Chapter 40 – Larson
I'd imagined that Brynn would be happy to see me. I'd gathered that from her billion fucking phone calls. But the way her entire face lights up, the way her body arches at me as I walk through the door— that's fucking icing on the cake.
"Hello everyone," I say, as Caleb runs up to me and hugs my legs. "Hello little man."
I pick him up and swing him around.
"Sorry I'm a little late. Had to stop and get something. A couple somethings, actually."
I hand Caleb the motorcycle toy I’d found for him at a specialty shop online. You could order any kind of rider or riders that you wanted, and for him I’d ordered a man and a little boy to represent him and me.
“Thank you Larson!” he cries, squealing in delight in my arms. “Vroom vroom! Vroom vroom!”
Then I carry him over to his mom and hand her the flowers I’d brought as well.
"These are for you."
"Thank you," Brynn says, getting up from the table and hugging me. "Thank you so much."
"This is a nice reunion and all, but can we start eating yet?" Harlow asks, with a grin on his face.
"I propose a toast," his wife Whitney says. "To a great Thanksgiving for everyone. And a sickening sweet reunion for Brynn and Larson."
"And me!" Caleb pipes in.
"And Caleb," Whitney adds, winking at him.
"To Brynn and Larson and Caleb," Jensen says, holding up his wine glass and nodding in my direction. "And to all of us. Happy Thanksgiving."
"Happy Thanksgiving!" everyone says, including me. We all clink our wine glasses together, except for the kids, who have plastic cups full of apple juice. Caleb holds his up, pretending to be one of us.
Jensen is still smiling. I can tell he's proud of me for deciding to come. It certainly wasn't an easy decision, but it was definitely time to stop moping around and make a fucking move already.
Sure, Brynn had fucking done me wrong in New York, there's no way around that fact. But she'd been working hard to try to make it up to me, and I decided I should at least hear her out.
"So how's it going working at the Albuquerque firm?" Whitney asks Brynn, as we all dig into our turkey and stuffing entrée and sides.
"It's okay," she says, looking at me and then back down at her plate.
I can tell she just wants to jump my bones. And the feeling is definitely fucking mutual.
"Just new and challenging."
"I can imagine," Whitney says. "That's great that they wanted you to head up the new branch. And it makes sense, since this is where you're from and all."
"Yeah, I'm truly glad to be back."
Brynn hesitates, as if not knowing how much to say next.
"But it's all a bit chaotic, going back and forth to New York. It'll take some getting used to. I feel like I'm hopping all around like a rabbit with my ears cut off, to butcher a popular phrase."
"Little bunny foo foo," Caleb announces, and then he looks in my direction. "Hopping through the forest…"
He makes his hand into a hopping bunny, doing motions along with his little song, just like at story time.
"Good job, Buddy," I tell him. "You're great at that song. Miss Bonnie would be impressed."
I can't believe how much he's grown up in only the few weeks since I've seen him. His words are clearer and he's singing full sentences.
I guess everyone always says that kids grow up fast.
I wouldn't know.
A knot forms in my stomach and I feel a mixture of emotions twisting me up inside.
Everyone, including Brynn, is staring at me with blank looks on their faces, not really understanding what I'm talking about.
"Oh, they sang that song at story time when I took him," I explain. "There was a whole rabbit theme going on."
"Ha," Jensen laughs, nearly spitting out the bite of green beans he had just taken. "You at story time. Now that's rich."
"That explains why everytime he says Larson, he says 'hop hop,'" Brynn says, nodding her head. "I was wondering. I thought maybe you guys played hopscotch in the park or something."
Everyone laughs. But suddenly Caleb points to the window and says, “Mommy! Clown! Scary!”
What the hell?
“Caleb, honey, what do you see?” Brynn asks.
I run to the window and look out, but I don’t see any fucking clown. Which is good for the clown’s sake.
“There’s nothing out here… anymore,” I say.
“Maybe he imagined it?” asks Whitney.
“We can only hope,” Jensen says.
Brynn’s face is crinkled with worry and she’s slightly shaking her head.
“Did you mention to Caleb anything about…” Riley begins asking Brynn, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to mention the word ‘clown.’ “…about what happened that night?” she finishes.
“No, nothing at all,” Brynn says, shaking her head more adamantly now. “He’s very perceptive, but he was asleep the whole time, right?”
Whitney nods her head. “Yeah, he didn’t even make a peep.”
“And it’s not like him to make stuff up,” Brynn says. “Like all kids, he can sometimes have an overactive imagination but he’s more real about it than most kids his age. He understands play versus reality.”
Caleb is still peering at the window, looking confused, so I decide to ask him.
“What did you see, Buddy?”
“A clown,” he says. “At window.”
“What did it look like?” I prod.
He purses his lips, thinking about it.
“White face with black eyes. Purple hair. With pink! Blue. Yellow!”
I look at Brynn nervously. The clowns that had been terrorizing the city in October had a more gothic look than most Halloween clowns. More black and white, less colorful faces. But their wigs featured a vibrant, beautiful array of colors.
“That does seem incredibly coincidental, that Caleb would make up seeing a clown that happens to look just like… the ones from that night,” I say, not wanting to say anything too scary.
But I’m pissed that some here didn’t give the boy enough credit. He’s a smart kid, like Brynn said, and he knows what he sees and doesn’t see at the fucking window.
I head outside and jump on my bike. Once my engine is sufficiently revved I ride around several blocks, looking for any sign of the peeping clown. There isn’t a clown in sight, but I don’t doubt that Caleb saw one.
I stop by Louie’s on my way back. Since it’s Thanksgiving, it’s full of the normal cast of misfits, who are watching football on TV or crying into their beers if they’ve had one too many. There are some fellow club members playing pool and we nod hello to each other as I walk up to the bar.
Chad, the owner, hands me a whiskey and coke, since he knows it’s my favorite.
“Happy Turkey Day,” he says.
One might expect him to ask me what brings me to this particular dive bar—or any— on Thanksgiving day. But I’m regularly here, even on holidays. This place is more like my home— and its people more my family— than anyone else except for the Desert Dogs, who have made it our home base. If it weren’t for Brynn and Caleb, this is where I would have spent both Halloween and Thanksgiving.
“Thanks, Chad. You see any clowns around here lately?”
I take a sip of the drink even though I didn’t come to drink. I know that Chad and these guys know everything about this town. We ride around protecting it and the people who live here. We see who goes and comes and what they’re up to.
Yet we silently live among them. They’re largely unaware of us or see us more of a danger or nuisance than a help. But it doesn’t matter what they think of us. We know what we do and why, and that’s all that matters to us.
“Nah,” Chad shakes his head. “They haven’t done much major damage since they were terrorizing people on Halloween. Including you guys. But I think once you roughed them up, that taught them to behave. Or maybe it was just a Halloween prank.”
“Maybe.”
I down the rest of my drink. So much for fucking intel.
“You know there were some minor incidents after that, but I think it was just high schoolers playing pranks,” Chad continues. “But what I did think was strange was that all the local stores had stopped selling clown makeup or costumes before Halloween. So whoever kept up the act must have been the same people from before who had already gotten those creepy costumes and makeup, or they went on the Internet and bought it just to be copycats, which I guess is a plausible theory.”
“Hmmm.”
I put my empty glass back on the counter and think about how Caleb said the clown he saw had a white face and black eyes. The clowns are definitely still making themselves up in that gothic fashion.
“Whatever it was, it’s over now, so fuck those punks,” Chad says angrily.
“Maybe. Thanks for the drink. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving bud.”
Whatever Caleb saw was a resurgence of whatever happened on Halloween night. Now I just have to figure out what they want, and why they seem to be targeting me, Brynn, or someone within our circle of friends.