by Beth Michele
“Yup.”
“Wow.” He flicks the hair away from his eyes. “I got the impression from the way you were acting that he was a real asshole.” He scrutinizes me with a click of his tongue. “I guess you were being too judgmental as usual.”
“Yeah. I was and I feel bad about it. I don’t know. I get the impression,” I twirl an unruly lock of hair, “that he has his reasons.” Twisting to my right, I sit cross-legged and face him. “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about that date you went on, with…,” I stare up at the ceiling then back to Troy, “…Sam?” The funny expression on his face throws me off. “What? It wasn’t Sam?”
“Not exactly,” he admits, his hesitance making me probe further.
“Care to elaborate?”
He scrubs his forefinger over his lip, and I can’t figure out for the life of me why he’s stalling. “It was… Samantha, actually,” he finally squeaks out and I stick a finger in my ear in response.
“Come again?”
Troy lets out a long breath and mutters, “It was a girl, Ems.”
“Ooohh.” And I know he doesn’t miss the way my eyes bulge out of my head. He nods, his lips slanted almost as if he can’t believe it himself.
“Yeeeaaah. I’m kind of just as stunned as you are.”
“Stunned about what?” Avery pops into the room in a t-shirt and shorts, a towel slung over her arm. Troy glances over to me but I remain quiet. This isn’t my story to tell.
“I gotta go,” he rattles off, giving me a peck on the cheek and dodging Avery on his way out. Now it’s Avery who stares at me with a confused expression. I’m about to comment on his hasty departure when his voice carries up the stairs. “I met a girl.” The door slams and Avery’s mouth is practically level with the carpet.
“So, wait. Does that mean he’s bi—”
“What does it matter?” I cut her off, walking over and placing my hands on her shoulders before turning her around toward the hallway and giving her a push. “He’s Troy. That’s all I care about.”
“You’re no fun,” she mutters as she skulks off to the bathroom, using the same words she did when we were ten and I refused to run around naked in the sprinkler.
“I am too,” I yell back, just to act like a ten year old again.
“You are too, what?” Mom traipses into my room carrying a stack of laundry I forgot to bring upstairs. “Good morning by the way.”
“Fun,” I pout, pausing in front of my dresser, eyes trained on the carpet. “I am fun. Aren’t I?”
“Of course you are, sweetie. Are you seriously listening to your sister?” She lifts my chin with her finger. “You know she likes to get under your skin.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Her eyes move to a spot behind me. “You bought a snow globe. Very cute.”
I lean my hip against the dresser, staring down at it. “Actually, I didn’t. It was a gift.”
“From Troy?”
“No.” I don’t offer up any other explanation and her bright red lips teeter at the edges.
“No, Mom. It was a gift from….” Her voice is teasing, cheeks now in a full-on smile.
“A friend.”
I laugh when her face contorts in disappointment. “In other words… mind your own business, Mom.”
“I didn’t say that,” I retort, and she flips a piece of hair behind my shoulder.
“You didn’t have to.” She turns to the mirror, patting her skin to dab the blush on her cheeks. “It’s a nice gift.”
“Yes it is. So where are you off to?”
Fully aware of my subject change, she looks back at me and shakes her head. “I have to go see a client this morning. You headed to Anna’s?”
I grab a comb from the dresser, threading it through my tangled hair. “Anna’s not feeling well and she needs me to meet with a customer about catering a party.” I glance out the window then back to Mom. “I thought I’d get an early start and stop at an art store along the way. It’s supposed to be a beautiful day.”
“Yes it is.” She squeezes my arm. “Okay, have a safe drive and I’ll see you later.”
“See ya, Mom.”
MILES AND MILES of blue sky and bright sunshine stretch out before me. There is something about driving on an open road with the windows down and the breeze blowing through my hair that makes me feel alive. The sweet smell of Ponderosa Pine trees is all around me and I lift my shoulders as I inhale. Snow Patrol blares through the speakers, my fingers tapping out a beat against the steering wheel.
My eyes are drawn to Zack’s rabbit’s foot hanging from the rearview mirror, swaying to and fro in the wind. He and I used to sit on the bleachers behind the high school and talk about driving cross country when we got older. All those plans we made together. Now, he’s wandering the world in a different way—without me.
I’m so lost in my head that I have to swerve to miss the black Mustang pulled over on the side of the highway. But I definitely don’t miss the middle finger sticking up from the hood as I pass by. I steady the wheel, trying to calm my racing heart while glaring at the idiot in my rearview mirror. Until he turns around with his hands on his hips to glare back—and I discover the idiot is none other than Vance Davenport.
I check for traffic before I make a U-turn and double back to where his car sits on the side of the road. As I get closer, and he recognizes me, the scowl on his face transforms into a smirk. He stares down at the ground for a moment before his eyes climb to mine, carefully watching me as I exit the car. Sweat drips from his temple down to his neck, soaking the top of his t-shirt. Lifting his arm, he wipes it from one side of his face.
“You’ve been dying to give me the finger since we met, haven’t you?” I tease, tossing a water bottle at him. When I see the glimmer in his eye, I realize my words have a double entendre. I dig my teeth into my lip, hard, as though that can somehow erase the red from my cheeks.
“I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.” He twists the cap off the bottle and takes a swig before dumping the rest over his head. His hair and shirt are drenched, droplets of water glistening against his skin. It’s not a bad look for him.
“That’s Fiji water. It’s valuable. And you just wasted it.”
“Well it’s fucking hot out here, Mickey, and I’ve been sweltering in this heat for a while.”
I jerk my chin toward the Mustang. “What’s wrong with your car?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t still be standing here.” He shakes his head from side to side, spraying water in every direction. “I’m pretty accustomed to messing around with cars but this has me kind of stumped.” I walk past him and over to the car, then stare into the open hood. He comes to stand beside me. “You know anything about cars, Mickey?”
“I know how to change a flat tire.”
“That would be cake if that were the problem.” His cheeks puff up with air and he blows it out, scratching his head.
“So why didn’t you call a tow truck?” I cast a blank look in his direction. “Never mind. I know why. You’re a guy and you’re stubborn.”
“Damn straight.”
“Well….” I step around him to the side of the car and notice a bouquet of white lilies on the back seat. I wonder for a split second if they’re for a girlfriend but decide to mind my own business. “I could give you a lift to wherever you need to go, and then pick you up after I leave Eugene.” He averts his gaze then, staring off into the distance for far too long until something weighs in the air besides the unusual humidity. “Vance?”
“Yeah, uh… if you don’t mind I’ll just tag along and catch a ride home when you’re done. He drops the latch of the hood and it comes down with a hard slam. “Let me call a tow truck. It could be a while.”
We sit side by side along the curb as we wait. Vance remains quiet and won’t meet my eyes. After too much time passes, I can’t take it anymore.
“Vance. What’s bothering you? I wasn’t snooping or anything, but I saw the flowers in the
back seat. Is there someone waiting for you? Because honestly, I don’t mind taking you wherever you need to go.”
His face is like stone when he decides to let me see it, but again, his eyes hold a truth he’s unwilling to share. “No. No one is waiting for me.”
“Okay.” Refusing to push, I let him have the silence he seems to desperately need. At least until we hear the roar of an engine closing in on us.
The driver jumps down from the tow truck and untangles a cluster of chains, hooking them onto the car when I shout at them. “Wait.” Both he and Vance swing their heads my way. “Vance, don’t you want to get the flowers from the back?”
He stands there for what seems like an eternity, until the driver spurs him into action when he comments that he doesn’t have all day. I watch him drag his feet to the door then open it, hesitating again before he swipes the flowers from the seat.
Vance gives the driver information for the service station as well as his identification number for some auto membership that’s going to save him a small fortune. I wait for him in the car, doing a quick check of my cell phone to see if I have any messages. Already, I have three texts from Anna with additional details for the customer meeting. The door opens and I drop the phone in my purse.
“So what do you need to do in Eugene?” Vance slides onto the worn leather, reaching behind him to place the flowers on the seat. His actions are almost mechanical; shoulders stiff, features completely rigid. Even his words seem forced.
“Listen.” I insert the key into the ignition then twist around until I’m looking into those eyes I haven’t quite figured out the color of. “We don’t have to talk. You don’t need to feel like you have to make conversation with me.”
Vance nods on a loud breath as if I just gave him a ‘get out of jail free’ card. He turns away and gazes out the side window, hands clasped tightly in front of him. I push the button for the radio, not bothering to search for favorite songs, simply needing something to cut the tension thickening the air between us.
A little while later, I’m humming quietly to Pink and getting lost in the music when I hear “Shit.” Not more than two seconds go by and Vance says it again. “Shit.”
“Vance?”
His voice comes out in short gasps, thin and hoarse. “Can you pull over?”
I steer the car toward the edge of the road. Vance doesn’t wait until I shift into park before he escapes out the door. I watch him pace back and forth, hands firm on his hips. My stomach tightens, mind drifting to Zack’s funeral and the sight of my mother and father staring at their only son—my brother—bent over that awful box—clutching onto it as if they wanted to crawl inside too. I wanted to make it better for them. But I couldn’t even make it better for me. Seeing Vance like this—I need to do something. Determination lights a fire in my belly and I push open the door and round the car. “Vance, I want to—”
The words get stuck in my throat when he doubles over, head bowed, one hand braced on the side of the hood and the other hanging limp at his side as he vomits. I run over to him, resting what I hope is a soothing hand on his back and rub in small circles. “It’s okay, Vance. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
“No.” He shakes his head over and over, still staring at the ground. “Don’t you see? It’s not okay.” He drags a hand over his mouth and straightens, stepping away from me. “I’m sorry.”
I leave him briefly and walk to the rear of the car, popping the trunk. A case of water, boxes of tissue and an old tool box fill the carpeted space. I remove another water bottle from the plastic along with some tissue. When I return, he eyes the items in my hand.
“Are you always this prepared?”
“Yes.” I pass both over to him. “Courtesy of Zack and my father.”
“Thank you.” He uncaps the bottle and chugs, letting the water fill his mouth and swishing it around before he spits. As he allows his eyes to find mine again, the festering pain that has lingered there since we met is overwhelming. It nearly makes me stumble back. “I lied to you,” he admits in a small voice. And I know there’s more. I stay still, fearing that if I move he’ll close up again. He shuffles over to a patch of grass beyond the cement highway and faces the horizon. My heart is already breaking for him, for the devastation and sadness he carries like a quiet badge. “My mother… she… she isn’t coming back.” He stares up at the sky as if it gives him the strength he needs for his confession. “She has a progressive brain disease that affects her coordination and her… memory. She gets confused and doesn’t remember things….” His throat works on a hard swallow. “She doesn’t remember me.”
“Oh, Vance.” I move toward him but he holds a hand out to the side, stopping me.
“Please. Don’t.” He’s pensive for a bit, his chest rising and falling on several heavy breaths. “I used to see her every day. Now we’re several hours away and it’s really hard. This whole fucking thing is so damn hard. We were close, you know? I’m a grown man but I feel like a fucking child who wants their mother back.”
I realize he doesn’t want me to touch him, but I edge closer as if I’m approaching a skittish animal and speak quietly. “I’m sorry.”
If Vance hears me, he doesn’t acknowledge it, because he keeps talking. “So you see, you can’t talk to her about her painting because she doesn’t remember she painted it. She doesn’t even know that she could paint at one time.”
Wetness builds in the corner of my eyes as something inside of me shatters. I think about sculpting—about not remembering something that is so much a part of me. Most of all, I think about Zack. The thought of not being able to remember him makes me physically ill, as do the words I said to Vance about wishing I didn’t remember. Now I understand his intense reaction. Being unable to remember. I’m not sure there is anything worse.
“Vance… I’m so, so, sorry.”
His head moves up and down and he sniffs. He’s trying hard to hold it together. I wonder if he understands how brave he is. “She doesn’t deserve this.”
“That’s where you were going. Wasn’t it?” I step in front of him, blocking his view and forcing him to look at me. “Let me take you to her. Please.”
Defeat crumples his posture as his weary eyes meet mine. He sighs hard. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Hey.” My tone softens. “I want to. I bet she’d love to have those flowers. They’re beautiful.”
He glances over his shoulder to the car. “They were her favorite.”
“Come on.” I offer my hand and he stares at it for several long beats. His struggle is palpable and I can’t bear it. I allow my hand to fall, letting him off the hook. The sharing of his pain is probably all he can handle at this point.
He follows behind me to the car and we climb inside. “Hey, Ember.”
I check my side mirror, easing onto the highway. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
EXHAUSTION SETTLES INTO my bones. Saying the words aloud to Ember took everything I had. I’ve never shared that with anyone before. Still, I didn’t feel like I could keep it from her. It felt wrong in some way. Maybe because she’s so damn honest. Maybe because of her brother. Whatever the reason, the burden is lighter and I feel less alone.
Several minutes into the ride, her calm voice falls onto my ears. “You okay?” I appreciate that she doesn’t harass me for information I’m unwilling or not ready to give. She accepts what I have to offer. I find that to be a rare quality.
“Hanging in.”
Eventually, she veers off into a service station. As she pulls up to the pump, I reach for my wallet and take out two twenties. I hold them out to her but she pushes them away. “Nope. Don’t think so. I’m good.”
“I’d like to help pay for gas.”
She pats the dashboard three times. “This old baby is great on gas, so don’t worry about it. Pushing the door open, she slides out of the car but hangs her head back in. “You want anything inside?”
“Maybe some mints?”
Fifteen minutes later when there is still no sign of her and I’m ready to call out The National Guard, she finally emerges.
“What the hell, Mickey?” I growl through her window as she lifts the pump. “I was getting ready to call the police.”
“If you must know,” she smiles, “I was browsing.”
I gesture toward the small run-down shop. “Browsing? At a gas station?”
“Yes. And you’ll be happy I did. Here.” She tosses one of those sample size Crest toothpastes and a travel toothbrush onto the seat along with a roll of mints and a package of Twinkies. “They were the only ones that didn’t seem stale and I remember Julian said you’re into junk food.”
“Thanks,” I reply, stunned she picked my favorite. “And toothpaste, too?” I lift the tube near my mouth with a strained grin. “Trying to tell me something?”
“No. Actually,” she clarifies, her expression awkward, “I thought maybe you’d want to clean your mouth, is all. After, you know….”
“I know.” I cringe, realizing she saw me hurl all over the highway. “Thanks.”
Nothing else is said the remainder of the trip, but it’s not uncomfortable. I’ve wandered back to the hell that is my mind while Ember hums to herself, the music playing softly in the background.
As we get closer, a storm inside me is brewing. Already, sweat builds on my upper lip and my head begins a slow pound that gets worse as we pass each off-ramp. “It’s the Winston exit, one hundred nineteen to highway forty two,” I choke out, and Ember proceeds to put her blinker on and get in the right hand lane.
I’m not so sure this was a good idea. At least when I’m by myself and I break down, I can do it without any outside witnesses or judgment. Not that I think she would judge me at this point, because I don’t think she would. I just don’t want anyone else to see me this vulnerable.
“Take a left at the end of the exit and then a right at the first traffic light.” I’m on autopilot now as I square my shoulders and exhale a deep breath as if preparing for battle. The illusion of strength is better than the messy reality of shit living inside of me. Besides, someone has to be strong for my mother. My father barely comes here at all. And Julian, well, it’s just too hard for him. I want to scream that this is fucking hard for me, too. But I can’t stop—because that means I’ve given up hope. And once that’s gone. What’s left?
