to his lips and drank, the cool of it sliding down his throat, calming him. Alcohol did him too much good. Same with the Klonopin he was prescribed, allegedly for plane trips. Allegedly.
He settled into the brown leather couch—one of two identical ones, the color and texture of broken-in bomber jackets, that had been in Dean’s old apartment when they first met. Quentin loved them. Loved the faux Tibetan rug Dean had found at a yard sale, the bookshelves he’d installed, the bound Shakespeare collection that had belonged to Dean’s grandfather. He loved Dean’s kind and supportive parents and his aunt’s lasagna recipe, his closet full of soft, shareable sweaters and his positive outlook on life. You bring so much to a marriage, so much more than just yourself—and what Dean had brought to this one was almost entirely good. “Three months,” Quentin said.
“Seriously? Didn’t you buy that phone three months ago?”
Quentin nodded.
“Well then,” Dean said as Quentin drained the rest of his beer. “I’d say you’ve got a lot of listening to do.”