A woman at the Asheville DMV told Brian over the phone that since Trevor had no violations, he could easily renew his lost license for a small fee.
Brian could drive him to the DMV first thing in the morning, except Trevor was holed up in the single cabin with Hailey and wouldn’t answer his phone.
So Brian left texts and messages. Early the next morning as he walked over to roust Trevor, Angelina yelled from her back door.
“Tell him I’ve got the architect coming by this afternoon. To work on ‘bringing the outside in’ plans. Two-thirty.”
[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]
Trevor and Hailey weren’t inside the cabin, which they hadn’t locked. Brian wandered about, looking for clues, finding nothing, except that Trevor’s guitar was gone.
Carla complained at the news. “If he’s stolen my best waitress, I’m killing him. Trevor might be all grin and sweet self-confidence, but he’s disrespectful. He expects everyone to love him because he’s so ready and willing to love them.”
“He’ll adjust, Carla. He’s used to living in Jamaica.”
She stood up and got out of bed naked, and still warm, waving a finger at Brian’s chest. “That’s another thing. Rasta Trevor, like he’s religious.”
“It involves ancient scriptures, Carla. And what religion doesn’t sound silly when you come at it unprepared?”
“Right. Trevor’s religion is ganja and girls.”
“You smoke the stuff more than I do, Carla.”
“Oh, who cares? What bothers me is that you take all the responsibility. When, to me, Trevor’s not even worth the trouble.”
Of course he was, but Brian had never heard anyone bad-mouth his brother. He didn’t love Carla for it—he loved her anyway. But he was surprised, and then disbelieving: Carla loved Trevor; she was just vexed.
Seeing struggle in his eyes, she said, “Forget Trevor,” and led Brian back to bed. In the afternoon, when Trevor didn’t keep the meeting with the architect, Brian filled in, taking notes and promising Angelina that Trevor would make it up to her soon enough.
She shook her head at how rude Trevor was. Trevor didn’t show up at The Garden Café that night, nor did Hailey. After two days with no word, Brian kept imagining where they might be. What could have happened?
This wasn’t the same as when Trevor disappeared five years ago. Or maybe it was. Brian had been worried sick. He’d forgotten the weeks and months of anxiety and dismay. And how for a full year, he had suffered panic attacks. He had churned, sleepless, praying night and day that Trevor was all right. Until, eventually, Brian simply carried on. Worrying changed nothing. It rose inside him, a low level, chronic nausea. If Trevor had died, word would reach him. In any case, Brian had reached a plateau, a long-time-coming equilibrium right before Trevor had shown up, asking to come in from the cold.
This time, though, Angelina kept pestering Brian. Was Trevor gone for a while or what? Why couldn’t Brian find him?
Carla said she hoped he stayed away. First he had chased off her regular customers and now the new ones, all the young women and the men who slinked in after them, were gone too. For five days Trevor kept them all guessing.
Sunday evening Angelina knocked on Brian’s cabin door, Trevor and Hailey beside her.
“Sorry,” Trevor said, “sorry, mon. So, please, ’nother chance, Brian. Carla? Come on, another chance for Hailey too.”
“Too bad,” Carla said, accusing Trevor of among other things, bad guitar playing. “You’re a hopeless musician.”
Trevor bent his head, saying, “True ting, sister.”
After her pronouncement, Carla ignored Trevor, but said Hailey should come back to work. Carla had filled in for her all week, and decided that she couldn’t do without her best waitress. “A warning, Hailey. Don’t follow Trevor’s bad influence.”
Hailey nodded and thanked Carla, before hurrying off to the smallest cabin with Trevor. Angelina lingered, convincing Carla and Brian that they were moving forward with all their big plans and great ideas. Somehow, Trevor had explained his situation.
Brian waited for details, but none came. All Angelina said was that “our rude boy lite needs to get his driver’s license right away. So we can get this new Black Mountain movement up and running.”
Early the next morning as he walked over to roust Trevor, Angelina yelled from her back door. “Tell him I’ve got the architect coming by this afternoon. To work on Trevor’s ‘bringing the outside in’ plans. Two-thirty.”
Trevor and Hailey weren’t inside the cabin, which they hadn’t locked. Brian wandered about, looking for clues, finding nothing, except that Trevor’s guitar was gone.
Still in bed, Carla complained at the news. “If he’s stolen my best waitress, I’m killing him. Trevor might be all grin and sweet self-confidence, but he’s disrespectful. He expects everyone to love him because he’s so ready and willing to love them.”
“He’ll adjust, Carla. He’s used to living in Jamaica.”
She stood up, naked and warm, waving a finger at Brian’s chest. “That’s another thing. Rasta Trevor, like he’s religious.”
“It involves ancient scriptures, Carla. And what religion doesn’t sound silly when you come at it unprepared?”
“Right. Trevor’s religion is ganja and girls.”
“You smoke the stuff more than I do, Carla.”
“Oh, who cares? What bothers me is that you take all the responsibility. When, to me, Trevor’s not even worth the trouble.”
Of course he was, but Brian had never heard anyone bad-mouth his brother. He didn’t love Carla for it—he loved her anyway. Seeing struggle in his eyes, she said, “Forget Trevor,” and led Brian back to bed.
In the afternoon, when Trevor didn’t keep the meeting with the architect, Brian filled in, taking notes and promising Angelina that Trevor would make it up to her soon enough. She shook her head at how rude Trevor was.
Trevor didn’t show up at The Garden Café that night, nor did Hailey. After two days with no word, Brian kept imagining where they might be. What could have happened? This wasn’t the same as when Trevor disappeared five years ago.
Or maybe it was. Brian had been worried sick. He’d forgotten that. For at least a year, he had suffered panic attacks. He had trembled, praying that Trevor was all right. And finally, he had carried on, because worrying changed nothing. If Trevor had died, word would reach him. In any case, Brian had found some peace, even freedom, right before Trevor had shown up, asking to come in from the cold.
This time, though, Angelina kept pestering Brian. Was Trevor gone for a while or what? Why couldn’t Brian find him?
Carla said she hoped he stayed away. First he had chased off her regular customers and now the new ones, all the young women and the men who slinked in after them, were gone too.
For five days Trevor kept them all guessing. Sunday evening Angelina knocked on their cabin door, Trevor and Hailey beside her.
“Sorry,” Trevor said, “sorry, mon. Come on, another chance. Hailey too.”
“Too bad,” Carla said, accusing him, among other things, of bad guitar playing. “You’re a hopeless musician.”
Trevor bent his head, saying, “Yeah. You’re right.”
Hailey, though, should come back to work. Carla had filled in for her all week, and decided that her best waitress deserved another chance. “Next time, don’t follow Trevor’s bad influence.”
Hailey nodded and thanked Carla, before hurrying off to the smallest cabin with Trevor.
Angelina lingered, talking about big plans, great ideas. Somehow, Trevor had explained his situation. Brian waited for details, but none came. All Angelina said was that “our rude boy lite needs to get his driver’s license right away. So we can get this new Black Mountain movement up and running.”
(Click here to read the next episode.)
