Damaged Goods

by Nicole Williams

  “I’ll have to put that off until next month, because this month, I’m burnt out fucking things.”

  Will’s expression ironed out a moment before mine did.

  “And, yeah. Wow. That sounded as bad, if not fifty times worse, as rattlesnake rescuer.” Awkward moment times infinity. That’s what I was living. “What I meant by ‘burnt out fucking things’ is that I’m tired of saying forget it or screw it or whatever to the many obstacles in life.” As far as recoveries go, that one could have been my worst. “I didn’t mean burnt out fucking things as in . . . actually . . . fucking them.”

  When I chanced a look at Will’s face, I was expecting a dozen other expressions that the one lighting it up—amusement. I was as irritated as I was relieved.

  “Thank you, Miss Bennett, for that thought-out and thorough explanation.” The wiseass was actually having to work to keep from laughing. “But I kind of deduced that when you said ‘burnt out fucking things,’ you didn’t mean it literally.”

  I nudged his arm gently. “You’re a pain, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told my whole life.” That easy smile of his was back in place.

  Despite the darkness permeating the room, that smile or that spirit or that soul of Will Goods brightened the entire place. The guy was racked out in a hospital bed, donning a hospital gown, with more wires and tubes connected to him than I could count because he’d helped a stranger. She was my sister, but to anyone else, she was just another person. No one else would have risked their life so willingly. Yet Will had. Without a thought or hesitation. He didn’t overthink it. He reacted. I knew if we’d had any other neighbors, Paige wouldn’t have been okay. If Will hadn’t done what he had . . .

  “Thank you, Will,” I whispered, my throat tight. “I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you . . .”

  “Hey. Hey.” Will’s hand reached out, searching for mine. Before he found it, I slipped my hand into his. “It’s okay, Liv. Everything’s fine.”

  My throat was getting tighter from his reassurances.

  “And as for repayment, I certainly don’t expect any for helping another person. Don’t worry about being even or square or whatever it is you’re so worried about. You think too much. Life might be complicated, but it’s not that complicated.” He squeezed my hand.

  I don’t know what made me do it, but before I knew what I was doing, I found myself lying next to Will, curled up in his bed with him. If he was as surprised by my actions as I was, he didn’t show it. In fact, what he did seemed as natural as if we’d spent as many lifetimes together as he had gained his wisdom. Slipping his arm around my shoulders, he pulled me close until my head was tucked beneath his chin, and the only sounds penetrating the room were the steady beats of our breaths.

  What came next was also just as natural. I cried—I wept—because I had to. I didn’t try to stop it, because that would have been a wasted effort. All I did was lie there, curled into Will and cry until I felt as dry as a sponge and his hospital gown was soaked. If crying really was therapeutic, I’d just gone through the intensive form of it.

  When Will tightened his arm around me, I was reminded that my cry of the century wasn’t a solo act. I hadn’t quite forgotten he was there beside me—playing ignorant to Will Goods when I was beside him in bed wouldn’t have been possible—but if there was one person in the world I felt safe crying around, it was him. I didn’t know how to feel about that realization. Or if I should feel anything about it.

  Either way, when my tears started to subside and the chest of Will’s gown was beyond soaking, I started to recompose myself. “I’m sorry for that.” I wiped my face and eyes with my sleeve. “I didn’t plan on you being the only witness to the meltdown of the decade . . . while you’re in the hospital . . . because you saved my sister’s life . . .” Because you’re the most generous, kind mystery of a man I’ve ever met.

  Before I could sit up, Will pulled me back to him. I couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. I also knew of a thousand other places—an infinite number of places—I should want to be. The two halves of me were at war again, battling for reasons even I couldn’t pinpoint. All I knew was that Will Goods was the catalyst for me feeling like a war was waging within me.

  “Please, Liv, do me a favor?”

  I nodded against his chest.

  “Stop apologizing.”

  Not the favor I’d been expecting him to ask. Not. Even. Close.

  “Don’t live life like it’s an apology. Live it like it’s full of no regrets.” His chin nudged my forehead. “It’s a lot more fun . . . and a lot less guilt.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said with a sigh.

  “It is. And if you do need to apologize—because let’s face it, if you’re living life with no regrets, you’re bound to need to issue a heartfelt apology every now and again—don’t let it be for showing your emotions.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wondered when and if I’d be around to see your iron wall crumble.”

  “Sorry it had to be when you were stuck in a hospital and had no way of escaping.”

  He smiled against my forehead. “I’m not.”

  I laughed softly.

  “And what did I tell you not even thirty seconds ago? Stop apologizing already.” There was humor in his tone, but his words rang with truth.

  “Fine. Consider that the last apology you’ll ever hear from me.” Yeah, I was bluffing, but he didn’t know that.

  “If I thought you were serious about that, I’d be cartwheeling around you right now . . . but since only time will tell if you’re up to the challenge, and well, I’m wearing a dress with not even a pair of unmentionables beneath to mention, I’ll keep my cartwheels to myself. This time.”

  I laughed again, but not softly like the first time. Yet again, Will could eclipse my sorrow with laughter. It was, as gifts went, priceless.

  “Hey, Liv?”

  From his tone alone, those two words put me into high alert. “Hey what?”

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you . . . to talk with you about.”

  I felt his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. That did nothing to set me at ease. What he was about to bring up was probably something I couldn’t bring myself to hear. Or acknowledge. Or talk about. He was mixing reality with the fantasy. Crossing boundaries. Breaking the rules.

  “And since I’m kind of stuck here and you’re kind of stuck here . . .” His arm flexed tighter around me, but no amount of “glue” could keep me stuck beside him when he was about to broach the topic he was.

  I didn’t and, more importantly, I couldn’t talk about what had happened between us not once but twice behind closed doors in a dark room. I couldn’t acknowledge the way I’d let him disarm me and sneak past what I’d thought had been impenetrable walls. I couldn’t talk about it because I didn’t have any answers. I couldn’t talk about it because I didn’t want to find the answers. I couldn’t talk about it because I wasn’t sure there were any answers.

  “I’d better go check on Paige,” I said, sitting up again.

  This time, when I broke through his hold, he didn’t fold me back to him. This time, he let me go. Almost like he knew that trying to hold on to me when I was like this would have been like trying to wrap his arms around a ray of sun to keep it there.

  “That wasn’t very subtle.” Will worked a smile into place, but it fell short.

  “It wasn’t meant to be, Will. I don’t do subtle well, and you don’t do subtle segues well. Remember?”

  “Segues are for people who aren’t trying to chase a real-life Cinderella. Segues are for people who get more than fleeting moments with the person they need to discuss something of importance with.” Will punched the pillow behind his head, adjusting it into a more suitable position. “Oh, well. That’s okay. I know when to cut my losses and be happy with an abandoned glass slipper. Maybe next time I’ll have time to make one of those segues you seem to think I’m incapable of.”
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  “Maybe. Or maybe you just need to figure out how to run faster to keep up.” I was only keeping up with the story parallel he was weaving, but as I said the words, I realized there was an undercurrent of truth in them.

  “If being able to run fast enough to chase you is the only hope I have of getting through, I’m afraid I’m not the man for the job.” His smile was lopsided, matching his amused tone, but it was all a front. Since I was the expert on putting up a front, it was easy to identify one on someone else.

  “That’s right. Keeping up with a sprinting girl over potentially treacherous terrain would be difficult for a self-proclaimed klutz.” I was trying to lighten the mood, say my good-bye, and get out before he could drop, or try to drop, any other topic bombs. But when his face visibly shadowed despite the darkness of the room, I knew I should have rushed out that door five seconds ago.

  “Or because I’m—”

  “I really have to get back to Paige.” Urgency settled into my every nerve ending.

  Before I jetted out of there, I remembered why I’d come to find him in the first place. I remembered what he’d done and who he’d done it for. The gratitude that washed through me eclipsed the urgency.

  Leaning over him, I lowered my lips to his forehead and pressed the faintest of kisses into it. “Thank you.” I inhaled one breath of him, taking him in, before making my way to the door. “For everything.” I could list out so many things in the Thankful to Will Goods For column that I wouldn’t be able to write them all without developing a major hand cramp.

  “You’re welcome,” he called quietly. “For everything.”

  I almost couldn’t say it, but I wrestled it out. “Bye.” I closed the door behind me—the physical equivalent of what I wished I could do with everything else Will-related.

  Close the door. Seal everything Will-related into a dark room and forget about it. But it wasn’t even a simple thing to think, so how could it be remotely simple to actually perform?

  I didn’t sleep well that night. Or the night after. Or every night after I’d shut that physical door on Will Goods, until one night, I found myself unconsciously praying that that door wouldn’t stay closed forever.

  THAT DOOR STAYED closed for nine days and eight nights. And then . . . it exploded open.

  Paige had recovered like a rattlesnake hadn’t bitten her a week ago. After she came home, I’d managed to get a few nights off to take care of her and outline the repercussions of smoking—yellowed teeth, skin, and nails, accompanied by a pair of black lungs—to a receptive and cooperative fifteen-year-old. The girls’ last day of school had been yesterday—they hadn’t stopped cartwheeling since—and the heat-saturated Nevada air had starting whipping about erratically an hour ago.

  We were used to storms rolling through in the summer. Actually, we welcomed them. After enduring days or weeks of relentless, stifling heat, a cool breeze—any breeze—was a welcome break. The electric storm hit shortly after the wind started whipping hard enough to threaten the integrity of the trailer’s decades-old sheet metal roof, so we kept our fingers crossed, and I kept the only roofer in town’s number on speed dial—just in case.

  Something about Paige’s accident had brought some form of camaraderie between the three of us to the surface. I wasn’t sure how far it would run or how long it would last, but I didn’t let the unknown variables keep me from enjoying it. As this was the last night off I’d been able to squeeze out of Jake, and the girls were fresh into summer break, we decided to make it a girls’ night, which entailed tossing together a couple of homemade pizzas and fighting over what movie we’d watch.

  As was typical, the loudest of the bunch got her way. Instead of Reese’s pick of The Notebook, or my pick of Steel Magnolias, we were going to eat our pizza to the tune of Kill Bill. I made a mental note to down a couple of pieces before we got into the true blood and guts of the movie because something about pepperoni pizza with extra sauce didn’t go down so great when blood was literally spraying like a fountain from multiple limbs on the TV screen.

  “Who’s ready for a slice?” I called to the girls, who were busy arranging a myriad of pillows and blankets on the floor.

  I guessed we were doing this pizza-and-movie night up right—crashing on the floor, slumber-party style. I might not have been invited to any by my co-workers, but not even a month ago, it had seemed ten times more unlikely that I’d be invited to one by my sisters. Progress. It was a damn good feeling.

  “I do!” came the chorus of replies from the living room.

  I plated three plates with a couple slices each then spun to the oven to turn it off. It turned off all by itself. Along with every other device of an electrical nature in the house.

  “Power outage!” Reese cheered.

  “Kill Bill!” Paige cried, sounding like she was in the process of falling to her knees and raising her fists at the heavens.

  “Dinner. Just in the nick of time,” I chimed in, balancing three plates as I shuffled into the dark living room.

  Actually, dark was when you could barely see, but see just barely. This was black. I could see nothing, including the chunky boots Paige had started donning every day, and practically night, after that snake bite. I let out a surprised cry before careening to the floor. My cry was followed by a thick thud as the air rushed from my lungs.

  As for the pizza? Live long and prosper.

  “Boots, Paige. That’s why we pick them up instead of scattering them around the living room,” I muttered, giving my head a shake.

  “Oh my gosh, Liv! Are you okay?” Reese squealed. “How are you? Where are you?”

  “Oh, she’s fine. A nuclear warhead couldn’t even stop her. How are my boots? That’s the question we should be concerned with right now.”

  “Love you too, Paige,” I muttered as I rearranged myself and sat up. Along with the half dozen pizza slices, I had no idea where the three plastic plates had gone.

  By that time, Reese had crawled over to where I’d just hardcore biffed it. She must have been reaching out to give me a hand up . . . but the thing about blackness is that a hand can easily be mistaken for something else. Like, for example, an eye socket. I yelped again when Reese’s outstretched hand jabbed into my eyeball.

  “Damn, Reese,” I cried, rubbing my eye. “Thanks for the help, but no thanks.”

  “Sorry, Liv.”

  I could almost picture, muscle for muscle, the pronounced wince on her face right then. “Yeah, yeah. It’s okay. Just please keep your hands and limbs to yourself until either the sun rises or the lights flick back on.” Judging by the way my face was pulsing, I should probably have grabbed a bag of ice and get it on that baby quick, or else I’d be dancing tomorrow night while fulfilling the last stripper stereotype I had yet to rise to—cat fight aficionado.

  Paige laughed. “You two are hopeless. How the hell did I end up with unparalleled grace when my own flesh and blood could apply for the position of clown when the circus comes to town?”

  Just because I couldn’t see her didn’t stop me from aiming a potent glare in her general direction. “Maybe because you come from a different father. Maybe he danced the lead in Swan Lake before he had the misfortune of stumbling into Kitty’s web. And who are you to claim yourself as the very pinnacle of grace? I seem to recall a certain someone stumbling over a rock and landing her left foot in the crevasse between a couple others. A crevasse a rattlesnake had decided to call home.” I heard a pillow whiz past my ear. “You missed.”

  “Bite me,” Paige snapped.

  “Sure, you got it. I’ll just get in line behind the rattlesnake.”

  Another pillow whizzed my way, but this one hit me dead on. Right after, something else whizzed my way. Instead of a pillow, it was a body. Paige launched herself on me, and despite me having her by a solid six inches, she managed to knock me back down and pin me to the floor . . . then she went to work on me. She still had one of those pillows, and she smacked me across the face without pausing. />
  “Ha! Who’s laughing now?” She laughed triumphantly, not relenting for a moment with her pillow assault.

  If I hadn’t been laughing so hard, I might have been able to fight back, but something about having just tossed a rainstorm of pepperoni pizza across the room before being attacked by my five-foot-nothing little sister wielding a pillow as a weapon was too hysterical. “Mercy, Paige!” I cried between fits of laughter.

  “Mercy is for the weak. Taking your punishment like a true Bennett woman is for the brave. What’s your choice? Coward for life . . . or honored martyr in death?”

  Really, I should have encouraged Paige to get into drama instead of dancing. She was a natural.

  I was about to issue my answer when yet another surprise came at me . . . or at us.

  Instead of me, it was Paige crying out in surprise when Reese threw herself into the mix. Reese might have had Paige by a few inches too, but what she had in height, she more than lacked in wicked underhandedness. A moment or two later, Reese whooped after a particularly violent snapping sound sliced through the air.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Paige! I hate, and I repeat—HATE—when you snap my bra. It hurts like the dickens!”

  “Precisely why I did it,” Paige replied with a thick smile, based on her tone.

  “You’re such a little brat,” was Reese’s earth-shattering response.

  “And you should be more of one. Goody Two-Shoes.”

  I imagined the sound of shuffling before I actually heard it.

  Reese threw herself at Paige. “How many times do I have to tell you, Paige! I hate it when you call me that.”

  Paige was laughing when Reese landed on top of her, and before long, Reese joined in too.

  “Precisely why I said it!” Paige replied, gasping for breath as her laughter continued.

  I gave myself a few moments to soak it all in, to cement this moment of near perfection into my memory banks. As much as I wanted it to last forever, I knew it wouldn’t. We were sisters, just as different on the inside as we were on the outside. We disagreed more than we agreed, and we were just as likely to wring each others’ necks as we were to give each other a hug . . . but tonight, right now, this was what made the rest of it worth it. This was why I’d done what I did and worked where I did and put up with as much crap from them as they did from me . . . because at the center of it all, we loved each other. None of us were particularly gifted at showing it, but some moments, you could feel it in the air. This was one of those moments.