The One That Got Away
Julie Smith

Forest got all misty when he saw that Roy had a six-pack of beer in the truck. Like it wasn't enough he'd had to come down and bail Forest out, using up almost all the money they had left over from that pirate job they'd pulled on those dumb-ass smugglers near Savannah. Forest felt real bad about that, specially since Roy had just wanted to leave with the money they got from unloading the boat.

But Forest had talked him into sticking around and going after the jerk-offs next time they had a load coming in. Not that it hadn't turned out okay, except for Roy getting grazed by a bullet, which messed up his hairdo for a while. But due to the circumstances, they couldn't get but a little of the pot, which they'd had to unload slowly over the next few months.

Then they'd ended up gambling away most of the profits, hoping to put off actually having to work again. Truth was, there was precious little left when Forest got nailed for D&D in Biloxi.

He popped a brew and tried to apologize. "Roy, I know I hadn't oughta done that."

"Well. Least you missed the guy. But you did have to do it, bro'—I'd'a done the same, swear to God."

Forest was curious. He could vaguely remember taking a swing at some yahoo in Treasure Bay. "I did? How come?"

"You don't remember, do you? He insulted your date, man."

"I had a date?"

Roy laughed. "You were talkin' to some chick, anyhow. Hey, listen, no biggie. We'll figure out something."

So they drove to the beach to polish off the beer and start figuring. "We could pull some kind of gigolo thing," Forest said. "You know, like wait for some fat chick to hit the jackpot and then move in on her. Do her and roll her, make everybody happy—she gets a little romance, we pay the rent."

"You mean I could do that. Oh no. No way, José. Uh-uh. My body's a temple of God, man." Roy looked like the Kennedy kid who'd gone down in his own plane, only with a mullet.

"So you say," Forest grumbled. This was a discussion they'd had before. The way Forest saw it, Roy had this great asset and all he wanted to do was hide his light under a bushel. "You need a manager, man. Hey, what's that? My hip tickles."

Roy snorted. "Your cell phone's probably vibrating. When's the last time you got a call?"

Forest looked at his phone. "'Private caller,' it says."

"Probably a telemarketer."

"Maybe it's opportunity."

"That's supposed to knock, right? Not vibrate."

But Forest was already punching the talk button. "Forest, it's me. Heidi."

Forest couldn't speak. Dumbfounded didn't describe. It couldn't be her. "Bet you thought you'd never hear from me again." And then she laughed that silvery laugh, like pure, fresh water crackling its way back to sea over a bed of sun-soaked stones. And he knew it was her.

"Well? Aren't you going to say hello?" Her voice was slightly accented.

Copyright © 2006 by Christine Matthews.