6
Chris didn’t believe in fate or destiny. People weren’t born sinners or saints; they were made, formed not by some heavenly hand but by individual choice and personal responsibility.
That was why seeing Bronte tonight was some insane, serendipitous shit. For the second time in a matter of days, fate had gone and plunked her down right in front of him, only to slap him in the face with her jerk-off boyfriend. What kind of Alanis Morrisette irony was that?
He couldn’t have gotten out of the Hollingers’ house any faster.
“You mind if I talk to you a minute?”
Chris startled, not having heard Fitz sidle up to him. He shook his head, although he didn’t really have a choice since Fitz was already walking next to him. “What’s up?”
They stopped outside Chris’s back door, and Fitz lowered his voice. “Look, Wes and I go way back. I know he works with a pretty big actor.” Chris didn’t acknowledge anything, and Fitz continued, “I don’t care one way or another who you are, but what exactly are you doing here?”
It took Chris a few moments to decide how he should play it. “Wes said nobody would bother with me here. I could lie low for a while.”
Fitz’s eyes narrowed slightly as if deciding whether Chris was a problem or not. Finally, he relaxed. “Nobody else knows?”
“Your mom.”
Nodding, Fitz stuck his hands in his pockets. “I guess you can tell my family is pretty—”
“Loud?”
“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Fitz chuckled. “Piece of advice, though. Stay away from Shelley if you can. She’s the motormouth in the family.”
“You think she suspects anything?”
“Hard to say. But my wife…” He squinted in thought. “Mandy really liked that James Dean movie you did.” As if he had a sudden thought, he held his hands up. “I mean, not to say I don’t like it. It’s… I like movies with stuff that blows up, you know? No offense.”
Chris laughed and gave Fitz a friendly slap on the back. “None taken.”
The two shook hands, and Fitz pointed his thumb back to his parents’ backyard. “I’ll try to keep everybody off the scent.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Chris said then opened his screen door.
“And oh, CJ, I mean, Chris. Sorry. What’s up with you and my sister?”
Chris pivoted back, one leg already inside the house. “Huh?”
“You and Bean.”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly. “We sat next to each other coming back from Chicago. We talked. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
Chris shrugged, and he needed to work on his acting skills because he was dying under Fitz’s big-brother stare. “Yeah, why?”
“Felt like there was some weird tension going on there or something.”
Chris played it off and said a hasty goodbye. No sense in continuing the act when he was doing a shit job of it.
The next morning, Chris woke up relatively early, changed into sweats, and took a ride to a sporting goods store where he purchased some workout equipment. Nothing major, a jump rope and dumbbells, enough to try to lose the weight he’d put on the last few months. At 5’9”, he was already at a slight disadvantage compared to some of the guys in his acting bracket—the ones who were over six feet with muscles on muscles, they were the ones who got the huge deals for superhero movies—and no one was going to hire him with a beer belly.
After trying out his new purchases, he showered, changed, and headed outside with his guitar. The neighborhood was quiet, being late Sunday morning, and he positioned himself on a freestanding hammock, strumming away on his guitar until Pattie appeared, smiling.
“That sounds wonderful, Chris.”
“I was only fooling around.” He sat up, noting she was dressed in a skirt and jacket. “You look nice. Are you headed out somewhere?”