He shifted his backpack from his left to his right shoulder. He smiled, but there was something off about it, like milk that was about to turn. “Really, I’m good.”
I had no reason not to believe him, but my gut told me something was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t being entirely truthful, either. It reminded me too much of the way Jesse had deflected my questions and pretended that life was wonderful even when it wasn’t. “If something’s wrong, you can talk to me.”
“It’s nothing. Drop it, okay?”
“Sorry.” We got to my class and stopped by the door. “You don’t need to walk me to class every day.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“I can’t believe Zac trashed Marcus’s car. Pretty ballsy move.”
Diego glanced at his watch. “I guess. Listen, I can’t give you a ride home today.”
“It’s cool.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“See you later then.” He took off down the hall and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me to wonder what the hell I’d done.
• • •
Audrey’s dog yapped at the waves and skittered backward as the water rushed toward it. The tiny terror was barely the size of a football, and answered to the name Plath.
“Aren’t you afraid she’s going to drown or be eaten by a shark?” I asked as we walked, the setting sun burning up the sky behind us. The daytime crowds had disappeared, leaving behind a few strays desperate to soak up what little light remained.
“I wish.” Audrey glared at Plath with derision. “Come on, stupid mutt!”
Plath ignored her and barked at the water as if she thought she could annoy it into submission.
“My mom only adopted her because the Becketts have one.” She rolled her eyes. “They got a Mercedes, Mom got a better Mercedes. They rented a house in Colorado for the winter, Mom bought a summer house in Martha’s Vineyard. It’s like she doesn’t know what to do with the money, so she buys whatever the neighbors buy.”
“But you got that sweet ride.”
“Only because Stella Beckett got one for her sweet sixteen.”
I laughed at the thought of Mrs. Dorn keeping a tally of everything her neighbors purchased, and tried not to be jealous that Audrey got a car because of a game of wealthy one-upmanship. “Is she working on anything?”
Audrey shook her head. “She’s decided she’s going to write a book. Only, instead of actually writing, she spends her time buying things she hopes will turn her into a writer. First it was the expensive laptop, then she needed to redecorate the study, and now she’s convinced that real writers do it longhand and with a fountain pen. And Dad’s so bored, he joined the homeowner’s association so he can harass people whose bushes need trimming or roofs need reshingling. I don’t know who they are anymore.”
Growing up, I’d admired the Dorns. While my parents were busy slamming doors, her parents ate Sunday dinners and baked cookies together. They were the picture of a perfect family. I suppose even perfect pictures fade.
“How’s Nana?”
I dug my toes into the sand. “It’s rough, you know? She looks like the same person, sounds like the same person, and sometimes she even acts like the same person, but she’s not, and every day it gets worse.” Plath rolled around in the sand in front of Audrey. “Her health is great—cancer’s gone, heart’s good, no other real problems—but her mind is a balloon with a slow leak. Sometimes I think . . .”
Audrey looked at me when I didn’t finish. “What, Henry?”
“Nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing, and I think Audrey was the only person I could admit it to. “Sometimes, I think Nana would be better off dead. I mean, if I got to where I couldn’t take care of myself or didn’t recognize my own family . . . what’s the point?”
We walked farther down the beach, the light growing dimmer. The moon had already risen, but it was still too bright for stars. “Do you think that’s how Jesse felt?” I asked.
Audrey’s shoulders turned inward slightly, and she became smaller. “Jesse was sick, and I think he just wanted to end the pain.”
“I guess.”
“Do you feel that way, Henry?”
I couldn’t tell Audrey the truth, partly because I knew she’d feel obligated to tell my mom, but mostly because she didn’t deserve that kind of burden. “It doesn’t matter either way.”
“The end of the world?” Audrey glanced at me, and I nodded. I don’t think she ever believed I’d been abducted, though she had always humored me because of Jesse and had laughed when I told her about the button. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in the possibility of aliens or other life in the universe; she simply doesn’t think it’s plausible that beings from another planet would travel hundreds or thousands of light-years to abduct cows and teenage boys. I can’t blame her for her skepticism; sometimes I’m not sure I believe it myself. “How do you think it’s going to happen?”
“Superbug, nuclear war, man-made black hole, asteroid. I have a lot of theories.”
“You’ve clearly put some thought into this.”
“I’m surprised we haven’t wiped ourselves out already.” I sat down in the sand and pulled my legs up to my chest. Plath crawled into my lap and licked my chin. “If I save us, who’s to say another disaster won’t come along and obliterate us anyway? I sort of feel like I’m doing everyone a favor. Take Charlie and Zooey, for instance. I’m saving them the pain of raising a kid in this fucked-up world.”
The dampness from the sand seeped through my shorts. I threw a stick down the beach for Plath to chase. Audrey plopped down beside me and leaned her head on my shoulder. “Did Diego convince you to go to his barbecue?”
“Mom and Zooey are planning a whole Thanksgiving meal, and either one would castrate me if I tried to bail.”
“Ouch.”
“Right?” I paused then said, “Do you think Diego could have broken Marcus’s car windows?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
I struggled with how to explain it without coming off paranoid. “You should have seen him after I got attacked in the shower. I know I don’t know him that well, but I’ve never seen him so angry.”
“Diego’s a good guy. He was worried about you, that’s all.”
“It was more than that. He told me this story about how he took a beating from his father to protect his sister, and I don’t know, Audrey. I feel like his whole the-world-is-beautiful-and-we-should-be-happy-to-be-alive shtick is just an act.”
“He’s not Jesse.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I know you’re right, but I can’t shake the feeling he’s the one who smashed Marcus’s windows. And that’s scary, you know? Who does shit like that? It’s psycho.”
Audrey cleared her throat. “Speaking of Marcus. Have you talked to him lately?”
I shook my head. “No. Why?”
Audrey whistled when Plath wandered too close to the water, but the stupid dog ignored her. If she got pulled out to sea, I was not going in after her. “No reason,” Audrey said in a singsong way that meant she absolutely had a reason.
“Spill it.”
“Well, he got suspended for punching Zac, and Cheyenne said that he’s going off the rails. The rich boy trinity: booze, pills, and meaningless sex.”
It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. I’d seen him eat the occasional oxy he’d stolen from his mom, but his drug use had been strictly recreational. “Why are you telling me?”
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Okay.” Audrey paused for a moment. “I know you liked him, Henry.”
“We were only fooling around.”
Audrey snapped her fingers in front of my face to get my attention. It was getting too dark to see her expression, but I didn’t need light to feel the intensity of her stare. “You can’t lie to me.”
I tried to shake my head, to tell her that none
of it had meant anything, but I couldn’t. I dug at the sand, unable to face her. “He took my mind off Jesse, but I didn’t worry about having feelings for him because I thought I’d never have feelings for anyone again.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“No!”
“You wouldn’t be the first person to fall for a jerk, Henry.”
I dug the hole until it was so deep that the sand at the bottom was wet and cold. “After Jesse’s funeral, after everyone else disappeared or went back to their normal lives, Marcus was there for me.”
“He’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve you.” Audrey took my hand, kissed the top of it, and held it to her chest. When she let go, she pushed my mountain of sand into the hole and packed it down.
“His parents put a lot of pressure on him,” I said. “And his friends—”
“Don’t you dare make excuses for him, Henry Denton.”
“I’m not.”
“You are!”
I raked my hair with my free hand as I wrestled with how to explain what I meant. It was so clear in my mind, but when I tried to say it out loud, it fell apart. “All of this . . . all of them . . . it matters to him. What they think matters to him. Their opinions form the foundation of Marcus McCoy. Without them, he’s nothing.”
Audrey tut-tutted. “You know that’s not true.”
“He believes it.” Most people hadn’t seen Marcus the way I had. They’d never seen beyond the facade. Even I’d only glimpsed a little of who he truly was, but I worried that, the longer he wore it, the easier it would be to forget that the mask wasn’t the truth. Marcus wasn’t a lost cause yet, but convincing Audrey of that was.
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s a waste of good hair.”
I made gagging sounds. “I’ve already forgiven you. You don’t have to keep insulting him on my account.”
“I’m serious!” Audrey began giggling, and Plath took that to mean it was time to play. I hopped up and ran down the beach, letting the yappy beast chase me until I was out of breath. When we returned to Audrey, she was brushing sand off her jeans, hugging her knees to her chest. “I know it was Marcus who attacked you in the showers.”
Plath was still barking at me and trying to bite my fingers, but I stopped cold. “You can’t tell anyone, Audrey.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s not worth it.”
“If he hurts you again, I’ll tell everyone.”
“He won’t. Anyway, it’s the end of the world. What does it matter?”
“It matters, Henry.” She clipped the leash to Plath’s collar, and we started walking back toward the road. The bright lights from the cars sped past like comets.
I wanted to believe Audrey, I really did, but I knew better.
• • •
Mom was parked in the driveway, sitting in her old Buick, smoking and listening to the oldies station on the radio. She’s always had a soft spot for Motown. I stood quietly and listened to her sing along with “You Can’t Hurry Love” in her raspy but beautiful voice. When the song ended, I cleared my throat so I didn’t scare her.
“Henry?”
“Hey, Ma.”
Mom scrambled in her seat, waving her hands around. It took a second for me to realize she wasn’t smoking a cigarette. “What’re you doing sneaking up on me?”
“Are you high?”
“No.” Silence. “Yes.” Mom climbed out of the car, shamefaced. She was still wearing her waitressing uniform, and the puffy skin under her deep-set eyes sagged heavily. I snaked the joint from her and took a hit. The weed was cheap and burned my throat. “Henry!”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Mom chewed on that for a moment and then shrugged. We sat down on the driveway behind the car and passed the joint back and forth in silence. After a while Mom said, “I’m glad you’re spending time with Audrey again. She makes you smile.”
“I wish you’d smile more.”
“Things are hard right now.”
It felt like I hadn’t talked to my mom in a long time. She was always so angry or exhausted. “Why don’t you try cooking again? You could easily snag a good job.”
Rather than snapping at me like usual, she took a hit off the joint and held the smoke in for what felt like forever. When she exhaled, it was like she’d blown the last dusty remnants of her hope out with it. “I can’t do that anymore, Henry.”
“Why not? Your food is amazing, and you love cooking.” The pot loosened my tongue, gave me the courage to be honest. “You haven’t been the same since Dad took off.”
Mom sniffed and then giggled; I couldn’t tell whether she was crying or laughing. “Your father took the best parts of me when he left.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
“You don’t understand, Henry.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Mom.”
“Watch your mouth.” Mom scowled and flicked the joint into the grass. I’d seen Nana use the same look. It was probably passed from mother to daughter like that horrible meatloaf recipe.
It killed me to think Mom was so willing to give up because Dad had disappeared. If the world was going to end in sixty-six days, she deserved to enjoy every last one of them. “Dad might have helped you see the best parts of yourself, but they were always there, and no one can take them away.”
Mom clenched her jaw, and I swore for a moment she was going to slap me or start sobbing or shut down completely and never leave the driveway. Instead she said, “If that’s true, how am I supposed to see them now that he’s gone?”
“Get a mirror.”
“Chain of Fools” played on the radio, and I crawled around the side of the car to crank it up. Mom didn’t sing, but I leaned my head on her shoulder as we sat in the driveway and listened together.
26 November 2015
My Thanksgiving nightmare began with family pictures.
Mom forced me and Charlie to wear white button-down oxford shirts tucked into jeans, while she, Nana, and Zooey wore white sundresses. We looked like a cult on our way to the beach, where Mom was convinced we’d find the perfect backdrop somewhere among the dunes. I spent the entire walk trying to devise an excuse to escape family dinner so I could go to Diego’s barbecue. He’d sent me a couple of texts, but I hadn’t written back.
“Why are we doing this again?” I asked.
“Because I want a nice photo of us all together.” Mom had been chain-smoking all morning, puffing and ashing with violent flicks. Bonding over illegal drugs hadn’t magically solved our problems. Mom hadn’t woken up the next day and decided to quit waitressing. However, she had planned a more elaborate Thanksgiving dinner than usual, so maybe that was something.
“Well, I think this is really special,” Zooey said. She carried her sandals dangling from the ends of her fingers. “And when we take this picture next year, we’ll have little Milo or Mia with us.”
“Mia or Milo? Please don’t saddle your child with either of those names. It’s already starting at a disadvantage having Charlie as a father.”
Charlie lunged at me, but I hopped out of the way. Zooey chuckled. “We’re only trying out names to see how they fit. Nothing is certain.”
Nothing was certain. Not even that we’d be alive next year. Last night I dreamed I was on the ship, but rather than aliens, I was surrounded by Mom, Nana, Charlie and Zooey, Audrey, Diego, Marcus. Even Officer Sandoval was there. They were screaming at me to press the button, but none of them could offer a convincing reason why I should. And we were all speaking Latin because, apparently, I’m fluent in Latin in my dreams.
After walking for twenty minutes, Mom finally found her perfect spot. Tufts of sea oats waved gently in the breeze, and the blue sky was smeared with white clouds to match our outfits.
“Mother, I want you in front.” Mom directed us into position as she set up the tripod and camera. When Charlie attempted to help her, she snapped at him. “And Henry, don’t forget to put
your tongue behind your teeth when you smile; otherwise, you look goofy.”
“Where’s your father?” Nana squawked, and each time she did, Charlie whispered something into her ear to calm her, but it never stuck. Nana was lost in time, and I wished I could have traveled with her. Sometimes her ignorance of the present was a blessing, whether she knew it or not.
“Ready? Let’s try not to screw this up.” Mom pressed the timer on the camera and dashed to take her place between me and Charlie.
“Say ‘cruel and unusual punishment,’” I muttered.
Charlie laughed and ruined the picture, and Mom dressed me down in front of the strangers who’d gathered to witness our group humiliation.
By the time Mom was satisfied she’d gotten the shot she wanted, my shirt was stuck to my back, and I’d been forced to wear a fake smile for so long that my lips were stiff. We were a dour group that trudged back to the house, and the first thing Mom did when we arrived was uncork a bottle of wine, fill the glasses, and pass them around.
It was a tradition in our house to binge on bad disaster movies instead of football or parades. Watching the world end in various, ever more ludicrous ways sanded the jagged edges off the day. We made it through Runaway Gamma-Rays and three bottles of wine before Mom started yelling.
“What did you do? I can’t believe this! Are you stupid?”
Dulled by wine and lethargy, my reflexes were sluggish, but I scrambled off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. Black smoke belched from the oven, and Nana stood beside it, looking dazed. “You were cooking it wrong. I added salt to your stuffing too. You never add enough salt.”
I grabbed Nana by the crook of her arm and led her out of the way while Mom threw open the oven door, releasing a gob of smoke that immediately set off the smoke alarm. The pulsating squeal made my brain throb.
Charlie shoved past me, frantic and confused. When he saw the blackened turkey smoldering in the oven, he grabbed two dish towels and hauled the bird into the backyard, where he unceremoniously lobbed it into the canal.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mom screamed, following after him.
“Keeping the house from burning down.”
We Are the Ants Page 15
