by Megan Hart
“I didn’t want you to turn out like me,” she said. “I want you to be better than that, Bennett.”
“I can only be what I am,” he said with an edge in his voice that made him sound much older than twelve, though the way his lip trembled and his eyes welled with tears kept him a little boy. “And it’s not perfect.”
“Is that really what you think I expect?”
He nodded.
“Well, it’s not. Nobody’s perfect. Especially not me.”
She thought of the years of lectures, restrictions, guidelines and rules, the private school and lessons she’d put herself into debt to provide. She thought of her mother, telling her she’d done everything she could to make Janelle perfect so she could prove to the world she hadn’t messed up. Her mom had done it by trying to force her into a small box, and Janelle had done the same thing by trying to expand Bennett’s horizons.
“I don’t expect you to be perfect,” she told him. “I just want you to be you.”
“I am me, Mom!”
“Is ‘you’ a boy who sells drugs, Bennett? Gets into fights? Fails in school? Is that who you want to be?” Janelle’s mom had never asked that. Neither had her dad, for that matter.
He looked at her. “No. I don’t hang around those kids anymore. I told them they had to leave me alone.”
“Good. Then let’s figure out a way to get you through this, okay?” She drew in a deep breath. “We’ll have Andy come over to help you a little more often. And you’re going to try to bring up your grades in math, for sure. And I’ll...I’ll try to remember you’re twelve now and give you a little more credit for being responsible, okay? But you have to earn it,” she warned. “There will be consequences if you don’t.”
Bennett smiled slowly. “Okay. It’s a deal.”
“Deal.” She held out her hand for him to shake, then pulled him close for a hug instead, holding him tight, wishing she never had to let go, and knowing she had no choice.
FORTY
“CALL ME WHEN the movie’s over.” Janelle twisted to look into the backseat at Bennett, then handed him a ten-dollar bill. She handed Andy one, too.
“What’s this for?”
“Popcorn, duh.” She grinned at him and retreated against the driver’s-side door when he tried to hand it back to her. “No. You keep it.”
“I have money!”
Janelle shook her head. “This is my treat. Don’t argue.”
Bennett was already getting out of the car. “Yeah, Andy. Don’t argue with her. You can’t win.”
Andy frowned and turned the bill over and over in his hands as he stared at it. He looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “You don’t have to.”
“I don’t have to. I want to.” Janelle shrugged. “You’re doing me a real favor. I want to treat you.”
He hesitated, still frowning. “You want to come with us?”
The movie was a shoot-em-up sci-fi flick with lots of what she was sure would be gratuitous violence and probably a good share of women in skimpy outfits. It was the sort of movie she’d have forbidden without a second thought even a few weeks ago. It was the kind of movie she’d have loved when she was Bennett’s age. “Nah. It’s okay. I can always catch it on DVD if it’s that good.” And besides, Bennett would rather see something like that with Andy than his mom.
Andy tucked the ten into his front pocket and nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Janelle.”
“You’re welcome.”
He didn’t get out of the car.
“Andy?” Janelle asked gently. “You okay?”
Bennett rapped on the window before Andy could reply. “Hey, c’mon! They’re letting people in already! I want to get a good seat!”
Andy jumped at the thud of Bennett’s knuckles on the glass, but gave Janelle a smile. “We’ll see you later.”
“Call me,” she told him. “I’ll come get you.”
“You don’t have to. We can walk.”
She wasn’t ready to be that lenient with her kid. “Don’t be silly. I can pick you up. It’ll be late.”
“C’mon, Andy!”
With another small smile, Andy got out of the car. He bent to look through the window for a second, giving her a thumbs-up she returned, then backing away to give her room to pull out of the parking spot. She watched them for a few seconds in the rearview mirror, but though Andy stayed put as she drove away, Bennett danced with impatience until his much taller and older friend finally turned toward the movie theater.
It took her only five minutes to drive home, and even that felt like too long. Janelle hadn’t had the house to herself since they’d moved here, but tonight with Nan at her card club and Bennett at the movies, she intended to take advantage of every single second. She was already imagining the orgy of corn chips and cheese dip in front of a deliciously soft-core porn flick—Lake Consequence, maybe, with pre-bald-headed Billy Zane. Or Red Shoe Diaries with that other Billy, Billy Wirth. Huh, maybe she had a thing for guys named Billy....
“What the—!” The words shot out of her as she tripped through the back door and into the family room, courtesy of a pair of giant work boots that someone had left right in the middle of the doormat. She kicked one out of the way, already knowing what she’d find as she gripped the door frame and looked into the kitchen.
Gabe.
“What are you doing here?”
Kneeling in front of the sink, Gabe gazed up at her. His dark hair was rumpled, sticking straight up. His white T-shirt showcased a pair of truly lovely biceps, which flexed as he held up a wrench in one hand and a length of plastic pipe in the other.
“I’m fixing that leak in the sink. You wanted me to, right? It was on the list.”
“Oh.” It was the only thing she could think of to say. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Gabe got up slowly, wincing and creaking. He rolled his shoulders, popping his back. “Same here. I thought you were going out to the movies.”
“I just took Bennett and Andy. I never planned to stay.”
“Oh.”
It pleased her to hear him sound just as dumb as she had. For a moment they stared at each other without saying anything. It used to be they didn’t have to speak, that silence was fine and possibly preferred. Now it just felt awkward.
“How’s it going?” Janelle asked. Lame.
He’d spent so much time being grouchy with her that the slowly spreading smile surprised her. It tipped the corners of his mouth first, then crinkled the corners of his eyes. It lit up his face in a way she hadn’t seen for a really, really long time.
There was no thinking about it; Janelle kissed him. She moved into his arms, hers going around his neck, her thigh between his and his butt pressed up against the counter so he had no room to back away from her. She kissed him as if it were the most natural and expected thing in the world for her to do, as if she had no fears that Gabe would turn her aside.
He didn’t. He made a muffled, startled noise against her mouth, but his arms went around her without hesitation. His lips parted. The stroke of his tongue was not familiar, not after all this time, but it was delicious and delightful. The kiss got harder. She pressed against him, and the kiss went on and on until she had to break it to breathe.
She looked up at him, thinking there ought to be something to say about this, but the words wouldn’t come. Gabe touched a fingertip to her forehead to push her hair away from her eyes, and Janelle no longer cared about trying to speak. There was no time for it, anyway. They’d wasted too much of it already.
She kissed him again. She took him by the belt loops and pulled him, her mouth still on his, backward through the kitchen. The living room. She stood on the first stair and took his face in her hands. She could’ve ended it then and there, or he might’ve backed away. She didn’t. He didn’t.
In her bedroom, Janelle pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. Gabe’s came next. When they embraced again, belly to belly, his skin was so warm she shouldn’t have s
hivered in the chilly air, but she did. His hands splayed against her shoulder blades as he kissed her.
As he kissed her.
The first time he’d ever touched her, his fingers had fumbled on her skin. They’d found their way to pleasure through trial and error, not skill. Times had changed, she thought a little incoherently as Gabe’s teeth pressed on her throat, when his hand slid between her legs. Everything about this all felt new. Not familiar, but not uneasy.
The clock on her wall ticked and tocked, reminding her that every minute passing was one more lost. She urged him with her hands and mouth to move faster. Then a little harder. A little deeper. She cried his name at the end and wondered if she should’ve bit it back, but was too replete and sated to worry too much.
Gabe rolled off her and onto his back, his head on her pillow. Their shoulders touched. So did their hips. His breathing slowed as he turned his head to look at her. “Sorry.”
Janelle got up on one elbow. “For what?”
“For being so...fast.”
She laughed. “Mmm. We had to hurry. Next time we’ll make sure to take our time.”
“Next time?” Gabe got up on his elbow, too.
“Next time,” Janelle said, like a promise, and kissed him.
This time was different. This time, he let her kiss him instead of kissing her back. The difference was marked. She pulled away with a frown.
“No next time?” She watched him sigh and sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist, begging her to touch him, but she didn’t.
“I need to finish that sink.”
“And I’ll need to go pick up my kid and your brother in a few minutes,” she said with a glance at the clock. “And Nan will be home shortly after that. You’re not just going to run off, Gabe. Tell me you’re not.”
He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t get off the bed, either. “You...shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t what?” She scooted closer to him, but still didn’t touch. “Want you?”
“Yes.” He got up then. Started hunting for his jeans, his shirt. He didn’t look at her.
“Gabe,” Janelle said quietly. “Look at me.”
He did.
“I always wanted you,” she said.
He smiled, slowly. He kissed her again. Then he left her in the crumpled tangle of sheets still smelling of him, and went downstairs.
FORTY-ONE
YOU GOT TO know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em, as the song goes, and in this case, Janelle knew it was time to fold. She’d been sure Gabe wouldn’t consent to shooting lessons for Bennett, and that would’ve been fine. Janelle wasn’t sure how it had happened, just that one minute Gabe had been tinkering with Nan’s hot water heater while Bennett handed him tools, and the next Bennett had been upstairs telling her the when and the where.
That was how they ended up here in the woods in the same clearing, in front of what looked to be the same wooden railing. Hell, by the state of some of those cans and bottles, they might’ve been the same, too. This time, thank God, instead of knee-deep snow, they walked on wet leaves and squishy mud; instead of being bundled in heavy winter clothes they could get away with sweatshirts. They also had safety goggles and hearing protection, courtesy of Gabe, who’d insisted on as much protective gear as possible.
She’d insisted on coming along, of course. Gabe hadn’t looked too happy about it, but too bad. She wasn’t going to send her boy off into the woods with him and a gun without her supervision. She’d made that clear.
Gabe had smiled without much humor. “What do you think might happen, Janelle?”
She hadn’t answered. It had stung him, she thought, watching him now as he went through a series of instructions with a serious-faced Bennett. She’d taken a seat off to the side and couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but when Bennett moved to pick up the gun from the weather-battered card table on which Gabe had set everything up, and Gabe put his hand firmly on the boy’s to stop him, everything inside her relaxed.
Then
Janelle’s never shot a gun. She’s never wanted to shoot a gun. She thinks she could probably go her entire life without shooting a gun.
But Gabe wants to show her how.
So here she is, out in snow up to her shins, freezing her ass off while he sets up a series of cans along a railing made of two-by-fours. It’s not from a set of stairs or even part of a fence; Gabe and his brothers and a bunch of other guys built it out here specifically so they could line up cans and jars and bottles from the garbage and take turns blasting them to bits. They shoot at paper targets, too, tacked up against trees or bales of hay. It’s apparently quite the hangout.
Last night brought nearly a foot of thick, white snow that normally wouldn’t have caused a bus delay in a school district so well-accustomed to such weather, but the storm had ended with a long spell of freezing rain that coated everything in ice. School had been canceled, a rare holiday. Most of the other kids are out sledding or ice skating, or at home making out under blankets. Gabe convinced her this would be more fun.
His brothers are here, too, tromping through the snow. Janelle’s little brother, Kenny, used to drive her insane, but Mike and Andy make her miss him. They toss snowballs back and forth and at Gabe, and she likes the way he lets them get away with it. Earlier he was angry with them, mad enough to punch them. But now they’re making him laugh, and she likes watching him be happy.
“My hands are going to freeze if I take my mittens off,” she says.
Gabe has waded through the snow, busting the icy crust with his big boots, to set up the cans. Every step he takes leaves a distinct hole. He’s dressed better for the weather than she is. He looks up at the sky when she complains, then shrugs.
“It’s not that cold, Janelle. C’mon.”
“For you, maybe. I’m not from around here, remember?”
Gabe’s not a jokester like his brother Andy, and he’s not a Goody Two-shoes like Mike. Still, his smiles are rare as rainbows and usually make her feel sort of the same way. He gives her one now, and suddenly he’s right—it’s not so cold.
“You’ll be fine,” he assures her. “And it’ll be fun.”
Andy and Mike have their own guns, and they take turns shooting at the targets. When Gabe shows her how to load the gun, Janelle knows enough to be impressed with how accurately and swiftly he handles it, but also how carefully. He’s no cowboy, no sharpshooter. Everything Gabe does with the gun is precise and deliberate. No flash. She doesn’t really care about how a revolver works, but she listens and watches his face, because obviously, Gabe cares.
He won’t let her even aim the gun until she can demonstrate to him she understands how to empty the cylinder and how to check if the weapon’s loaded or unloaded. He’s a patient teacher, and this surprises and impresses her because the Gabe she’s always known has a short attention span and shorter temper.
“Now,” he says, and presses the gun into her hand. “Shoot the shit out of something.”
She can’t, of course, not at first. His hands on her hips, tilting her body, distract her. He straightens her shoulders. He aligns his body with hers, one arm stretched out along hers to help her level the gun.
“Squeeze the trigger,” he says into her ear. “Don’t jerk it. Don’t pull it. Squeeze it.”
The shot rings out into the snow-covered trees. A Straub’s greenie bottle explodes. Janelle, stunned with success, hoots and hollers, but Gabe’s hand on her arm keeps the gun pointed away from them both.
“You did it,” he said. “I knew you could.”
* * *
The kid was eager to get shooting. Gabe understood that. But first he made Bennett go through all the paces his own dad had taught him. How to make sure the cylinder was empty. If the kid got bored before the end and didn’t want to pay attention, Gabe was prepared to call off the lesson right then.
“My mom says guns aren’t toys,” the boy said as Gabe wal
ked him through everything one more time.
Gabe glanced at Janelle, sitting on a fallen log with her fingers linked around her knees. She was watching them pretty intensely. He guessed he couldn’t blame her, considering what he was sure she believed to be true. “She’s right.”
“She doesn’t even really like me playing shooting games that much, unless it’s zombies or monsters. No real people.” The kid sighed. “No soldier games or anything like that.”
Gabe had never understood the appeal of those sort of games, anyway. He like pinball or old-school, arcade-style Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, things like that. “Why do you want a play to game where you blow someone’s head open, anyway? Pick up the gun. Stand here, in front of me. You never point the gun at anyone, you got it? You keep it pointed away from people. And your own feet.”
The kid nodded and picked up the gun, too gingerly. Gabe put his hand over the boy’s to curl his fingers into place. He leveled the kid’s arm. Steadied it. He almost said, “Hold it like you’d hold your dick,” but that seemed a little too mature. With another glance at Janelle, Gabe murmured a few more instructions, then stepped back.
The kid’s first shot went wild, but he didn’t get upset. He planted his feet a little wider, fixed his stance and aimed again. Gabe’s revolver was heavy enough for a grown man, but Bennett did pretty good with it. His next two shots blew off a pair of soup cans. The fourth nicked the wooden railing. The final shot shattered a bottle.
Carefully, the kid let his arm drop to his side, keeping the gun carefully pointed away from anyone else and his own feet, just as Gabe had instructed. “That was cool! Can I go again?”
“Sure.” Gabe pointed at the table. “Show me everything you learned.”
He had to help a little, but the kid quickly got the hang of things. As he set his stance and aimed again, Gabe stepped back. This time, Janelle got up and walked over to him.
“You’re a good teacher,” she said.
“Thanks.”
They watched in silence as Bennett managed to shoot a few more of the cans. He turned to both of them with a look of pure glee that made Gabe smile. “Can I do it again?”
