by J. D. Brick
She clenches her fists and stares me down. “No, he doesn't know about it, KeeKee. Or about Blue.” She laughs. “I really can't believe you're going to look down your nose at Hunter when your boyfriend is a killer. And a liar. Your boyfriend belongs in jail!”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Truth hurts, doesn't it KeeKee? Well, you keep your mouth shut and and get out of town, and you can keep your criminal coward of a boyfriend. At least 'til he dumps you.”
I pull the door open and see a group of girls scrambling away. They've obviously been standing right by the door, listening. The tears are streaming down my face now. I don’t even bother trying to hide them or control my shaking voice. “I never want to see or hear from you again Megz. I will never forgive for this. You are a piece of trash. You're nothing but fucking trash!” I slam the door and then hear the bottle of Jack shatter against it.
Blue
I’d just jotted down the last note in the last song of the set I’m writing for Keegan when I hear a car door slam and then steps pounding across the front porch and into the living room. Keegan bursts into my room, and I barely have time to set aside my guitar and flip over the notebook that has BAR GIRL scrawled across the top in a Sharpie pen. I'm planning to record the whole set as a Christmas gift for her, and I don’t want to give away the surprise.
She throws herself into my arms; she’s shaking, and her face is swollen and red. “Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen? Keegan?” I kiss her eyelids and run my thumbs over her cheeks. “Why didn't you wait for me? It's not 10 yet, is it? Keegan, what's wrong?”
She’s gasping and sobbing. I don’t say anything else for a few minutes. I just hold her until she calms down a little. And then the whole ugly story pours out. I stand there, kissing her, trying to soothe her. I loosen her ponytail and run my fingers through her hair. I let her talk.
But all the time she is speaking, her words are tearing me apart. I should have known. I did know or at least I sensed that Jason and Lugner were dirty. I should have made the connection with Megz. I should have pursued it, figured it out, exposed all of the lying motherfuckers. And I should have kept my big, stupid mouth shut about what happened in Afghanistan.
Keegan waits until she's told me all the other details before, finally, telling what she's done, what they made her do. Because of me.
I try to stay calm, stoic; I try to remain the rock she needs to cling to. But I can’t stop the fear that knots my stomach and spreads in waves throughout my body. It’s stronger even than the rage. I can’t stop myself from trembling like some candy-ass little boy. I end up clinging to Keegan as much as she’s hanging on to me. I am scared of what might happen to me. But I am determined not to let her sacrifice herself for me.
I grab her shoulders. “Why did you do that, Keegan? Why did you resign? I can't let you drop out, throw it all away! I can't let you give it all up for me!”
“Blue.”
“You need to call them, email them, all of the people you sent the resignation to. The president of the college, the police, everybody. You need to tell them the truth!”
She’s shaking her head. “Blue.”
“I can't let you give up your dream for me! I won't let you do it! If you don't tell, then I will!” I am crying. I’m fucking crying.
Keegan puts her hands on my face. She’s crying too. “Blue,” she says fiercely. “You are my dream. I don't want the rest of it without you. They can have the editor job. We have no idea what might happen to you if the army found out. I can't let them put you in danger, not if I have a way to stop it. None of it means anything to me, not if I can't have you!”
We stand there, forehead to forehead. I don't know what else to say. Not true. I know what I should say. But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to. Instead, I pull her into my arms again. I feel her breath, warm and sweet, on my neck as she speaks. “Blue, we can run away. We can just leave, go somewhere else.”
She pulls back and puts her hands on my face again. I close my eyes. “You can play your music!” Keegan implores me. “You're so good, you can make a living playing your music. And I can make a living doing freelance writing. I'm a good writer. I know I can get freelance jobs. And even if I can't, I don't care. I'll scrub toilets if I have to. Just as long as we can be together.” The hopeful, almost childlike lilt in her voice breaks me down completely. I stand there letting my tears roll down into Keegan's fingers.
I should never have let this happen. I should never have gotten involved with Keegan in the first place.
My gut had been screaming at me for weeks to end it, to do the right thing. I'd tried. But I didn't seem to have it in me. Not if it meant giving up Keegan.
“Blue! It's okay. We'll have so much fun. We could go around the country. We could even go to Europe. Bum around, backpack across Europe. It'll be great!”
It takes forever just to force my eyes to open and my mouth to curve into a smile. “That does sound awesome.” I don’t sound very convincing.
She squeezes my face with her hands. “Blue, promise me. Promise you will come with me. Tomorrow. Promise you'll run away with me.” Her voice breaks. “You promise me right now, Blue!”
There’s a roaring in my ears; for a moment, my vision narrows so that all I can see is her mouth, moving in slow motion.
“Blue!”
I kiss her, and the roaring subsides, at least a bit. “I promise, bar girl. I promise.”
It’s after midnight when we curl up together on the roof. Keegan wanted to go out there “one more time.” She'd run her fingers over my guitar strings and asked me to sing to her. So we went up to her room and crawled out the window, and now I’m playing, again, the theme from Somewhere in Time. I've never seen the movie—and I’m pretty sure you need a vagina to really appreciate it—but I kind of dig the song.
And I know Keegan loves it. I pull off my jacket. It’s a clear night, warm, for December, with a full moon. I play slowly, glancing at her face, trying to make each note a caress. I can see her lips moving slightly. It’s all I can do to keep playing. Even now—with all we’re facing, with what Keegan has been forced to do for me—I am distracted by my dirty thoughts. My head fills with a picture of what else Keegan’s lips could be doing. I guess the dick wants what the dick wants.
When I finish the song, I stretch through the window and place the guitar on the floor. Then Keegan nestles into the curve of my shoulder, and we lay there looking up into the stars.
After a few moments, I feel something wet on my arm. “Are you crying?”
She snuggles against me and nods, and I hug her to me.
“I called Megz a piece of trash, Blue. After she'd just told me her mom threw her out like trash. And what her mom let other people. . .do to her.” She shivers and squeezes my arm. “I know I should hate her for what she did to me. I do hate her. I can’t believe the things she said to me, the things she’s been doing to me all this time while she was pretending to be my best friend. I wanted to hurt her the way she'd hurt me.”
She lets out a sob. “But. . . She'd told me she was a foster kid, but I never really thought about what that meant. What she might have been through.”
I let her breathing slow before I speak. “How do you even know Megz is telling you the truth about what happened to her?”
She raises up to look at me, and her hair tickles my neck. “I guess I don't. But it felt real. You should have seen the way she looked at me, the jealousy she had toward me. I had no idea she felt that way.”
She ran a finger down my cheek and across my lips. “She could have been making it all up. It felt real, though, the jealousy and the pain. I think it really happened to her. And if it did, no wonder she's the way she is.”
She settles back down on my chest. “I just wish I hadn't called her trash, that's all.”
I kiss the top of her head. “You're such a good person, Keegan. I don't think you even realize how good you are.” My voice catches. I’m trying not to sou
nd as desperate as I feel. “I don't think you have any idea what you've done to me. How you've changed me, even in the short time we've been together. How much I love you.”
She sits up, her fists in my shirt, and gives me a long, deep kiss. Then she takes my hand and pulls me through the window and on to the bed. We remove each other's clothes without saying a word. And we make love. No other way to describe it. It’s not just sex. It’s sure not fucking. It’s love: created, brought into existence sigh by sigh, heartbeat by heartbeat.
Keegan falls asleep soon after, but I just lay there staring at the ceiling, comforted by her slow, steady breathing, memorizing the feel of her skin under my fingertips. I couldn't have slept if I wanted to. My mind is spinning, veering back and forth between choices, thinking, one minute, that running away is out of the question. I cannot let Keegan throw everything away for me. It would be unbelievably selfish.
But then, because I want to so much, I bounce back the other way. We love each other. We’re meant for each other. Keegan needs me. I can't take the chance that we’ll be separated, maybe forever. Besides, I promised I'd run away with her.
And it would actually be a lot easier than she realizes. I won’t have to sing for my supper. She won’t have to get freelance gigs. We can storm Europe in style. Because I have a trust fund with $5 million, just sitting there waiting to be spent. Yeah, I'd called it blood money. Yeah, I'd told Bill I would never touch a penny of it. But things have changed. Everything’s different now.
The first streaks of dawn are lighting up the room just enough for me to see when I edge away from Keegan, sliding one knee and then the other over the bed. I stay like that a few minutes, on my knees, watching her sleep. Then I creep out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Fragile Feelings
Keegan
I wake up alone. My fingers know it before I do. They've been clutching Blue's body all night, and even before I open my eyes, my fingers grasp at the empty air and sound the alarm. They drag me out of the hot, Blue-blazing dream I am having. I just lay there a minute, staring at the Blue-barren sheets, until my brain finally starts working.
I sit up and look around. No Blue in the bedroom. I yank the sheet off the bed, wrap it around my body and stumble across the hall. No Blue in the bathroom. I go back to my room and look out the window. Blue's car is gone. A little jolt of panic makes me shudder.
Don't be ridiculous. He's just gone for coffee. And donuts. He's definitely gone for donuts. I sit back on the bed and stare at my charging phone on the dresser. Don't be one of those girls who can't go 10 minutes without texting her boyfriend.
I walk around the room, still dragging my sheet. I sit back down on the bed and will the phone to ding or ring, do something.
I throw off the sheet and tug on my jeans and wriggle into a sweatshirt. True to its crazy reputation, the Oklahoma weather has once again changed overnight. It’s overcast and chilly. The oak tree, long shed of the colorful leaves adorning it when I moved into the Embassy, looks naked and dead. I’m shivering.
It’s been no more than 10 minutes since I woke up, but I can’t stand it any longer. I grab the phone. It is turned off. Duh. I forgot that I turned off the phone the night before so I wouldn't be tempted to answer questions from all the people who received my resignation.
I turn on the phone and listen to my heartbeat pounding in my chest as I wait for my home screen to appear. Thirty-two missed calls. I don’t even try to count the texts and emails. After sending out that WTF email, I’m about to slink out of town under cover of darkness. It will destroy my reputation. But I have no choice.
I text Blue: Hey, where are you? Then I add a smiley face, just to soften any impression of stalker-girlfriend tendencies. No response for 15 minutes. Fifteen agonizing minutes. And then, finally: Just needed to take care of some things before we leave. I have to talk to Bryson too. I owe him an explanation. I can't go without talking to him.
I stare at the phone, trying to dissect my uneasiness. Then he texts me again: Go ahead and get your stuff packed up. I'll be back soon. Love you. Now I feel better. Now I have a plan of action.
Max scratches at my door, and I let him in, kneeling down to run my fingers along his back the way he likes. “Oh Max, what are we going to do about you?” We hadn't thought about Max. He nuzzles me, staring back with his wise, brown eyes. “We'll take you to the ranch.” I cuddle his face and kiss the top of his head. “You'll love it there.”
I spend the day packing up my stuff, putting it back in the boxes I pulled it out of not so long ago. I cry, a little, over having to leave behind the furniture Blue bought for me. I clean out my portion of the fridge. Just for something to do, I scrub the bathtub and sweep the floors.
I pass Kendra a couple of times, and we make indifferent small talk. She seems distracted. I debate whether to tell her we’re leaving. We have to tell her something. Maybe it would be better, though, to just leave a note, along with an extra month's rent for both of us, so she has time to find new roommates. I decide to wait for Blue, see what he thinks we should do.
I don’t see Hunter; he’s probably with Megz. I don’t intend to ever say anything to Hunter again.
Blue is taking a long time to do whatever he’s doing. It’s all I can do to restrain myself from picking up the phone. Just leave him alone. Don't panic.
But by late afternoon, I’m in full panic mode. I call Blue’s phone twice; I text him five times. No answer. I pace the house like a caged animal. I go into Blue's room twice, the first time just to inhale his scent, just to calm down. Then I go back in there, thinking I'll pack up his possessions, make it easier for him.
I get some more boxes out of the garage and place them on Blue's bed, looking around, trying to figure out what to put in them. I don’t see his guitar. He must have it with him. I pull some clothes out of drawers and place them in the boxes. My hands tremble.
I sit on the bed, pile my hair on top of my head and take several deep breaths, willing myself to relax. It doesn’t help. Walking to his desk, I scan the papers on it, wondering if I should just dump them all into a box. I pick up some pictures stacked in a corner: old photos of Blue in his Scout uniform, with a much younger Maria; Blue on a horse, grinning wide and showing a mouth full of braces; a surly-looking teenage Blue slumped on a bed, with long black hair falling into his face; and one of Blue in fatigues, his hair shorn, standing next to a hard-looking man in front of the house in Tulsa. That must have been his father, Bill. Both of them stare stonily at the camera, both unsmiling.
I clutch the pictures against my chest and sit back down on the bed, shaking all over. I should be happy. I am happy. But it’s uncomfortable, fragile-feeling happiness that always turns out to have been hovering on the edge of something different. Something unhappy. I’d give anything not to be feeling what I’m feeling.
I put the photos back on the desk and race out of Blue's room, taking the stairs two at a time, grabbing my phone off my dresser. I’m not waiting any longer to call him. But the phone goes right to voice mail. “Hey, just trying to see how much longer you're going to be.” I try to make the message sound casual, but it’s obvious from my voice that I’m scared. “Call me, Blue. Where are you? Okay, call me.”
The sun’s way over in the western sky, looking cold and remote, when I shuffle out to the front porch in my slippers, a blanket over my shoulders. I’ve paced the entire house and can’t stand being inside any longer.
Kendra is on the porch swing, moving slowly back and forth.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Awkward silence, broken only by the creak of the swing's chains. Kendra stares at her feet. She’s barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. She's got to be cold. She sighs and, as if she read my mind, crosses her arms and shivers.
“So, we haven't really talked at all about this thing with your brother.”
And right now, I so don't want to.
“I know it's ridiculously fast,”
she goes on. “I know it must seem like I'm robbing the cradle, and that it's just about sex.” Dear God, stop talking. “And I'd be lying if I said it wasn't mostly about the sex at this point. I mean, Buick is unbelievably hot and. . .”
I put my hand out as if I can grab the words coming out of her mouth and stuff them back in. “Kendra, you have no idea how much I don't want to talk about this now. Or at all. Buick’s my little brother. And besides that. . .”
And then Blue's car rounds the curve and drives slowly toward us. The rush of relief that surges through me leaves me barely able to stand; I have to grab one of the wooden posts on the porch for support. Blue is back. I feel like I can breathe again.
The setting sun hits the windshield and makes it impossible to see Blue's face inside the car. I can’t help grinning. I’m sure he’s grinning too. He's been playing games with me, making me wait so long, not answering his phone. “I'm going to kill him,” I mutter. But I don’t mean it.
Blue’s car turns into the Embassy's driveway, and the sun's glare slips off the windshield, leaving the interior suddenly, brutally, visible. And the air around me seems to wobble and spin. I sink down to the porch step.
“Keegan, you okay?”
But I don’t answer Kendra. I only stare at the man getting out of Blue's car. The man who is not Blue.
Frasier Bryson stands in front of the car, looking from me to Kendra, his face troubled. He holds two envelopes in one hand and the Coupe keys looped around a finger on the other.
“Why are you driving Blue's car? Where is he?” I don’t care that I sound rude. Bryson stares at his cowboy boots for a moment, the lines on his forehead deepening. My breathing gets shallow; I can’t seem to get enough air. I must have made some kind of sound because Bryson looks up quickly.
“Are you all right?” He takes a step toward me.
“Just tell me where Blue is!”
Bryson places one of the envelopes in my hand, then walks up the porch steps and over to Kendra, giving her the other envelope and the car keys. I sit there unable to move, unable to think; my mouth’s open, but I can’t seem to make it speak.
