Tainted by Crazy

by Abby Mccarthy

  I stood up to head to the kitchen, shoving the blanket aside and that’s when I noticed the pair of jeans around one of my ankles. I scrunched my eyebrows. “Why are my pants off?”

  Rys raised his brows, “Don’t ask me, you’re the one who took them off. You were mumbling about being hot. Do you know you talk in your sleep?”

  “Shoot, shoot, shoot!” I’d been told I was a lousy person to sleep with, but Bradley was a deep sleeper, nothing ever woke him up. “What did I say?” I put my hand over my face and peeked through my fingers in embarrassment. “Was it bad?” I walked towards the kitchen, still covering my face. I chanced a glance at him and he was openly laughing at me, his chest moving up and down with the low chuckle.

  “Nothing, I didn't enjoy hearing.” His voice had a lightness to it that made my heart beat faster.

  Oh, God. What did that mean?

  “Maple,” he said between laughs.

  “Yeah?” I asked mortified.

  “Since we’re “just friends” and all, you might want to pull your pants up. Not that I’m not enjoying the view.”

  “Oh, God!” I said, embarrassment flashed across my face. My cheeks were no doubt blazing red. I needed to hide. I turned to dash back to the couch and under the comfort of the blanket, but in doing so my foot caught on the pant leg and I was falling. The floor approached at rapid speed.

  “Whoa, there!” Strong arms wrapped around my waist pulling me back up and into him, saving me from utter disaster. Warm coffee sloshed on the back of my leg, but I didn’t care because I was pressed up against him. His hard body was up against mine and my hand, with a mind of its own, was touching his chest. My heart rate accelerated. He held me in his arms last night, but somehow being pressed into him right then, felt like the first time any man had held me in his arms. It felt powerful. I could feel his heart beating and with each thump, I felt stronger; bolder. He set his coffee down behind him on the table and then returned his arm around me. I could feel his jeans against my legs, and I suddenly wished it was his skin I felt. It was a second, maybe two, that I just stayed immobile in his arms, feeling him against me. He inched a tad closer and an almost inaudible gasp left my lips. He heard it, though. His eyes darkened and I swore I saw a look of lust. My breasts swelled and I stared up at him, wondering what he would do. Would he kiss me?

  To hell with any rational thoughts. I wanted his lips on me. This no longer felt like “just friends.”

  I looked at his lips. They were soft. Pink. Full. They were moving. He was talking to me. l blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked and knew I sounded breathy.

  He licked his lips and slid his teeth over his bottom lip. “I said careful. Are you alright?” Was I alright! Was I alright! That’s what he asked me. I knew I should answer. I knew I was staring at him dumbfounded, because I wasn't alright. Not at all. I was still pressed tight to him, and his grip wasn't loosening. I wasn't okay. All I could think about was those beautiful lips, and how they might feel against mine.

  “Keenan,” I whispered his name. It came out like a plea. My eyes moved to his, then to his lips, his beautiful throat and to where my hand splayed against his nipple. I devoured him. Saying his name was all the invitation he needed to move even closer. His dark hair hung over his forehead. His eyes locked on mine. His mouth moved closer and then his lips were on me. Goosebumps erupted over my entire body. His lips were everything I imagined. They were soft at first, and then demanding as the tip of his tongue guided my mouth open. The warmth of the kiss spread through me. He gave me everything in that kiss. My toes curled. My hands gripped him tighter. I wanted everything he was offering and more. My leg hooked around his and he lifted me by my bottom. It was a silent command to wrap my legs around his waist and I took it. I’d follow any order his body demanded of me. He turned us and pressed me against the wall. I gripped his hair and he gripped mine back. I felt frantic. Passion was a word I thought I understood. I thought passion was that spark, but no. This was an inferno. We blazed.

  His lips broke from mine. I lifted my head back and he trailed kisses along my neck and then against my collarbone.

  “You drive me fucking crazy,” he said as his hand swept over the swell of my breast.

  Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.

  Those words chilled me. He felt my body freeze up and I dropped my legs. I shouldn’t have been standing in my underwear kissing him. My emotions had felt so erratic. It wasn't fair to him. One minute, I was baking apple pie and the next minute I was going after an old man. I’d been arrested recently. Now, I was standing in my Grams’ house with barely any clothes on and making out with Keenan Rys, when just weeks ago, I swore off men. I needed to figure myself out, not drown myself in him.

  “What is it?” he asked confusion marring his face.

  I pushed away from him, needing space. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m too much of a mess right now.” I regretted the words even as I said them. I didn't want to be sorry for our kiss. What I was sorry for was that I was so messed up that hearing the word crazy had me in a tailspin. I didn't want that for him.

  His eyes squinted at me and then closed as if he had to put his thoughts in order before looking at me.

  “No problem, ‘friend’. Just keep your pants on, if you don't want me kissing you.” With that, Keenan Rys turned away from me and walked out of the front door. He didn’t glance back, and for that, I was glad. If he had, he would’ve seen the self-hatred I had for myself in that moment. I hated that I’d pushed him away. I’d hated that I didn’t feel worthy.

  It was afternoon when I pulled into the pool at the senior center. I had just left Iggy’s where I’d stopped to buy a bottle of tequila at cost. I was relieved when Iggy told me she didn't need an explanation about last night, but to try and not attack the customers.

  After Rys left, I made up my mind. I needed to leave. Grams would understand, wouldn't she? I just needed to talk to Grams, and see if she’d let me borrow some money to get out of here. I felt weighted down, and that the only way to break free was to move-on. I’d never had a problem moving on before, but for some reason, I felt guilty at the thought.

  I pushed the guilt aside. I couldn't stay in this town. I liked Rys more than I should, and I wasn’t going to get into another relationship, no matter how good he kissed. This town proved to me how not okay I was. It didn't make sense for me to stay here. I figured I’d wait until Grams had a few drinks in her, and then I’d ask her if she’d help me. As much as I hated to borrow things from Grams, I knew that leaving was the only way that the aches that settled in the pit of my stomach would go away.

  When I walked into the fenced-in pool area, I was surprised to find most of the white lounge chairs already occupied.

  “Heads up!” someone shouted from the pool, and I turned my head just in time for a beach ball to come soaring at me.

  I rolled my eyes, and saw Merv grinning at me from the pool with Sugar nearby laughing at him.

  Grams wore an oversized white sunhat and a white cover-up. I smiled as I watched her face light up when she saw me, and then I frowned. This was going to be hard. She sat under an umbrella with Bob at her side. Bob wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and navy blue board shorts had a small glass filled with an amber liquid in front of him. His arm was splayed casually behind Grams neck on the rim of the chair.

  “Well, it’s about time you got here. We need to show these fools how to make a decent Margarita.” Grams stood, gave me a once over, and looped her arm in mine. She led us to a tall glass table that was covered in blenders, liquor, and various mixers. Next to the table were large buckets filled with ice and various soft drinks.

  I handed Grams the bottle of tequila and stared wide-eyed at all the empty bottles of booze that were already littering the table. “Wow, you guys sure know how to party.”

  “We’re old, not dead.”

  “Still, it’s early.”

  “Just cause we ain’t dead doesn't mean we need
to party until all hours of the night. Besides, most of those bottles are from Andrea’s collection. Her son always drinks half of the bottle then waters it down, so the drinks taste like shit.”

  “Grams!” I scolded her for her language and she gave me a shrug that said, “Well it’s the truth.” She set about filling the blender with tequila, triple sec and then her mix. After several minutes of blending, and a few interruptions from her friends, she poured us drinks, and then demanded, “Spill it.”

  “I want to ask you the same question. I’ve been here, and have barely seen you. Heck, I talked to you more when I lived four states north of here.”

  “Oh, that’s not what I want to talk about, and you know it. I’m talking about that look on your face. The look that says you’re in over your head, and that you feel like running, so spill. Tell me what’s got you looking like you’re fixin’ to bolt.”

  I couldn't believe how easily Grams read me. I wanted to argue with her and demand she tell me what’s been going on with her and all of her half-truths, but I was never good at demanding what I wanted.

  “Honestly Grams, it’s like everywhere I go, there’s something reminding me of Ma. And not just a little bit either. It’s like she’s everywhere. Do you remember that time she took me for ice cream and Earl had to come and get me? You didn't get your car back for a week.”

  Grams nodded and I continued, “Well, last night the guy she was with that night came into Iggy’s. I just finished my shift and there he was. And you know what, Grams? I wanted to kill him. Honest to God, I wanted him dead.”

  Grams’ face paled, “Why Maple? What happened?”

  Even as a girl, I never wanted to burden Grams with what Momma did. I didn’t want Grams to stop letting me see my Momma. I always felt like I had to protect my Momma and Grams. Momma was gone now, yet I still don’t want Grams to know. Maybe it was a combination of shame and self-preservation, but I didn't ever want her to know the dark details.

  “Let’s just say, I witnessed things no nine-year-old should.”

  I could see Grams’ face growing hard. Her anger, even with that vague response from me was evident.

  Bob approached cautiously and I could tell he had watched Grams’ face harden. “Everything okay, here?”

  Grams turned to him and her face softened a little. “We’re good. Let me top off your drink, and I’ll be over in a little bit.”

  Bob kissed Grams on her forehead, and then whispered in her ear. Grams’ mood lightened a little, which made me grateful for the interruption. Grams poured more liquor into his glass and he walked away.

  “It’s in the past, Grams, but it was a shock to run into him. Then, there are these dreams I’ve been having since I’ve been back,” I shook my head trying to clear the thoughts. “Anyways, the point is, I flipped out. There’s also Rys. Every time I turn around, he’s there and I know I can't go down that road. He’s exactly my type, which if the last ten plus years are indication of my judgment in men, it means he’s trouble. Or I’m trouble. Either way, I have to get away. I’m sorry to do this, Grams, but do you think I can borrow a little bit of money, just so I can get back on my feet again. I have some saved and the house looks good, I’ve been working hard at fixing it up. I’m sure you’d have no problem getting it on the market.”

  “No.” She straightened her back and began to walk away. I was shocked. Grams never said no to helping me out.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’? You won’t help me?” I was astonished. Completely baffled. “You’d rather hang out poolside with your friends and go golfing than help me?” I knew I wasn't acting my age, but seriously, since I’d been back, it seemed that all Grams did was hang out with her friends, and now she was turning her back on me. I looked at her incredulously.

  “I mean exactly what I said. No. It’s time you stop running. It’s time for you to be home. I know it’s hard for you to be here. I know it hurts, baby, but I can’t give you money to take off again. Your problems won’t go away with a change in location. I know everything with your Momma damaged you. I know it wasn't fair to you, but sweetie, life ain’t always fair. You’re thirty-one. It’s time to let go of the past.”

  “You think you know how it felt, and that I can just get over it? You don't know a thing about what it was like to be me, growing up the way I did. You don’t know what it was like to hope above all hope that each time I saw her, it would be different. That this time she’d get better. All I wanted was some type of normalcy, but even on good days, it wasn't quite right. And I get it. As an adult, boy, do I get it. I know that there is no such thing as normal, but maybe once I would’ve loved to have a Momma who cared if I came home late or a Momma who cared if I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. It’s shaped my entire life. I’m just not sure if you could ever understand the amount of lasting damage it does when your Momma is a druggie and a mental patient.”

  “You honestly think that I don’t understand? I understand Maple how it is, because my daughter who I raised was a drug addict and sick. You don't have to tell me. Imagine wondering if it was something you did, or didn’t do, and you love that person beyond all explainable measures, yet they’re still sick. No matter how many times I had her hospitalized, it was always the same. Besides having the guilt that my daughter was sick, I also had the burden of knowing what she put her daughter through. You don't think at some point I had to learn that I couldn't take on that guilt anymore? Because you’re right, it shapes your life. It is a dark tar that coats every part of it. It hangs out in the back recesses of your mind that I loved someone, raised someone, taught them everything they knew, and yet they couldn’t stop getting high.

  “I know you went through hell, but don’t you sit and judge me, and decide that I should still be living in it with you. I get to have as much fun for as long as I have left. I tried so hard to make it as good for you as I could. I get it, I wasn't her, and I’m sorry you still hurt, but here’s what I need you to know. She doesn’t define you. You’re a grown woman. You get to decide what defines you. You get to live for now, and stop living with her ghosts. The same way your momma had a choice to stop getting high, you have a choice to stop letting her fate control your future. It is up to you, Maple. If you want to be happy, then let yourself be happy, but I have to tell you, your happiness is not going to happen, if you keep living in the past.”

  Her words floored me. Is that what she thought, that I couldn't let go? Didn’t she understand I would, if I could? For the umpteenth time in the last twenty-four hours, my chest felt tight and tears threatened to spill. I thought I’d done alright, despite my lousy choice in men. I worked. I stopped partying like I did. What more did she want from me?

  “It’s not that easy, Grams. I’m here, and all of those demons are staring me in the face. I went mad last night. I attacked him. How can I make a decision to put it behind me, when being here it’s constantly staring me in the face?”

  “Oh, Maple. What is it you think you’ve been doing all these years away from here? You think you're somehow now being faced with demons? Dear, all you’ve been doing for the last thirteen years is running from your problems, and look where that’s gotten you. It’s time.”

  “Time for what, Grams?”

  “Time you stop running. Your problems might seem like they’re staring you in the face, but the reality is they’ve been at your back chasing you for so long, you’ve just finally turned around to see them.”

  I stared long and hard at Grams' back as she walked away from me. That hadn’t been what I was doing, had it?

  After a while, I got wrangled into mixing drinks. These old-timers were not going to let me wallow. No, once they found out I worked at Iggy’s, they turned an Arnold Palmer into an Arnold Palmer with Vodka, or an Arnold Palmer with whiskey. Who knew iced tea and lemonade could be mixed so many ways?

  Eventually, I ended up playing cards with Grams until all of the ladies were sick of losing. I was very pleased with our skills. I finished winning and
took a seat on the lounge chairs, to bask in the sun. With my assumed Mediterranean background, my skin bronzed nicely. Sure, I got looks from Merv the Perv when I took off my cover-up, but I didn’t care. Other than the verbal lashing I got from Grams, I was having a good time.

  I must’ve closed my eyes for what felt like only minutes later, but was actually much longer based on the warmth of my skin. I felt a hand shaking me. “Maple,” Bob stood over me. “I just took Alice home. She was getting tired, but sent me back to make sure you didn’t fry.”

  I sat up and looked around. The crowd of senior citizens had thinned. “Thanks, Bob, for taking her home. Listen, is everything okay with her? She seems like she’s been avoiding me lately.”

  Bob’s lips pursed. “You talk to her about it?” he asked.

  “I’ve tried, but I’m not getting anywhere.”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder and in a quiet voice said, “Talk to Alice.” And then he left.

  I spent the next several weeks the same way, baking, cleaning, working and trying to talk with Grams. I’d occasionally hang out with Sasha and Delilah, and I’d even taken Delilah off of her mom’s hands for a while. Grams had successfully gotten through to me. Running wasn’t going to fix my problems, but I couldn't help but feel like she was doing the same thing.

  I’d seen Keenan Rys a few times, but each time I avoided him like the plague. If he came into Iggy’s, I made it a point to be busy, not that he went out of his way to talk to me either. It was awkward. I also couldn't deny the pang I felt in my chest, when I would look at him. I longed for his lips on mine again, but deep down, I knew that us avoiding each other was best.

  It was mid-morning. I had just left the hardware store to pick up my second can of paint stripper. I was a hot mess. Paint chips were flaked in my hair. I was wearing cut-off shorts and a navy blue racer-back tank top, none of which I cared much about, as evidenced by how often I wiped the five-in-one's metal blade on my clothes. When I woke up this morning, I started the daunting task of removing the paint from the picket fence. I had hoped one can of stripper would do the trick but was let down when I realized halfway through the fence I’d need another.