The Milkman

by Tabatha Kiss

  My heart slams in my chest.

  It all comes back so quickly…

  We ride into the parking lot of Lucky’s bar at the far edge of town, just off the highway. The lot is mostly deserted, as it usually was on a weeknight. Will and I didn’t exactly spend a lot of time on the inside of the place before, what with the lack of legal drinking age, but we got to know the dark, abandoned corners of the parking lot very well.

  Will packs our helmets into the seat before we head inside. My ears fill with that soft twang of country music and I recoil from the stench of cigarette smoke but neither irks me as much as the dozen pairs of eyes burning holes through my skull right now.

  Every drinker and pool player, every bartender and waiter, Lucky herself included. They all come to a grinding halt as if my mere existence offended them. Hell, it probably does.

  “Uh-oh...”

  Seven

  Will

  Jovie turns her head down the instant we step inside and it takes a moment for me to realize why.

  I shift between their judging eyes and her downturn face. “Come on,” I tell Jovie.

  She digs her heels in but finally caves, letting me lead her toward the back corner. I feel her one step behind me as we navigate the sea of pool tables and fluorescent lights. We settle at a small table-for-two in the back, farthest away from them as possible. As we settle down, the others go back to doing what they’re doing but there’s still the occasional glance in our direction.

  “You remember that old movie with the killer birds?” Jovie asks as she takes a seat. “Where the people walk through the center of the herd of crows, hoping they don’t suddenly get attacked and have their eyes plucked out?”

  “A group of crows is called a murder,” I say.

  She chuckles, glancing around. “Well, that’s fitting.”

  “Just ignore them.”

  “I don’t even recognize half of these people,” she says. “How do they know me?”

  “From the wanted sign poster up in the post office, I’d imagine.”

  “Okay, I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

  “It’s a joke,” I say.

  “Thank God.”

  Lucky arrives at our table, her red hair pinned up in a hive on the top of her head. She locks on Jovie and she throws on a sly smile. “Jovie Ross...”

  “That’s me,” Jovie says.

  “I wondered when you’d come rolling back through town.”

  “Well…” She shifts uncomfortably. “Here I am.”

  “Here for good?”

  “Here for now.”

  “Yeah,” Lucky chuckles, “I’ve been saying that for thirty years.”

  Jovie ignores it and throws on her classic, bullshit-eating smile.

  Lucky eyes me instead. “What can I get for you two?”

  “I’ll take a beer,” I say. “Whatever you’ve got on tap is fine.”

  “Same,” Jovie adds.

  “Coming right up.”

  Lucky walks off to the next table and Jovie twists her head around to watch her go. Her eyes slowly scan the place, shifting in her little skull as they land on one prying face to the other.

  I clear my throat, drawing her gaze back to me and we sit in a silent holding pattern until Lucky returns with our glasses.

  Once she’s gone, Jovie sighs.

  “Okay,” she says. “Go ahead. Ask away.”

  “Ask what?”

  “You have questions, right?”

  “One or two,” I confirm.

  “Then, go ahead.”

  “All right.” I take a sip of my drink first. “I’ll start with the most important question. How are you, Jovie?”

  She cracks a smile. “I figured the most important one would be ‘where have you been, Jovie?’”

  I shrug. “I figured baby steps.”

  Jovie nods once, gently biting the edge of her mouth for a moment. “I’m okay,” she says. “Being on my own was rough at first but I got the hang of it.”

  “So, you were alone?”

  “For the most part.” She exhales. “What about you? How are you, Will?”

  “I’m okay,” I answer. “I’ve got a good job, supportive parents, a cool nephew, a loving sister — who, by the way, is really unnerved by your sudden appearance.”

  Jovie smirks. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, she does not like you being here.”

  “She never did.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Her smile fades. “It sounds like you still like it here.”

  “Yeah, Clover’s great,” I say. “It’s quiet, simple…”

  Jovie’s eyes start to roll but she stops them. “I’m sure that’s great for some,” she says. “But there’s a lot more in the world than Clover, Kansas.”

  “I’ve heard that but…” I shrug. “They call it The Forgotten Paradise for a reason, right?”

  “Deceptive marketing?” she quips.

  “Come on, Jove.” I chuckle. “Tell me one place you’ve been that’s better than this.”

  She goes silent and presses her lips together. Her nail taps against the table before she reaches for her glass.

  I’ve already opened the door. Might as well walk on through.

  “Where have you been, Jovie?” I ask.

  “Around,” she answers.

  “Is that really all you’re gonna give me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “One day you were here and the next you were gone. You didn’t tell anybody you were leaving. Even your dad was blindsided.”

  “And everyone else threw a goddamn party.”

  “Just…” I lean forward. “Forget about everyone else. I’m asking for an explanation. I mean… don’t you owe me that?”

  “Why?” she asks. “It’s not like we were together at the time. You broke up with me.”

  “Yeah, like twelve hours before.”

  “Would a week have made a difference? Or a month? Pretty sure we were as broken up by hour twelve as we would have been by hour one hundred.”

  I sit back. “Okay. You’re right about that, but… Come on, it’s been a long time. I can hardly even remember what we fought about in the first place.”

  “I can.” She takes a slow, quiet breath. “We broke up because you wanted to get married and start pumping out kids… and I was a nineteen-year-old girl who’d never even seen the ocean yet.”

  “Yeah, I did. I wanted our lives to start. I didn’t want to wait. That makes me a bad person?”

  “Our lives were already happening, Will,” she argues. “What was wrong with how we were? Why couldn’t we be Will and Jovie for just a little bit longer?”

  “I wanted more.”

  “You weren’t entitled to it.”

  “I never said I was!”

  “You called me a selfish child.”

  “Well,” I pause, “some people would argue that your behavior was childlike and self-absorbed.”

  “Some people like your sister?”

  “Not everything is Sara’s fault, Jove.”

  “And not everything is mine, either.” She frowns. “When is the blame going to fall on you for once? But no — not perfect Will Myers. He can do no wrong.”

  “Gee, that’s funny. Because I certainly didn’t get that memo when you up and disappeared on me without so much as a note. Do you have any idea how horrible that felt?”

  “Probably about as horrible as it felt to have you break up with me less than a day after proposing.”

  “I’m sorry. Did I beat you to that punch? I kind of figured it was over when you rejected the proposal in the first place.”

  She leans back. “I didn’t reject the proposal.”

  “You didn’t say yes.”

  “I didn’t say no. I asked for a few days to think about it.”

  “Well, you’ve had four years. What’s your answer?”

  She doesn’t even hesitate. “No.”

&nbs
p; “And there it is.” I throw up my hands. “This is awesome, Jove! Real happy we did this.”

  “I know you’re joking right now, but honestly, this feels really good to finally get out,” she says.

  “I agree!”

  “Then, why are you shouting?”

  “I’m not!”

  She tilts her head at me and I close my mouth. We go silent, our chests rising and falling fast as we glance around at the wide-open eyes of everyone around us.

  Well, what do you know? Ten minutes face-to-face and we’re already at each other’s throats. Life with Jovie Ross is a constant rollercoaster. Sometimes, you’re riding high on passionate adrenaline with your hands in the air. Other times, you’re digging your nails into your restraints, eyes squeezed shut, just waiting for it all to be over so you can get the hell off.

  Maybe Sara was right. This was a mistake.

  Jovie waits, staring hard at the nosier patrons until they shift uncomfortably and turn away. Then, she clears her throat and looks at me. “I did leave you a note, by the way.”

  I frown. “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Where’d you leave it?”

  “On your window, like always,” she says.

  “No, I checked that,” I say, thinking back. “Nothing was there.”

  She shrugs. “If you didn’t get it then someone else did.”

  I search her face for bullshit but the tone in her voice speaks truth. “What’d it say?”

  “I don’t remember,” she says, her eyes dropping to her glass.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important anymore.”

  “You wouldn’t have brought it up if it weren’t.”

  “Will, can we just…” She exhales. “We’ve already paved over memory lane enough tonight, haven’t we?”

  I nod with defeat. “I guess so.”

  Jovie takes a long drink, her throat bobbing at least three times before she sets it back down. “Wow,” she says, her voice numb. “It all comes back so quickly, doesn’t it?”

  And I want it to. For fuck’s sake. Part of me is actually enjoying this. I’m livid and screaming on the inside but it’s all worth it just to look into her eyes again.

  “So, did you?” I ask.

  “Did I what?”

  “See the ocean?”

  She thinks for a moment. “Yes,” she finally says.

  “Atlantic or Pacific?”

  “Both.”

  I wait for more but she says nothing. “Cool.”

  She lays her hands in her lap beneath the table. “Listen, Will…” she sits a little taller, “I think it’d be best if we didn’t see each other while I’m in town.”

  I scoff. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.” She nods. “You’re doing well now. You don’t need—”

  “Cut the crap, Jove,” I interrupt. “We both know you’re doing this to make yourself feel better. Don’t put it on me.”

  Her brow arches, followed closely but the quick intake of hot breath. I sit still and prepare for a classic and brutal Jovie Ross tongue-lashing but she says nothing. Instead, she exhales slowly and stands up from her seat.

  “I’m gonna go,” she says, staring down at me with tired eyes. “Have a good night, Will.”

  “Wait, Jovie…” I shift forward as she walks off. “Let me drive you home.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  I grunt as a bolt of adrenaline fires through my veins but I’m far too exhausted to act on it. I watch her go, my eyes falling to her boots and up her legs as her hips sway with her quick, purposeful steps toward the exit.

  Jovie. My Jovie.

  At least, she used to be.

  Now, I’m not even sure I know who she is anymore. She looks like Jovie. Talks like Jovie. But this isn’t the same Jovie Ross who pulled the fire alarm on prom night or senior pranked the vice principal by moving his office furniture to the school roof the night before graduation.

  But that’s not a bad thing.

  This Jovie is more restrained. Mature, even. The dark humor and quick wit are still there but she’s older, wiser, and more beautiful than I was prepared for.

  Lucky hovers over my shoulder with a broad smirk on her middle-aged face. “Anything else I can get you, hun?”

  I take a breath and reach into my wallet for my debit card. “No, thanks.”

  She swipes it from my fingers and walks off. I ignore her smug glance back at me and check around at the innocent bystanders.

  The water cooler chatter around Clover should be awfully colorful tomorrow, that’s for sure.

  Eight

  Will

  If you didn’t get it then someone else did.

  Jovie left me a note. How did I miss it and why am I so sure she’s telling the truth?

  She never was the type to lie to me. There’s a first time for everything, I suppose, but I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t that time. If Jovie Ross left me a note and the contents of it could have changed the course of the last four years, then I have to know about it. I have to know if there’s something I could have done differently — even if ignorance is bliss.

  I pull into my parents’ driveway and park my motorcycle near the garage. Jovie said she left the note on my window but what are the odds of it still being there now?

  I walk around the right side of the house until I come to my window. Just looking at it from this side brings me a wave of nostalgia. All the times I snuck out of it. All the times Jovie snuck into it.

  I check the outer window sill but there’s nothing there and there’s no sign of it in the grass beneath it either — not that a note would have survived the elements for four years anyway.

  I reach into my pocket for my keychain and pinch the spare house key on my way up the porch.

  “Mom?” I announce as I step inside.

  “Will?”

  I step down the hall as she pokes her head out of her office. “Hey, Mom.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, smiling.

  “I just came to check for something in my room. Do you mind?”

  She shakes her head. “No, not at all. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You okay?” She tilts her head. “You’re looking a little queasy.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, continuing through the house toward my old room. “No appointments today?”

  “Came home for lunch,” she shouts across the hall. “I was just on my way back out.”

  “Ahh.” I push open my bedroom door. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll lock up.”

  “Okay!”

  I walk to the window. My dresser sits beneath it, strategically placed there in my youth to allow me or Jovie to slide in and out without making too much noise. I search the top but, just like four years ago, there’s nothing there. Just a few old pictures and a bottle of old body spray that I’m a little embarrassed to admit I used.

  Did she lie?

  Or did someone really find it before I could?

  Or maybe…

  I lower down to the floor to peek beneath the dresser.

  Shit.

  I push back up and pull it away from the wall. It grinds against the wooden floor as I slide it forward and scratches even more as I shove it to the side.

  My stomach turns. A folded up piece of notebook paper rests on the floor. I know not to get my hopes up. Jovie left me notes all the time; maybe once a week from ages sixteen to eighteen. This could be from any one of those times but the only way I’m going to know for sure is if I pick it up right now and read it.

  Every instinct in me battles it out as I bend down. Part of me thinks I should just burn it. Whatever is written here won’t change the past or make me feel any better about the last four years. But it could answer questions. Ignorance is bliss. But Jovie is, too.

  I unfold it and stare at the white space until I finally bring myself to read it.

  Don’t
wait for me.

  It’s her handwriting. It’s a little sloppy but it’s hers.

  I sit down and lean against the drawers. The metal handles dig into my back, keeping me from resting too comfortably but it’s not like that’s even possible right now.

  She wanted me to know she was gone. Not only that, she wanted me to move on. She didn’t want me to sit around, pining for her, wondering where she went and whether or not she was safe but that’s exactly what I did.

  If I had seen this back then, would it have been different?

  Would I have gotten over her faster?

  Would I have gone after her?

  Fucking hell.

  “Whatcha doing on the floor, honey?”

  I look up at my mother standing in the doorway. She zips up her coat and slides a beanie hat over her thick, brown curls.

  I fold the note and stuff it in my jacket pocket. “Nothing.”

  She wanders in and sits on my old bed. “Is this about the Ross girl?”

  I sigh. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Are you seeing her again?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s not what I heard.”

  I frown. “What have you heard?”

  “That you two made quite the scene at Lucky’s bar last night,” she says, smiling.

  “Who did you hear that from?”

  “Sara.”

  I scoff. “And where did she get that from?”

  Mom pauses to think. “She said that Drew Warner’s fiancée told her that her roommate’s little sister was tending bar and caught a front row seat to the entire spat.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, that traveled fast.”

  “William, nothing travels faster in this town than tales of you and Jovie Ross.” She smirks. “What’d you make a scene about?”

  “We didn’t make a scene,” I say. “We just had a very… animated conversation.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know…” I rise off the floor. “How you been, Jove? Why’d you take off? What are you doing back? Where the hell have you been this whole time?”

  “Did she answer any of those?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “That might be for the best.” She shifts into a comforting tone. “Jovie was a lot of things. Independent, spontaneous—”