Love and Vandalism

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  He was watching us but turns his attention back to the portion of the lion’s chest he’s been working on and starts spraying again. It’s looking really good.

  Kat says, “Get your fine ass back to work, Rory. Time’s running out.”

  She doesn’t need to tell me twice.

  I call out, “You guys are all my favorite. Seriously!” I fly up the rungs to finish work on the lion’s face, hoping it comes out well enough to express even half of the feelings churning inside of me right now.

  We are working double-time and things are finally coming together with calls of, “Finished the back!” and “Done with the haunches!” coming at a more rapid pace.

  The tiny hope that my dad didn’t get a lock on my location is just starting to grow into a midsize hope when I hear the faint, far-away crunch of tires driving on gravel.

  Hope dissolves in acid.

  I lean over the railing, looking far below, and in the glint of moonlight, it’s clear that the car is a squad car.

  The roof lights aren’t flashing, which would be a good sign except that the headlights are also turned off completely. Which must be bad.

  Is my dad planning to pull off some sort of sneak arrest?

  The sound of the car door slamming shut floats up to us, and I call, “Look alive, people.”

  Ken has moved the garbage bags filled with empties, so they cover the opening where the ladder joins the catwalk, and he’s piled all the bags and remaining supplies on top. It’s not the best blockade, but it should delay my Dad enough to buy us a moment or two.

  And right now, every single moment counts.

  This lion needs to look fierce, but he still has a touch of amusement in the eyes that I can’t seem to get rid of. I’ve never had this much trouble with a lion’s expression before.

  As sections have been finishing up one by one, Kat and Hayes have been moving closer and closer to the face that I’m frantically trying to get right.

  The two of them are directly below me, working on the mane, and I feel a hand brush the inside of my knee. I look down to see Hayes is focused on the stream of paint emanating from his can as he holds on to the ladder rung between my legs.

  I swallow against the tightness in my throat just as my dad’s voice comes floating up from below. “Isn’t it a little past your bedtime, kiddies?” He’s wearing his zero-tolerance voice.

  With a panicked growl, I reach out with my can and quickly outline the lion’s eyelids with pink. There’s that inner angst that’s been missing.

  Hayes is still just below me on the ladder, leaning so far across he’s practically horizontal. I see he’s using dark gray and ask him for the can, telling him he can switch to using my pink for that section of the mane.

  We’re very nearly finished.

  The sound of metal cans shifting against each other rings out over the valley as Dad starts making his way through the makeshift blockade.

  Kat announces her section is “Done!” and she moves back down the metal catwalk to where Ken and Scott stand watching Hayes and I work together.

  We are seamless, passing our cans back and forth, moving as one. My heart is beating fast as I hear my dad grunt with the effort of shoving our big garbage bags of empties out of his way.

  “Almost there,” I say, giving Hayes my hand so he can pull himself up to the rung just beneath me.

  I wrap an arm around him and stretch myself as long as I can, adding just a touch of white underneath the lion’s eyes one at a time. The can slips from my fingers and I lunge for it without thinking, losing my center of balance for a split second.

  Without hesitation, Hayes grabs me and pulls me back so I’m standing upright beside him on the ladder. I suck in a breath as he wraps both arms around my waist and shakes his head disapprovingly. But he doesn’t release his hold.

  Everything else disappears. My dad and my friends and even our lion. There is only Hayes. I stand there, still one rung above him, so I’m taller, gazing down at his face.

  His look of concern over my near fall melts as the two of us look at each other. A mass of zings ricochet between us, and I imagine him rising up on his toes to kiss me.

  Judging by the look in his eyes, I’m pretty sure he’s imagining it too.

  He does stand up straighter, moving closer and biting his lower lip as if he doesn’t trust it not to kiss me. He whispers in my ear. “You did it, Rory.”

  I let my gaze shift over to our lion.

  And realize the thing looks fucking amazing.

  The hugest smile spreads across my face, and I have tears in my eyes as I say to Hayes, “No, we did it.”

  I lean over and yell down to the rest of the gang. “We did it!”

  They hoot and holler, and Ken and Scott give each other an awkward high five.

  Kat calls out, “Suck on that, you Sparkle Soda assholes!” And Ken moves to give her a dramatic dip and kiss that is eight hundred times smoother than his high-fiving.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” My dad’s voice booms over the celebration sounds. “But I believe you are all trespassing on private property right now.”

  I untangle myself from Hayes’s embrace and call down, “They did it all for me, Dad. I’m the only one who should be in trouble here.”

  Dad is looking up at the lion with his hands on his hips. After complete silence for a full three minutes, he finally gives a long, low whistle.

  I’ve always thought that my dad’s angry voice is the scariest sound ever. His yell could send a chill up the most hardened criminal’s spine. But for the first time, I realize that Dad’s angry voice is nothing compared to his whistle.

  Because the sound of that long, low whistle is terrifying.

  Chapter Twenty

  I tap Hayes on the shoulder and gesture for him to go down the ladder to the landing so I can pass him. It will mean he needs to move closer to my dad. Hayes widens his eyes and shakes his head—the universal signal for no friggin’ way. But with a quick nostril flare, he smooths a hand through his hair and heads down ahead of me.

  When he reaches the catwalk, my dad turns, so the two of them are looking eye to eye. Dad gives him an up-and-down look that would have most guys wetting their pants, but Hayes doesn’t flinch.

  “Sorry, sir,” he says. “But it had to be done.”

  Dad looks back up at the lion as I reach the bottom of the ladder. “It was all my idea. Honestly, Daddy. Please don’t arrest anyone else.”

  He turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so now I’m Daddy?”

  I hear Scott give a soft, “Oh shit,” under his breath, and my dad must hear him too, because he looks over his way.

  “Little Scotty Tomlinson? Is that you?”

  Scott tries to hide his face too late. “Hey, Sergeant Capers,” he says in defeat.

  Dad looks at Kat next and says, “From Danny’s, right?”

  Ken stands up straight and moves his body so it’s covering most of Kat’s. “I’m the manager there, sir. And I assure you, Kat and Rory are outstanding employees.”

  My dad gives a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure they are. Just outstanding.”

  Ken starts shifting his weight from side to side until Kat reaches over to put an arm around him and stops his rocking.

  Dad turns his attention back to me, inspecting the can of spray paint in my hands. If it wasn’t empty, I’d consider using it on him like a can of mace and yelling for everyone to run. Except that Dad’s the one who taught me how to effectively mace an attacker, so it wouldn’t really seem all that fair.

  Plus, like I said, the can is empty.

  After what feels like three eternities, he calls out, “Have any of you chuckleheads been drinking tonight?”

  We all mumble assorted versions of no and no way and we’re not crazy.

  Dad leans into my personal
space and gives my breath an obvious sniff. Leaning back, he says, “So those garbage bags are filled with empty spray paint cans only?”

  Everyone nods enthusiastically, and I feel a wave of annoyance at the way my dad is toying with us. “You can’t arrest any of them. They were all just supporting me.” I point my thumb at Hayes. “And Hayes shouldn’t be accused of violating his probation just because he was doing me a favor.”

  Hayes moves closer and hisses in my ear, “I don’t think you’re exactly helping things here.”

  “Honestly, Dad. You know this is between you and me. Please let my friends go.”

  Dad looks around, considering each person in turn.

  Finally, he calls out, “Okay. This is what is going to happen. I’m ordering each of you sixty hours of community service. It can be whatever you like, working with stray dogs or picking up garbage. Hell, I don’t care if you’re all helping at the blood drive. You will get your hours documented, and you will report them directly to me. I see no reason to involve the courts, unless any one of you should choose to not comply.”

  The collective exhale is audible.

  We give one another smiles and nods. None of us will let the others down.

  Dad goes on in his commanding voice. “Now I need you all to climb yourselves very carefully back down this ladder and clear off this property. Bring the cans with you.”

  I can’t believe he’s really letting us off.

  We all start to move slowly toward the exit, afraid to make a sound and blow our good fortune. As I pass my dad on the catwalk, he gives an eerie chuckle.

  “Rory?” he says in a voice so low I feel a tiny bit of pee come out. “You’re staying.”

  Everyone looks to me with traumatized expressions.

  My voice cracks a little when I tell them, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” They all stay frozen until I add, “You guys had better go, or it will just make things worse.”

  This gets the gang moving toward the ladder with a chorus of sorrys and halfhearted good luck, Rorys.

  Hayes widens his eyes at me, giving my arm a squeeze as he goes past.

  “Nice knowing you,” I tell him under my breath.

  Scott gives me a salute from across the catwalk and grabs one of the garbage bags on his way down. Kat rubs Ken’s back as he straps one of the empty backpacks on his chest and haltingly disappears below the catwalk. Kat throws an empty backpack over each shoulder and follows him down the rungs.

  Hayes looks like he wants to say something as he swings the final two garbage bags clanking with empties over one shoulder. He stands with the sacks, sliding his gaze back and forth between my dad and me. Finally, he gives a firm nod before disappearing.

  I turn and lean over the railing, watching my crew make their way back down the ladder. Scott has nearly disappeared into the darkness, and Hayes has already caught up to Ken and Kat, who are moving slowly downward.

  We should not be acting this defeated.

  “Hey, guys!” I call down, and all four faces turn up toward me. I punch a fist in the air. “We fucking did it!”

  “Yes!” Kat calls out. “We kicked ass!”

  Hayes gives an earsplitting whistle, and Ken and Scott whoop and woot in response.

  “You about finished?” Dad’s voice is like cold water thrown over my head, but it can’t stop me from grinning over our victory.

  “Yeah, I’m done. What now? Boarding school? Lifetime grounding? Women’s prison?”

  He moves to stand beside me and rests his elbows on the railing, looking off into the still-dark sky.

  My dad stands there a long time. Long enough that I can hear the garbage bags clatter loudly into the back of Kat’s pickup truck. After an extended pause, I hear the truck doors slam and the engine start up, and I listen to it slowly pull away.

  I imagine Kat will give Scott and Hayes a ride home before finding some way to reward Ken for the tremendous bravery he showed tonight. Nerd love at its finest.

  It’s so quiet, I can hear the crickets chirping far below.

  Finally, Dad says, “You know I’m angry with her too.” He doesn’t need to tell me he is talking about Mom.

  “We don’t have to do this, Dad. Honestly, this was my final project anyway.” I look over at him in the moonlight. “Were you surprised when you followed my phone here?”

  Dad shrugs. “I already knew you were the one painting the lions.”

  “What?” I think back to the time my phone beeped while I was working late at night. “You locked in that phone trace to my cabin?”

  He looks at me. “You have a cabin?”

  Shit. “Oh, I mean…” I cover my eyes with my hand. “Walked right into that one. Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

  Dad gives a chuckle. “I won’t reveal my sources.”

  “Wait. Did Scott tip you off?” I dig through my mind and hit on a devastating thought. “Was it Hayes?”

  He shakes his head. “It wasn’t one of your hoodlum boyfriends, Rory.”

  “Well, I’ve been super careful. Did you have one of your officers tailing me or something? GPS tracker on my car?”

  “Relax, sweetheart. I found one of your designs crumpled up in the trash. It was just a sketch, but the look of your lions is so distinct, I knew it immediately.”

  I knock on the side of my head with my fist. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Once I realized, I went out this past week and I visited a few of the lions around town.” He stands up straight and puts his hands on his hips. “Studying your work, I think I figured something out.”

  I pray that what he figured out isn’t that I deserve to face felony charges.

  He turns and looks at me a moment before going on. “I was afraid that you being an artist meant you’d be traveling down the same crazy track your mom laid. Like it was all just waiting for you. You’d never be satisfied with life.”

  I drop my head and consider the delicate catwalk running between our feet. I know what he means. But it’s almost as if the nozzle of my spray can was spraying some of my own darkness along with the black paint tonight. Now there’s less of it inside me.

  “Before we painted this tower, I was afraid of the same thing,” I confess.

  “But looking at your lions, I could see it. I just knew.” Dad guides me gently by my shoulders until we’re both turned around and facing the water tower. The lion’s fresh paint still glistens in places. Dad hugs one arm around me, and I allow my eyes to climb up the painting.

  I meet the lion’s fierce gaze, and it frightens me.

  “Just look at that strength, Rory.” Dad turns me so that I’m facing him now. “Your drive and determination. That fight in you? I realize now that has nothing to do with your mother. That’s what you get from me.”

  He and I look at each other, and I feel the connection of our flimsy string bridge running between us.

  “You are so much stronger than your mother could ever hope to be,” he tells me. “All I had to do was compare your work to see it. Her art was so much more delicate and detailed.”

  I consider the contrast between her fine blown-glass sculptures and my rough and wild lions and laugh. “Well, she was a bit more of a perfectionist.”

  His expression stays serious. “But you also used your art to bring others around you.” He gestures to the ladder where my friends descended. “Rory, you proved art doesn’t need to cause isolation.”

  It feels good to finally have everything out in the open. “I know that me being an artist scares you,” I say. “It was the one thing that bound me and Mom together.” I feel the tears starting in my chest. “I miss her so much.”

  “I miss her too.” Dad’s glistening eyes search the sky. “And I’ll be in love with her for the rest of my life.”

  Swinging around so I’m leaning over the thin raili
ng, I look toward the moonlit valley.

  I imagine each lion I’ve painted turning its head upward, looking back at me. Waiting.

  Holding my breath, I envision them opening their mouths and beginning to roar all at once. In my mind, they are so loud the whole town of New Paltz starts to quake.

  The air is filled with the sound of all my anger and confusion and pain. And rage.

  Finally, I let it explode out of me with the loudest “RAAARRR!” I can manage. The next thing I know, I am screaming and yelling and roaring into the night.

  A treeful of birds alights from below, looking for a quieter neighborhood.

  My snarling voice echoes over the valley, rolling back toward me, hitting my face, and flowing straight through my chest. I roar and scream again and again, until all the lions are overcome by my passion.

  They roll over and submit, showing their soft bellies and whimpering at my torment. I am the only lion now. Even the towering one behind me bends down to nuzzle my cheek.

  Comforting me.

  My voice breaks, and the tears start. I bend forward, clinging to the bar.

  Dad has stiffened beside me, and I’m sure I’ll be getting a psych evaluation in the very near future. Or maybe I’m going straight to a padded room in jail.

  Either way, I’m definitely heading someplace with a lock on the door.

  Dad wants to leave now. I can sense it. But I can’t move.

  Clearing his throat, he throws his head back and lets loose with an earsplitting, all-out, “RAAAHGH!”

  I’m so startled I stop crying. Swiping at the tears on my cheeks, I take a shaky breath and call out again. “Aaaaagh!” It’s practically a scream ringing over the valley and harmonizing with Dad’s deep, thundering howls.

  He and I go back and forth like that for a time, taking turns roaring, releasing so much pain and anger into the cool night air, it’s amazing we don’t set the pine trees on fire.

  Our roars grow more and more hoarse until I’m wrapped in giant, soft paws, held still. I am spent and realize Dad and I are hugging each other while crying. The roaring has silenced into sobs. From both of us.