*****
“She’s a crazy bitch.” Tim pushed up from his pillow. They were laying on his bed in the basement and Katelyn took the opportunity to ask him about Emily’s accusations.
“I know,” Katelyn said. “She just wants to feel important, like she’s some authority on everybody’s business. I’m done with her.”
“I don’t even know who Jacob Litner is,” he pleaded.
She snuggled into him. “Sorry, Tim. I shouldn’t have listened to her at all.”
He sank back into his pillow, stroked her hair, and stayed quiet for a few minutes. They lounged propped up by pillows on his bed. On the screen in front of them, a chainsaw cut through an imprisoned man’s leg in a movie they both had seen before. The actor’s yell overpowered the saw. Katelyn shut her eyes at the gross display of blood. Tim loved these movies.
“It’s none of their business,” Tim said.
It took a moment for Katelyn to realize he was still talking about Emily’s gossip. She pulled up from her position on his shoulder and looked at his face. He was clearly bothered, upset and sad.
She sat up and took his hand. “Tim, will you tell me what happened now?” She knew there was some charge, some reason he spent time in juvee, but he never wanted to talk about it. Katelyn never believed it could be that bad of a crime. He was a good person.
He looked at her without the slyness his eyes used to have when they first started going out. Katelyn knew his hesitation wasn’t about trust. They had made it through fights. They had comforted each other after disagreements with parents. They stood up for each other with their family and their friends. Katelyn and Tim were their own team now.
Katelyn could see that he wasn’t trying to keep a secret, but that he was embarrassed about a mistake.
“I messed up,” he started. “After the divorce, Mom moved in with this asshole she barely knew, so I had to switch schools in Des Moines. I didn’t know anyone. Christian was in one of my classes and let me hang out with him and his friends. They were a rough group, tough as shit and all thieves, mostly garage shit—bikes, tools, hunting stuff. You wouldn’t believe how much that stuff pawns for, especially hunting gear. Anyways, these guys were nothing compared to some of the other gangs at East High. You either belong to some group or don’t belong. And you don’t want to not belong ‘cause then you’re a target.
“So, I drove for them, mostly.” Tim seemed to be choosing his details now. Katelyn wished he’d tell her everything, but she didn’t want to interrupt and mess up the moment. His eyes concentrated on some invisible spot near his toes. “Then, my mom’s asshole boyfriend convinced her I had too much freedom, so they didn’t let me take the car out at night anymore. Shit, I showed them and started making my own money, my own scores. I had a car within a month. A sweet 1972 Mustang I was gonna fix up. But I got busted.” He shrugged. He looked up at her and blinked a few times. “It was stupid.”
He seemed finished, but Katelyn was loaded with questions. “How’d you get caught? What happened? Was there an alarm? Did the police track you through a pawn shop, or what?”
“Ha,” his comical tone crept back in, and he smiled knowingly. “I guess you could say there was an alarm. Some lady scared the shit out of me. I thought everyone was outta this house and this woman screams bloody murder coming back into her room from the bathroom.”
Katelyn was puzzled, “But, why were you in the house if you took things from garages?”
Tim wasn’t as quick with his answer, but the look on his face when he gave it seemed to hold a challenge for Katelyn. “No, Christian’s deal was garages. People keep better shit in their house, especially in their bedroom.” He looked at her, waiting to see her reaction. Katelyn could sense she was being tested.
“How many houses did you . . . rob?” The word was harsh coming out of her mouth. It was hard name the crime any softer. Tim wasn’t scared of anything, and he was always aware of everything around him. He was probably really good at robbing houses. An image of him slinking through a dark house came to her mind. She thought about him in her room that first night, sneaking through the window. Katelyn’s eyes widened and she gasped. “How many?”
Tim was done with his open confession. “Enough. But the saying’s true. It only takes once to get caught. I had better luck than some, but mine ran out, too.”
Katelyn had let go of his hand at some point within their conversation and became aware of it as his hand took hers again. “Look,” he said, “it was almost two years ago. No one got hurt. Those people had insurance and probably made out better in the end. I did my time and now I’m a good boy. Mom ditched that loser and we moved here when I got out. It’s safer in small towns, right?” He smiled.
She did the math and figured he did about four months in the boys’ institution. Tim leaned in to get her direct attention. Quietly, he said, “Hey, do you hate me now?”
Katelyn shook her head. She didn’t hate him. She couldn’t. The boy he just told her about didn’t match up with how she saw him now. “That’s not you anymore,” she said.
He looked at her with soft eyes. “No, it’s not. When Christian got out, he wanted me to hit some properties with him, but I’ve got other plans. I don’t need that game.” He pushed himself up and into her. He kissed her softly and then held her chin lightly as he studied her.
She believed him, but the intensity of the information and the need screaming from his eyes was too much. Katelyn buckled and turned into the bed, burying her head into a pillow. She felt him slide his hands up and down her body and then he nuzzled her neck as he pulled at her clothes. She kept her eyes shut, but turned and let him love her. Screams and scary music muffled any noises they might have made, but Katelyn herself had kept quiet.
At the end of the movie, he walked her part of the way home as usual. The dark night gave her some courage to ask a question that had been bothering her since their talk. “So, where does the drug charge come in?”
Tim had been holding her hand, but he let it go and now he stood with both hands deep in his pockets. “Well,” he paused, “that’s the thing. I had a few grams on me when they busted me. The cops just didn’t believe I found them in that lady’s house.” The line was humorous, but his tone was dead. She didn’t have to see his face clearly to see the look he was giving her, the one that told her to back off. He turned around and headed back toward his house without another word.
Pick-me-up Page 27
