Just Visiting

by Dahlia Adler

  They both gasp, and I can hear the lecture my mother wants to give me bursting out in splutters, but there’s no way in hell I’m listening to it today. Instead, I hold up my palm until Sheila reluctantly retrieves a five from her bra and slaps it in. Then I rap my knuckles on the trailer, which is even crappier than ours, and yell, “Let’s hit the road, Jimbo!”

  “Coming!” he calls back, and he sounds so close to joyful that it almost breaks my heart, knowing the happiest moments of his six-year-old life are the ones in which a near-stranger takes him out of this godforsaken town for twenty-four hours.

  Knowing he’ll spend the next twelve years the same way I did: letting this place consume him in a slow, torturous burn, gasping for air, until the opportunity to leave and never look back is so close he can taste burned rubber on his tongue.

  VICTORIA

  I spend most of Saturday filling my mom in on the past twenty-four hours, watching football with my dad, and working on this shirt I’ve been trying to sew for weeks, but which is taking me forever because I’m terrible at sleeves. (Which is what happens when the only “sewing classes” you’ve taken come from your grandmother…who lives in Mexico and visits once a year.) I know I should be working on my history paper, but after my first college visit was a total bust, I’m having a hard time finding the motivation.

  It’s only been a few hours since I got back from Southeastern, but I’m already going kinda stir-crazy. Charytan’s as boring on Saturday nights as it is every other night. I mean, maybe it’s fun if you have a boyfriend or whatever, but considering every guy in this town is either scared of my skin color or thinks I’m hot because I’m “exotic,” I’d rather spend every weekend playing Scrabble with my mother or giving myself and Reagan manicures.

  If Javier had come with us to Charytan instead of doing a year at ASU and running off to Fiji, he would’ve laughed his butt off at this town. As Reagan pointed out to me almost immediately when we met, Charytan is a town without choices. There’s one of everything—one school, one restaurant, one movie theater that plays exactly one movie…The only thing there’s more than one of is bars, but in a town where everyone knows everyone, good luck using a fake ID at either of them.

  I have no interest in the shoot-’em-up playing at the theater—not like I’d go to a movie myself anyway, and good luck getting Reagan to spend ten bucks on that. As I pull on jeans and a sweater—because I know I have to get out of this house, whether I have a destination or not—I think about the party last night. Okay, so in some ways it was a bust, but in other ways, it was so much fun and exactly why these college visits are completely necessary.

  I wonder if there are any parties happening tonight. Not that I’d be invited if there were one. Being a social leper gets really boring sometimes. Ordinarily, I’d just stay home, but I’m all keyed up to get out of the house, and there’s only one place I’m always welcome. Which means I’m headed out for a night of watching Reagan work while I pick at a tuna melt and fries at Joe’s.

  I pack up a bag with my history notes and my laptop, just in case I’m inspired to actually get things done, and start mentally planning my next trip with Reagan out of this place.

  My parents are adorably curled up on the couch downstairs, watching a movie. They seem so content, always, just being with each other; I wonder if I could be happy here if I had the same sort of thing. Too bad I’ll never know.

  “Can I borrow the car?” I sign once I’ve caught their attention for long enough for them to pause.

  “Where are you going?” my dad asks, disentangling his arms from around my mother for long enough for him to sign back as he speaks.

  “Joe’s. Where else?”

  My parents exchange a glance. I know they’re embarrassed for my lack of social life, and hate that they don’t know how to make things better. But it certainly wasn’t any better in Arizona, as they know, and at least they adore Reagan.

  “Keys on hook,” my mom signs after a minute. I walk over to kiss them both goodbye, grab the keys, and head out.

  I can tell from the second I enter the parking lot that Joe’s is pretty empty for a Saturday night, meaning there definitely is a party happening somewhere, which I know nothing about, of course. I pull up to a spot opposite the huge plate glass window and am about to get out of the car when I realize I’ve got a clear shot of Reagan standing behind the counter, arguing with a small group of guys. Well, they’re arguing; she’s doing her best to ignore them. I can see her jaw clenching from here as she busies herself doing anything she can to avoid them.

  Most, if not all, of these guys are the ones I pretended not to see in the parking lot on Friday morning. I don’t really know them; they go to my school, but they’re not in any of my classes. Younger guys, maybe. In the past, when they’ve pulled this stuff, I’ve always been at her side, pretending not to notice and letting her distract herself by talking so she doesn’t have to acknowledge them. But now…now one of the guys is stepping forward—Sean something—and he looks so ready for battle that for the first time, I actually fear for her.

  I get out of the car and head toward the diner, my eyes fixed on Sean. But just as I’m about to let myself inside, I freeze as I realize there’s another reason he looks so familiar: he’s a dead ringer for the guy in the “I love you” picture. Except I found that picture months ago, and it was a little yellowed even then. This kid is definitely too young. A brother, maybe.

  Either way, it doesn’t look like anyone else is around to save her from these guys, so I push inside and march straight through the obnoxious little group up to the counter. “Hey, Rae!” I say sunnily, hoping the guys will get the hint and GTFO. Confrontations aren’t my strong suit, as the scar on my forehead—and the girl who gave it to me—will attest. “Got a bacon tuna melt and fries back there for me?”

  I expect to see some gratitude on her face, or relief, or anything other than the flash of horror I get. “What are you doing here?”

  Um…what? “Getting a bacon tuna melt,” I repeat a little more slowly. I look around at the group of guys, who are all standing around and snickering. “Oh, sorry,” I say sweetly to the boys. “Are you guys waiting? I didn’t mean to cut the line.”

  “We’re just having a chat with your girlfriend,” the slimiest-looking one says, his stupid smile so wide it makes his acne bunch up in clusters on his cheeks.

  “Haha!” I bark-laugh obnoxiously loudly, as I’ve seen Rae do in response to this tired line a zillion times. “Lesbian jokes! Those are funny! You and your friends are so clever!”

  I wait for Reagan to jump in—ripping tormentors a new one is her specialty, not mine—but she’s weirdly silent on the opposite side of the counter, scratching at something that’s crusted on the Formica. Guess I’m on my own. I look pointedly at the acne-scarred kid’s round belly and say, “Pretty sure you don’t need any more fries, so maybe you should head outside and get some exercise or something.”

  Sean snorts but is otherwise silent, and I know, I just know, that this has something to do with him and the picture and Reagan’s stupid, stupid secret. Suddenly, I regret that I ever walked inside Joe’s tonight.

  “I think we’ll just stick around and watch you two make out,” says Derek Laughlin, who I recognize from the basketball team and who’d be kinda cute if he weren’t obviously a jerk.

  “Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” Reagan mutters, quietly enough that I can tell she’s still uncomfortable but loud enough for the guys to hear it.

  “Wanna help me out?” Derek returns smoothly. “You must be really good if—”

  “Just get the fuck out!” Reagan snaps, loudly now, her huge brown eyes flashing fire. She usually reminds me of an anime character come to life with those eyes, but right now, the intensity in them combined with the thin white line through her brow and lash makes her look more like a tiny blond Cruella de Vil.

  Next to me, Acne Boy breathes a “holy shit” and steps back. Derek utters
a “Dude, she’s fucking crazy” to Sean, whose entire face has hardened.

  “You are fucking crazy,” Sean spits at her. “Wish my brother would’ve realized that before you sent him off to die.” He narrows his eyes. “You hear from him lately?” At her silence, his lips twist into a triumphant but bitter smile. “Didn’t think so.” And with that, he and his stupid friends turn and walk out, leaving me gaping at Reagan, who watches them go with her jaw set so tight I’m half afraid it’s going to crack.

  Finally, she turns to me, the fire in her eyes dimmed considerably, and mutters, “Still want that bacon tuna melt and fries?”

  I’m speechless at that point, so I just nod and take a seat at the breakfast bar, watching as Reagan calls the order back to Hector. Then she busies herself with wiping down counters that are already clean while pretending not to notice that I’m glaring at her.

  Finally, she exhales and her shoulders slump. “He’s nobody. I used to date his brother. It was nothing.”

  “Sounds like nothing.”

  “It was a bad breakup. And I didn’t…” She sighs and ties her hair up into a tiny ponytail. “I mean, obviously.”

  “So where is he now?” I ask carefully, because though she seems to have no desire to talk about this, there’s no way I’m letting that part go; there’s only so much privacy a best friend can give a best friend. “Sean’s brother, I mean.”

  She shrugs, which makes her look extra young, but it’s more than that. She looks…lost, somehow. “Afghanistan, I think. I mean, I know. We just…we don’t talk anymore. But he did join the army. After. And he’s not dead; Sean’s just a dick.”

  She goes back to busying herself, this time with filling salt shakers, but her shoulders are still up under her ears, like she’s on high alert for more questions she doesn’t want to answer. I decide to leave them for now. I’ve wondered for years why Reagan is just as friendless as I am, but I always made my own assumptions.

  “So Sean’s his little brother?”

  “One of them.” She scowls at a smudge on the counter. “There are five Fitzpatrick boys, and one girl. None of them like me very much. Shocking, I know.”

  “How come I don’t know them?”

  “Three of them are still pretty young, not even in high school yet.” She licks the pad of her thumb and starts vigorously rubbing the spot. “Quinn’s in eighth grade now. We used to be like sisters, and now she won’t even look at me. Danny graduated two years ago, right after Fitz. He used to give me plenty of shit, but not as much as Sean.”

  Fitz. Finally, the boy in the picture has a name.

  “Seems like you’re better off without them,” I offer, because I’ve got nothing else. My brain’s too busy processing all this new information. All those times Reagan’s made fun of me for having boys on the brain, and it turns out she used to have a very important one of her own. What else hasn’t she told me about him? About herself? For the past two years, I’ve let myself remain ignorant about this stuff, figuring if it was really important, she’d tell me.

  She exhales sharply but says nothing.

  I watch her clean for another minute, swallowing down a million questions. I don’t want to fight with Reagan right now, not when she’s all keyed up from those jerks, and I know from past experience when she’s in this bad a mood, an argument is all that’ll happen if I push. Finally I switch the topic to the history paper, and tell her I’m glad it’s quiet at Joe’s tonight, so maybe we can both get some work done.

  She tips her head curiously. “What’s wrong with your house?”

  I shrug. “Nothing. Just getting a little stir-crazy in Casa Reyes.”

  She laughs shortly, just a little bitter puff of air through her nostrils, enough to let me know whatever’s up at my house, something at hers is worse. My stomach tightens.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Your mom set fire to the toaster oven again?”

  She laughs again, a real one this time, which sounds a whole lot better. “Nah, that would involve her actually cooking. This time she just neglected to pay the electric bill, so we’ve got no power. Makes it a little challenging to get work done.”

  “Didn’t you just tell me you gave her last week’s tips to pay that bill?” I ask.

  “My fault for thinking she’d actually use them to pay the bill and not conveniently forget that’s why she had extra cash burning a hole in her pocket, just when cubic zirconium earrings that look so real popped up on the Home Shopping Network.”

  I just shake my head. I’ve met Reagan’s mom a handful of times, but as a general rule, both Reagan and I prefer I keep my distance. It’s obvious that every time I’m in that house, she’s watching me like a hawk, as if I’m about to steal her precious, non-existent silver. As far as I can tell, she’s a delusional gold-digger. On the bright side, she’s probably a great essay topic for college applications.

  “Oh, yeah, definitely your fault,” I say sourly.

  Reagan starts to answer but it’s swallowed up in the sound of the bell Hector’s ringing to let her know that my dinner’s ready. She grabs the plate and slides it in front of me.

  “Have you had anything to eat?” I ask, snatching one of the bottles of ketchup she’s been filling and squeezing a blob onto my plate.

  “Yeah, one of Brenda’s bricks. I think she was calling this one biscotti.”

  I dip a couple of fries into the ketchup, and then push the plate toward Rae while I stuff them into my mouth. All of a sudden, I’m starving. She takes only one and nips it delicately before pushing the plate back. “Guest room’s all yours if you want it,” I say, but I can already tell she won’t take me up on it tonight.

  “Thanks, but I think I need to intercept my dad tonight before he hands off any more cash. She’s out of control lately, and you know how he can’t refuse her anything.” Rae takes another fry, but it’s obviously just to keep her hands busy; she doesn’t even really eat it, just rips it into pieces that she pops into her mouth as an afterthought. “Anyway, I’m working a full shift here tomorrow, so I can get some stuff done when it’s slow or I’m on break. Freckles will be here too, and he’s cool about covering.”

  “Oh, yes, Freckles.” I swirl another fry around in ketchup. “Yet another boy you insist is not interested.”

  She raises her striped eyebrow. “Trust me, Freckles and I are just friends, and that is very mutual.”

  “Why?” Taking a huge mouthful of sandwich, I realize I forgot to order a drink, and Rae turns to fill a cup with whatever generic cola they’ve got on tap. I swallow what was definitely too big a bite before accepting the cup and washing it down. “He’s kinda cute.”

  “You really can’t go five minutes without discussing guys, can you?” she teases, nabbing another fry.

  I resist the urge to bring up the guy we went two years without discussing. “Hey, at least I didn’t mention Boy from Last Night Who Must Not Be Named.”

  “Until now.” She rolls her eyes and puts back the fry.

  “Oh, that doesn’t count.” I take a noisy sip of pop. “So, is Fitz the reason you won’t even give Dave a chance?”

  “Vic!”

  So much for resisting that urge. “What?” I say innocently, though even I’m surprised the words actually came out of my mouth; I thought I’d just been thinking them really intensely.

  “Don’t ‘what’ me. Stop pretending I had some chick flick moment with a stranger and eat your damn tuna melt.”

  I smile smugly but obediently take another bite. For a totally backwater diner in a gross town, Joe’s food’s not all that bad. Enough oil to fix all my split ends, probably, but not that bad.

  “What about you?” she asks, just as the bell over the door dings and a whole new crowd pours in.

  “What about me?” I ask, but my question simply hangs in the air for a while until it’s eventually swallowed up by the noise.

  CHAPTER SIX

  REAGAN

  Okay, so I may have lied to Vic; I have no int
ention of seeing my dad tonight. I know full well it’s like talking to a brick wall, the way my mom has him completely hypnotized. But I need to get home, electricity or not. After a run-in like that with Sean Fitzpatrick, I need to break into my secret stash.

  I know I’m weak, but nights like tonight, the need overpowers any sense of self-control or sanity I might’ve once possessed.

  The trailer is completely dark when I get home, and it’s quiet, which means my parents are out; if they were asleep, I’d be able to hear my dad snoring like a chainsaw. The power’s still out, so I take out the flashlight I borrowed from the utility closet at Joe’s and find my way to my room, to my closet, to my tippy-top shelf where I keep the box I am never supposed to touch. It takes some maneuvering with furniture and flashlight but eventually I grab it and yank it down, allowing myself to crumble to the linoleum with it clasped firmly in hand.

  I tuck the flashlight under my chin and paw through the envelopes, trying to tell their respective ages by their yellowing. However, in the artificial battery-powered light, I can’t tell a damn thing. I finally give up and open one, saying a little prayer as I remove its contents. Though I’ve saved each and every one, there are certainly a few I’d rather not see again. I look, and breathe a sigh of relief. Perfect.

  Dear Ragin’,

  It’s hot as balls here. Sorry, that’s kinda gross, but… it’s hot as balls. Everyone here reeks so bad and I keep thinking I’ll get used to the smell and the heat and I never do. At least I’m not sunburned all the time anymore. I can hear you flippin out at me to put on sunscreen but I don’t even need it now, my skin’s gettin so used to it. My ma probably wouldn’t even recognize her little Irish boy right now.

  How’s it over there? You still see my family around? I know Ma misses you, and so does Quinn. I hope my brothers aren’t being dicks to you. I know you’d never say anything but Quinn told me she heard Seany I gotta go and I don’t wanna waste space on my family. Just wanna let you know I’m thinkin of you. I know you’re probably still too pissed to write, but I hope one day you won’t be. I wait for letters from you every day, ya know. We even have e-mail here. So, yeah. Someday, I hope.