by Lindy Zart
Jessie looks around, turning in a slow circle, and moans, “Real pretty, Cat. We’re at a park dedicated to some guy who never even really existed. Please tell me this trip gets better, because so far, it sucks.”
I turn to my friend, words refusing to come forth. It’s a good thing, I tell myself.
At my frown, he demands, “What?”
“Jessie, sometimes I worry about you. He was more famously known by his nickname than his real one, yes, but Johnny Appleseed did exist,” Hannah says.
He puts his hands on his hips and stares Hannah down. “What was his name then?”
“John Chapman,” I answer. “Originally from Pennsylvania, he made a name for himself with his nurseries, was known to be eccentric, and devout in his religious faith. There is speculation on his actual date of death, and if he really is buried here, or at a different location. It was said he believed if he remained chaste during his life, he would be doubly blessed in death. He didn’t believe in harming any living thing, not even bugs.”
“Whatever,” Jessie grumbles disbelievingly. “Let’s see this fake tombstone and split.”
“Don’t you think it’s peaceful here?” Catherine asks, catching up to Jessie as he saunters in the direction of the monument.
“No.” Jessie kicks at a rock and sends it down the road. “I think drinking beer and making out is peaceful. Bowling. Sleeping. Watching television. Sex is especially peaceful. Lifting weights. But walking around a dumb park? Not peaceful.”
“I hope she ditches his ass before this trip is over,” Hannah says beside me.
I nod as we trek behind them. “Agreed.”
Hannah turns to me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’ll race you to the gravesite.”
“That’s not morbid at all.”
She grins, her face lit up as if the sun shines from within. “Too afraid you’ll lose?”
“I already know I’ll lose.”
With a shrug, Hannah skips ahead. “Scaredy cat!”
I look at Dickie as we walk. His light brown hair is uncontrollable, the strands having no order other than chaos. “Who taught you how to hit like that?”
“My uncle.” His skin goes pink. “He owns a boxing gym in Wisconsin. When he comes to visit on holidays, he sometimes teaches me stuff, whether I want him to or not.”
“Huh,” I grunt, a smile playing with my lips. “I bet right now you’re glad he taught you some stuff.”
“I don’t agree with fighting, but sometimes, a person needs to get punched to see things clearer.”
I eye him. “Yeah.”
Dickie walks with methodical steps, a thoughtful look on his face. “How are you going to handle Hannah being gone?”
“How am I going to handle you being gone?” I strive for a light tone, but I’m unsuccessful. The smile I paste on my face isn’t much better.
He shrugs his shoulders and looks at the ground as he walks. “It’s different for you and Hannah.”
I focus on her form up ahead. She stands by Catherine, shorter and darker. Catherine turns and says something to her, and when Hannah smiles, I feel it like a kick in the core of me.
“It’s not,” I deny weakly.
“It should be.” Dickie sighs and quickens his pace, leaving my side. “Don’t let her go without knowing.”
My feet stop moving. “Without knowing what?”
Ignoring my question, Dickie meets up with the others. I don’t attempt to catch up, looking at my friends as they are—flawed, loved. Mine. I rub at my chest, trying to ease the constriction that’s taken up residence there the past few days. I knew my world was about to change. I guess I didn’t realize how much I wasn’t ready for it. I scratch at a bug bite on my cheek as I walk.
The memorial stone for Johnny Appleseed is time and weather worn. Angular and uneven. Simple, as history portrays the man to have been. Fenced in, the area surrounding it is gifted with apples and flowers. The marker has an image of an apple etched onto its surfaced, along with the man’s name, nickname, a picture of a bible, and the words ‘He lived for others’. Gripping the curved iron, I take in the scene, chills sweeping over my skin as I touch a piece of the past.
Jessie, Catherine, and Dickie move on, finding a shady spot to sit under a nearby tree.
Hannah stays, her elbows resting on the fence as her eyes fixate on the stone marking a notable man’s death, and life. “I’m not doing it to run away from my home life, Sam. I do want to travel, and see places I wouldn’t otherwise. Being a stewardess will allow me to do that.”
“But the thought of not seeing your mom is an incentive. Don’t pretend it isn’t.”
Hannah pushes hair behind her ear and it immediately springs back. “You’re right. It does make it more appealing. Not having her breathing down my neck, pointing out everything I do wrong, definitely helps.” She glances at me before returning her gaze back to the ground. “But I need to go for other reasons.”
Frustrated, I demand, “What does that mean?”
“I love you, Sam,” she says unevenly.
Her words affect me like they haven’t before, and I take a breath against the pressure in my chest. I heard a different set of words from the ones she spoke, and it was in the way she said them, but I don’t know why. Convincing myself I imagined it, I smile thickly at my friend.
“I know that. I love you too. You know I do. Until we’re old and smelly and no one wants to be around us except us. Until we don’t know who each other is, or even who we are ourselves.” I gently bump my forehead to hers, causing myself to wince when my sunburned skin protests.
Hannah’s smile is genuine, and touched with poignancy. “Come on, let’s get some food in that bottomless pit of a stomach.”
Four days into the trip we make it to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Excitement for where we are battles anxiety over our mode of transportation. The car has been making strange sounds for the last five hours. Jessie isn’t concerned, and that means someone probably should be. I’m not all that mechanically inclined, but I know basic stuff. I know the car does not seem to be in top form, and the thought of being stranded halfway across the country isn’t a pleasant one.
“We should find someone to look at the car while we’re here. I mean it, Jessie. I don’t think it’s going to hold up much longer.” I glance in the rearview mirror. Dickie is between Catherine and Hannah in the back, all of them asleep. Hannah’s head rests on Dickie’s shoulder and his head rests on hers.
“And rack up more bills I can’t pay? No, thank you. It cost enough to get the headlight fixed.”
“Dickie paid for it,” I point out.
“That’s because Dickie has more money than all of us—well, except for maybe Catherine. The only reason he paid for it is because he has a thing for her.”
Gettysburg, for all its history, isn’t that big. Shops, houses, and noteworthy sites are meshed together, hard to distinguish from one another as I drive. Under the cloak of night, the buildings look ghostly, and the emptiness amplifies that. This area reeks of the dead, living yet among the people walking the streets and running the businesses. Never really in harmony with their loss showcased as it is.
I smirk. “I think any guy would have a thing for her, Jessie, at least at first. Don’t take it personally.”
“What about you and Hannah?”
Hiding a frown, I make a left and follow the road to the downtown area and beyond. “What about us?”
Jessie taps his fingertips on his thigh. “Nothing. Never mind.” He stops and looks at me. “Do you think I’m an asshole?”
It’s late, it’s dark, and I’m exhausted, the heavy pull of slumber surrounding my ears and eyes. I had to have heard him wrong. I shake my head and blink. “What?”
He points. “There’s a motel.”
The car sputters when I put it in park, and shuts off before I am sure I had the key all the way turned. Jessie looks over his shoulder at our sleeping friends and motions to the door with his head. Since
I opened my bedroom door however many days ago, it’s felt like I stepped into some kind of alternate reality that I don’t entirely understand. Everyone’s different, acting strangely, and I wonder if it’s the proximity of our new lives.
Exiting the car, I stop beside him and wait. It’s cooler out, the air prickling my skin as short bursts of wind push at me. A fog looms on the horizon, ominous and inescapable.
Jessie leans his backside on the passenger door and crosses his arms. His expression is dark, his jaw shifting as he turns his brown eyes on me. Jessie exhales and runs a hand over his face. “I want to know if you think I’m an asshole.”
I push hair from my bleary eyes, fatigue settling in my bones. “Well, yeah, but…you know you are.”
He laughs shortly and nods, straightening from the car. “Yeah. I know I am.”
Jessie absently touches the healing wound on his upper arm, his lips pressed into a thin line. He gingerly feels his nose, the bridge of it puffy from where Dickie’s fist connected with it.
Dropping his hand, he says, “I’ll see about getting us rooms.”
When Jessie’s form disappears through the door of the motel office, I watch the gray building for a moment, then I knock on the window near Hannah. She jumps, bumping her head on Dickie’s, and turns to glare at me. Her hair is a poof of spirals around her face and her eyes are heavy with sleep. She looks adorable. Smirking, I wave at her. Hannah scowls, and turning her back to me, she shakes Dickie awake.
Catherine climbs out from her side, swaying on her feet as she fights to keep open her eyes. The left side of her hair is mashed to her scalp. “What time is it?” she asks in a thick voice.
“It’s after midnight,” I answer.
Dickie leans on the car, Hannah leaning on him.
When Catherine stumbles around the car, looking like she is about to fall, I jog over and wrap my arm around her back to steady her. I feel her ribcage through the silky yellow top. She seems fragile, breakable without much effort. She isn’t strong. She isn’t Hannah. I direct my eyes to Catherine’s face, trying to find that allure that was there, but it’s gone. Maybe it never really was there.
“Easy there. Are you going to make it?”
She yawns, her hair rubbing my chin as she nods. “Yes. Just tired. I normally don’t stay up as late as I have been.”
“Are you usually in bed by eight?” I tease.
Catherine laughs, and it sounds like wind chimes. “Close. Nine, or ten, at the latest.”
Becoming aware of how quiet it is, I look up. Jessie stands near Dickie and Hannah, his eyes locked on us. A key is clutched within his fisted hand, his neck rigid with suppressed anger. Trees and houses stand behind the trio, cast in shadows and light from streetlamps. Mist creeps up from the dark, crawling along the ground and air like a smoky plague.
“They only had one room available,” Jessie tells us, chucking the key at me.
I release Catherine in time to catch the key against my chest. “What’s your problem?”
The space from him to me vanishes as he storms for me. “What’s my problem? My problem is that you have to have them all.” He jabs a finger at me, accusations and something else dark in his eyes. They glow with it. “That’s my problem.”
“Sam was just—” Catherine begins, cut off by the hard look Jessie aims at her.
“You need sleep,” I say evenly, although all of me is wound tight, aching for a fight. I’m sick of Jessie’s shit, sick of him thinking he can do and say whatever the hell he wants with disregard to how it affects those around him. I’m sick of whatever he’s hinting at with Hannah but won’t come out and directly say. “We all do. Everything will look different in the morning.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think it will.” Jessie pauses. “This is the second time you’ve tried to take what first was mine.”
“What?” I move back and he moves forward, my arms posed and ready for whatever comes. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re talking crazy.”
“I might be talking crazy, but what I’m saying is true.”
“Jessie, don’t. Just leave it alone,” Hannah says softly, her tone beseeching in a way that makes me go still. It lacks the usual bite.
My eyes shoot to hers, seeing a secret in them I’ve tried to pretend isn’t there. “What’s going on?”
An evil grin contorts Jessie’s mouth as our eyes meet, his empty in the blackness around us. It’s clear from his expression that he wants to hurt me, is hoping for it. “You didn’t know, did you? You had to have had some idea.”
“Whatever you’re going to tell me, it doesn’t matter,” I say faintly. It does matter. I have a feeling it will matter a lot.
“Oh?” He tilts his head. “It doesn’t matter that I’m the first guy, the only guy, Hannah’s slept with?”
My hands fist at my sides and I choke on air. “You and Hannah…”
“Yeah. Last winter. Didn’t you wonder why she suddenly couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore? Didn’t you wonder why she was busy whenever you suggested the four of us hang out? Didn’t you wonder why every time we were around one another, we fought?” He gets close, putting his face inches from mine. He’s shorter than me, but bulkier, and if we fight, I’ll probably lose. It isn’t enough to dissuade me.
I want to look away from him, but if I do, my eyes will find Hannah. I’m not ready to look at her right now. It’ll hurt.
“We got drunk one night at the bowling alley. She was sad you were on some date with a girl who wasn’t her. Elizabeth Jones. I was just drunk and horny. But afterward, I realized I wanted to be with her. Only Hannah didn’t want me. She wanted you, Sam. Still does.”
“I already knew,” I tell him, wanting to wipe the smug look off his face, needing to save Hannah this mortification. Whatever happened between them, Jessie should not be airing it in front of me, or anyone else. I will always try to protect her, no matter the cost to me. I didn’t know. Now I don’t know how I couldn’t.
The sound that leaves Hannah is pitiful, and I shift my jaw against the pain I feel for her. Not me. Her.
Jessie’s eyes fly to mine. “Shows how much you care. You knew about her feelings for you and you just played your little games anyway, didn’t you?”
“Jessie, shut up,” Hannah says sharply. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sounds a lot like you, doesn’t it?” The coolness of my voice is frigid, as is my frame. All of me is frozen. “You realized you wanted to be with her after you had sex? How convenient.” The words are harsh, a lash I feel on my own skin.
“At least I realized it!” Jessie’s nostrils flare and his face twists into something angry and ugly.
“That’s enough. No one needs or wants to hear this,” Hannah states, moving closer.
My throat is tight and I can’t talk, pulses of hot and cold shooting through my temples. Their words sink in, the scene flashes around me, and none of it seems real. Catherine and Dickie are gone. It’s me, and Jessie, and Hannah, standing in this hell.
“No. It’s not enough,” he bites out. “Everyone says I’m the asshole, everyone says I’m the dickhead, but who used who last winter, Hannah? You did. And who do you want, after everything? Not me.”
“It was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened.” Hannah’s words are quiet, but they sound so loud, echoing through my ears.
I stare at Jessie, the guy who seems to care more about himself than anyone else. I realize I was wrong. He cares about Hannah. He goes from woman to woman, is an ass to basically everyone, and here he is, confessing that he has a heart. One that is aching. And I just want to bash his face in with my fist for the images of him with Hannah floating through my head.
“It was a mistake?” He looks down. “Yeah. I guess I know that. You made it pretty clear.”
She’s not mine. I shift my gaze to Hannah. She’s never been mine. And I always thought she was anyway. As if she knows the exact instant when a piece
of my perception of us dies, Hannah’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. I thought I knew her. I never knew her.
I’m blind, and slow-witted, and it’s all too late. We can’t go back. But I don’t want to go back. That isn’t how one evolves. I need time, a moment to think without the cacophony of multiple voices around me.
I look down at the key in my hand, turn it around and around. “I’m going to bed.”
“Yeah.” Jessie steps back, nodding. “You should do that. Go be the coward you are. Maybe Hannah will see it now. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, she’ll be in my arms instead of yours. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even hear us at—”
Pain ricochets through my knuckles as they connect with Jessie’s chin. I grab the front of his shirt and yank him to me, glaring down at his dazed eyes. “Don’t ever talk about Hannah like that again. In fact, don’t talk about her at all. You don’t deserve to speak her name. And have some respect for Catherine.” I shove him back and stride for room number 123, not caring if I’m the only one who sleeps in it. They can take off and leave me in Pennsylvania for all I care.
Jaw clenched, my gaze drifts over Catherine and Dickie as I walk by. Dickie meets my eyes, sorrow, pride, and understanding shining in his. I don’t know how he’s able to show all he feels with a single look, but there it is.
Catherine’s skin is blanched, all the color stolen from it. My gaze slides away. It all makes sense now—why Jessie’s been acting more antagonistic than usual this past year, how Hannah is easier to rile. They slept together. My stomach clenches in protest. I’m not mad at her, I’m just mad. There’s no blame, but there is pain. I can’t lie and say there isn’t.
“Everyone thinks they can just punch me whenever they feel like it now?” The sound of something slamming into metal clangs through the vicinity. I imagine it was Jessie’s hand or shoe against the car. “Is that it? I’m the communal punching bag?”
As I’m unlocking the motel room door, I hear Jessie call, “As far as vacations go, I have to say, this is the absolute worst one I’ve ever had. Thanks for making it unforgettable, Sam!”
