Last Call Read Online Free Page A

lies.
    “Good. You deserve it.”
    The doc’s honesty amuses Frank. It’s what she loves most about Gail. That and her legs.
    “I owe you dinner. How about I take you out and we catch a movie?”
    “And you think that’ll get you off the hook?”
    “I don’t know. Will it?”
    Gail considers, allowing, “This time.”
    It’s too late for Frank to go back to sleep so after a glass of chocolate milk she exorcises her guilt in the garage that is her gymnasium. With the Soloflex, treadmill and free weights, she sweats the night from her system. A cab takes her to the Alibi where her old Honda waits patiently. When she picks up Gail, she is bright-eyed and hungry. She will not drink tonight. She will be charming and attentive. Frank plans this, she thinks, to keep Gail off her back, to convince the doc everything is all right.

Chapter 6
    Frank takes Lewis and Bobby aside after the Monday morning briefing. She asks them to clean out Noah’s desk. It takes three boxes to hold all his gag toys, pictures, holiday decorations, art projects and birthday cards. Per her instructions, they leave the boxes in Frank’s office. They are filled to the top, overflowing like Christmas stockings. She ignores them until the end of the day, when she walks across the street and comes back with two more boxes. She repacks everything until she can seal each box, thinking if it’s this hard for her to look at his stuff, how hard is it going to be for his wife?
    She calls Tracey, asking if she’d like company for dinner. She’s pleased when Tracey answers, “Fuck, yeah. I’d love to see you.”
    Having six tender ears around hasn’t bled the blue from Tracey’s tongue.
    Frank suggests, “How ‘bout I get some Kentucky Fried Chicken? Wash it down with plastic coleslaw and watery potatoes?”
    “God,” Tracey groans. “I haven’t eaten that shit in years. But the kids’ll love it. And don’t forget the biscuits and gravy.”
    When she arrives at Noah’s house—it will always be Noah’s house—Tracey greets her with the usual bear hug. What it lacks in exuberance it makes up for in comfort. The women hold on to each other for a while.
    “Hey, I’ve got some stuff in the car. From Noah’s desk. Want me to put it in the garage?”
    “Would you?”
    “Sure.” Noah’s youngest are watching TV in the living room and Frank says, “Hey, come help me bring your dinner in.”
    “Hi, Frank,” Jamie says. “We’re watching a movie.”
    “Not anymore,” Tracey replies, waving the remote at the TV. “Go help Frank.”
    Frank loads the kids with bags of food, then stacks the boxes on a shelf in the garage. She brings a six-pack in from the car, but Tracey has already snapped the cap off a Bud and left it on the counter. Picking up her own bottle, she clanks it against Frank’s.
    She quips, “I was going to open a delicate little Pouilly-Fuisse but thought this might have a gutsier bouquet.”
    “Hear, hear,” Frank says, draining much of her bottle in one go.
    Tracey wipes her lip and says, “Thanks for coming by.”
    “Thanks for letting me invite myself.”
    “Well, hell, how can I refuse when you bring dinner?”
    The kids aren’t in the kitchen, so Frank asks, “How’s it going?”
    “Horrible. I can’t stand this. Waiting for him to come into the room, or call and say he’s running late. I don’t know how many times a day I think, oh, I’ve gotta tell No this, and then each time it’s a fresh kick in the stomach when I remember I can’t.” Tracey starts crying and yanks a paper towel off the holder. “I talk to him anyway. I like to think he can hear me, that he can still see us and knows how much we love him. What else can I do?” she pleads.
    “Nothing.”
    “That’s it.” She nods. “Nothing. I cry all the time. My shirts are always wet,” she jokes, but not really.
    “It’ll get better, Trace. You saw me go through Maggie. If I can do it, then anyone can.”
    “No kidding.”
    Tracey