After Ava and I part ways on the sidewalk outside of Granville, the universe practically pokes me in the eyeballs with a sign that it's time to stop ruminating about what is or isn't going on with Phoenix, behave like the career novelist I am, and concentrate on my book.
The sign arrives as a blue Toyota Prius parked a few vehicles away from mine on the street next to the restaurant. Oddly, it's the same car I noticed at home when I turned out of my building's parking garage to drive here. It has the same license plate and same bearded guy wearing a backwards baseball cap and sunglasses sitting in the driver's seat, even though the car is parked. While the license plate isn't personalized and follows the usual California sequence of a number, three letters, and three numbers, the letters after the first number stand out to me because they spell LEN. Seeing the car twice within a couple of hours can't be a coincidence.
"I get it. Thank you." I look up at the sky and smile, then continue to my car.
A few songs from my latest writing playlist are my music for the short drive home, setting the backdrop for the mindset I have to create if I'm going to accomplish anything and commit to ignoring Phoenix's message until later. Ava wouldn't let me touch my phone during the rest of lunch. She even slid it to her side of the table when I was distracted by flagging down our server, and she wouldn't give it back until we left the restaurant. I saw her point. He left me in the lurch for four days, whether it was intentional or not. He can wait a few hours to hear back from me.
Since I don't have Ava to confiscate my phone from me when I'm at home, stuffing it under a sofa cushion in my living room becomes the magic formula for keeping it out of my sight. Hiding it works, because thoughts about Phoenix's vanishing act and his message are demoted to the outer fringes of my mind until much later that night, after I've retrieved my phone and bring it with me to bed. It's almost as if its movement sends out a signal, because that's when it rings and the screen lights up with Phoenix's name. The sharp tug back to reality and that part of my life is like a crash landing after a few productive hours of writing and thinking about characters, plot, and sentence structure.
Do I answer it? Or do I let it go to voicemail and talk to him tomorrow? Ava would probably tell me to ignore the call for now, and she'd have a point, but do I want this on my mind all night and to lie awake having imaginary conversations with him?
I grit my teeth and tap the screen. "Hey."
Loud static from his side answers me. That's my first clue he's in a vehicle, driving somewhere. His voice cutting in and out when he says hello and asks how my week has been is the next one.
"Your connection isn't great," I say, even though he'll probably have an equally hard time hearing me.
"Give--" He fades out again for a beat, then comes back. "...minute."
A staccato of road sounds, crackles, and pops breaks the silence. I should just tell him to call me back when he gets to where he's going if he'll have better service there. It's going on eleven o'clock, though, and I'm cozily cocooned under my duvet and was about to begin the first chapter of a book. If we hang up now and I return to reading, it's only a matter of time before the paragraphs on the pages swim in front of me, my eyes close, and I fall asleep, book still in hand. My phone's ringtone would wake me up, but it's better if I'm fully alert for this conversation. I need to be.
The static subsides after another minute. Phoenix's voice is clear when he speaks this time. "I thought I was out of the dead zone when I called. I should have waited another few minutes."
"Things sound good now. Where are you?"
"On my way home for the night." It isn't his actual location, but he continues before I have the chance to clarify my question. "How much trouble am I in?"
"Trouble? What do you mean?"
My teasing tone isn't completely sincere, but it also doesn't betray the days of creeping doubt I've wrestled with this week and how in my head I've been since we said goodbye at the airport. Not that I'm trying to spare him, or that I now believe all of this was a waste of my time and emotional energy. No. This is about staying in my power and getting to a place where I'm able to do what Ava suggested and observe his actions, rather than simply listen to his words. Diving into my feelings will only distract from that and benefit him. It's better to pretend I'm unbothered and let him speak. If there's one thing my dating history has taught me, it's that letting a man talk is the fastest way to get him to tell on himself if something is afoot.
"I didn't mean to leave you on delivered," Phoenix says. "I really didn't see your text until I went to send you one today."
There's no way to assess his body language or read his face for telltale clues of him bending the truth. All I have to go on is his voice, which carries hints of worry. A past version of me would have heard his tone, decided my concerns had no real basis, and let the subject drop. But that was the people-pleasing version of me who let my anxiety and fear of losing Phoenix lead, and who chose harmony over possible conflict. Our relationship fell apart anyway. Present-day me aspires to be no man's peace, and anyway, I'm dealing with a professional actor. Without visual cues to signal otherwise, it's almost too easy for him to put on a convincing verbal act. He can deal with being called out.
"Do you think I'd be quiet for that long?"
He doesn't even pause before replying. "I thought you were deep into writing. I know you have deadlines. Still, I wish I'd tried to check in with you earlier or checked our conversation to make sure I hadn't missed a message. Things have just been a little crazy."
That's exactly what I told Ava. She thought I was making excuses, and I was, but what if it's also an excuse he made up on the spot? An imagined version of Ava hisses at me to agree he should have tried to communicate with me before today, even if the reception issues caused a message to fail the first time. He didn't attempt to send one.
There's also a nagging thought smacking my brain with the velocity of a Category 5 hurricane. A few days of silence is much less time than he's proven he's capable of. Remember how easily he left without a word before, and how he disappeared and stayed away for six years. Blind trust in him this time is going to be hard, if not impossible, but he doesn't need to know that yet.
"You'll have to find a way to make it up to me, that's all." There. It's a breezy reply, but I mean it. He controls his own fate by what he does next, because I'll be paying attention.
"I wish I was there with you right now and spending the weekend making it up to you, but I'm coming to see you the second I'm done here, which will be soon."
"How soon?" Either the signal cuts out and he misses my question, or he ignores it.
"What are you up to this weekend?"
Repeating my question is an option, but what he asked is an opening to tell him something he may not like. It's actually pretty perfect.
"Ava and I are seeing Torin."
"He's in town?"
"His band has a show in Huntington Beach tomorrow night."
"They do?"
"You sound surprised." He also sounds less than thrilled, and I can't tell if that's because I'll be spending time with Torin, or if he's thinking of Ava and Nash and is on his nonsense again about the two of them getting together.
"Nash didn't mention it, that's all. Where are they playing?"
"The Ocean Floor, over near Pacific City. It should be fun."
"Definitely," he says after a pause.
It seems like an attempt to echo my enthusiasm, but I hardly hear him. What he said about Nash just flagged for me and won't stop bouncing around my brain. Nash went out of town on Sunday, or he told Ava he did. Phoenix has been working all week, in a location that allegedly had horrible reception, since he also allegedly missed seeing messages on his phone. When would he have talked to or texted with Nash to be surprised about him not mentioning the show?
"Do you and Ava want to stay at my house?" Phoenix asks. "I can text you the front door code. It's closer than driving back to LA after the show."
"Ava may have other plans."
"With Nash?"
"I'm presuming, since whatever they had going on last weekend didn't get off the ground. I'm curious if you've mentioned your concerns to him about starting something with Ava, since it sounds like you've talked to him recently."
He's silent for a beat too long. I accept this as confirmation that he has, in fact, communicated with Nash at some point this week, in spite of his claim about poor phone service. I wait.
"I talked to him on Monday. It was before I texted you."
Nice save, but is it the truth? I'll figure it out the next time I have access to his phone, if for no other reason than to confirm his story and set my mind at ease. And if I find out he lied? At least I'll know he's covering something up and can act on what I know.
"Did you say anything about Ava?" I ask again.
"I didn't," he admits.
"Maybe you should clear the air with him on that. It might help your peace of mind."
"I will. How's your book going?"
That's a fast subject change. It makes me wonder if he means what he says about addressing his concerns with Nash, but I've said my piece. He'll need to figure it out if Ava and Nash hook up or end up dating, because he won't turn into Torin 2.0 on my watch.
"Not so great earlier in the week, but I made up for it today. I think I'm through what I was stuck on. How is everything you've been working on this week?"
"It's getting there. I'm looking forward to closing this chapter and moving on."
In the weeks we've been seeing each other again, he hasn't disclosed a single thing about the project he's on location for, other than it taking longer than expected and not having a firm date for when it will end. I didn't think much of it before, but Torin's words from Monday come to mind now. So does the fact that Phoenix used to tell me about his days on set in detail, until the booze and drugs made him an incoherent and angry mess.
"How long have you been working on this project?"
"It seems like forever at this point."
Again with the vague non-answer. I may as well come out with what I've learned. "Torin said you've been in Vegas for six months."
"I didn't realize he'd been counting, but yes. As I said, it seems like forever. I'd like to be home and with you."
"Seems like a long time. You were never on location for half a year at a time that I remember."
"I hope nothing ever takes me away for this long again, especially now."
A new wave of static crackles through the phone speaker. After the forced pause and asking if I can still hear him, Phoenix goes on to say something about a restaurant in Laguna Beach he'd like to take me to. He describes it for me, and I make brief, one or two-word comments in the appropriate places, but my heart isn't in it right now. We aren't vibing the way we normally do.
Phoenix could be tired, and I could be overthinking, but this resembles the energy of our drive to Willow Beach last weekend, after the announcement about developments in Len's case. Is he still speculating about what we heard that day, and could that be the reason why he doesn't sound like himself? Call it going with a hunch, or call it lack of impulse control now that I'm thinking about this, but I have to test my theory.
"I've been checking the news but haven't seen anything else about Len. Have you?"
There's another stretch of quiet before he answers. "No. There hasn't been anything."
His voice is strained. I've hit on something. "Are you doing okay?"
"I'm trying to focus on what's in front of me, and on what's good in life. Like you."
But is he okay? I don't get to repeat my question, because Phoenix makes a remark about lightning in the distance and raindrops hitting his windshield, and that he hopes he won't be caught driving in a monsoon. I ask how far he still has to drive, but I don't catch his reply because the static starts up again and then our call drops.
Should I call him back or wait for him to call me when he has better service? The better question might be if I even want to continue the conversation tonight. It's been more of an effort than it should be so far, and I still can't shake the feeling that there's something Phoenix is keeping from me. If we keep talking and things continue the way they have, it's only a matter of time before I come out and accuse him of holding back. And then what? He'll either tell me what's really on his mind, which seems unlikely based on our conversation before the call disconnected. The more probable scenario is he'll deny and deflect and we'll bicker over the phone while he's driving in a storm and needs to focus on getting home safely. It's not an ideal situation.
Since there's no return call yet, I start a new text message to him. I'm exhausted, so I'm going to try to sleep now. Let's talk again tomorrow or Saturday. Love you.
Once the message sends, I set my phone to silent and place it on the table next to my bed. If he answers me, it can wait for the morning.