Never Coming Home Page 7

Chapter Four

  “Are you coming in today?”

  Lincoln’s world was still spinning ever so slightly as he laid in bed. It was always easier to wake up still drunk than hung over, but he was teetering dangerously between the two.

  “Hello?” asked Bentley after Lincoln forgot to answer the question.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” Lincoln held the phone to the side of his sweaty head and clenched his eyes shut to help alleviate the sense of rotation that turned his stomach. “You’re at the office?”

  “I’m here with Hector. I’ve got the furniture people delivering the desks and computers later today, but we were hoping to get going with the IndieStarters campaign while we’re waiting.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Bentley wasn’t sure how to respond, and waited for more. When Lincoln stayed silent, Bentley asked, “Is that all right by you?”

  Lincoln glanced over at the nightstand, searching for the alarm clock that’d mysteriously gone missing. His watch, phone, and keys were on the grey wood surface along with a napkin that had a phone number written on it. Women would frequently insist on giving him their numbers, but he never called them. The clock was on the floor, upside down, and he reached out to straighten it and check the time. It was still before ten, but not by much. He didn’t bother putting the clock on the nightstand, and dropped it back to the floor.

  “You guys get started. I’ll be in later.”

  “All right, boss,” said Bentley.

  Lincoln checked to make sure the call had ended before tossing the slim phone over to the empty side of the bed where it zipped across the designer sheets. He tried to go back to sleep, but it wasn’t any use. Eventually he forced himself up to assess the damage. He stood, teetered, and then walked over to inspect himself in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. He was wearing an undershirt and boxers, and the suit pants he’d been wearing the night before were neatly folded on top of his dresser. He didn’t remember getting home, much less meticulously folding his pants and hanging up his jacket. He was reminded of waking up drunk at his house before the divorce, and how Ellen would fold his clothes and have water and an aspirin waiting for him.

  For a moment he entertained the idea that Ellen was here, ready to care for him, but the reality of his loneliness was apparent everywhere, from the empty martini glasses on the dresser to the pile of clothes in the corner. He had a habit of treating his suits with a delicate hand and then simply tossing the rest of his clothes into a heap. His father had taught him a man needed to take care of his outward appearance, which was a lesson that’d taken hold in Lincoln. In his opinion, the classic line about not judging a book by its cover applied strictly to books.

  He forced himself to throw up in the shower and used his toes to push the chunks down the drain. The vomit had a pink hue. By the time he was out of the shower and dried off, he felt like a new man, or at the very least he could pass for one. A few squirts of expensive cologne combined with a generous swish of mouthwash, and the evidence of the night before was washed away.

  “Looking good, pal,” he said to himself after straightening his tie. He burped, and the distinct taste of gin flooded his nostrils. He got himself another capful of spearmint mouthwash, swished, and then swallowed a little, confident that would do the trick.

  The buzzer rang, alerting him that someone was waiting on the street to be let in to the building. He went to the intercom, hit the button, and asked, “Who is it?”

  “Hey Dad, it’s me.”

  “Darcy?”

  “Do you have any other kids you need to tell me about?”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “Are you going to let me in or not?”

  “Of course,” said Lincoln as he buzzed her in. He glanced at his living room, ashamed of the mess. He started to quickly clean up, gathering up trash to stuff into an already over-stuffed garbage can. He put away the Tanqueray and the olives that he’d accidentally left out of the fridge the night before, and then swiftly sprayed air freshener. By the time Darcy made it down the hall to knock at his door, his apartment looked nearly presentable. The majority of the trash had been cleaned off the Brazilian Walnut floor, and the air smelled like a bevy of chemicals that did a fair job of mimicking flowers.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Lincoln as he opened the door for his daughter.

  She came in, wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts that she somehow managed to look great in, as if a fashion designer had tried to make his model look casual but failed to mute her natural beauty. Her hair was in a ponytail, and her sandals clapped on her heels as she walked. “I had the day off, and I thought I’d swing by to check on you. It smells like you had a fart party in here and tried to hide it.”

  “A fart party? What?”

  “There’s so much air freshener in here it’s hard to breathe.” She coughed and waved her hand in front of her nose as she grimaced.

  “Weren’t you the one telling me how I should call before showing up at your apartment?”

  “Do you want me to leave?” she asked and peered down the hall towards the bedroom. She whispered excitedly, “Do you have a girl here?”

  “No,” said Lincoln as if the notion was offensive. “Of course not.”

  “Of course not? Like it’d be that weird for you to have a date over?” She was teasing him, and then pointed at one of the pictures on the wall of Lincoln, Ellen, and Darcy from before the divorce. “I guess this might make it a bit weird. When are you going to take down the pictures of Mom? I doubt any date you brought here would like to see pictures of your ex all over the place.”

  “What did you come over for?” He wasn’t trying to rush an answer out of her, or attempt to shame her for stopping by. He was genuinely curious why she’d come.

  “I kept thinking about what you said yesterday, about Betty Kline, and the project you’re starting.”

  “Oh really?”

  “I think it’s interesting, and I wanted to see what you’ve got going so far.”

  “Are you thinking of helping?” asked Lincoln, excited that his ploy might’ve worked after all. He missed spending time with her, and was jealous of the attention Ellen was getting from their daughter.

  “I’m not going to quit my job, and I don’t have a lot of free time, but I figured I could help out where I can.”

  “That’s great news,” said Lincoln. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to head out to the office to help get things set up. Want to come with?”

  “I’d love to,” said Darcy, and her honest smile warmed Lincoln’s heart.

  He searched for his keys, and as he was doing so he felt the familiar twirl of alcohol’s lasting effect on gravity. “Hey, you know what? My car’s been giving me trouble. Do you mind driving?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  He went into the kitchen and got a couple aspirin that he swallowed dry. He coughed as the tablets scratched their way down his throat. He forced a smile, hiding his discomfort, and said, “All right, let’s go.”