by J. A. Huss
“Of suicide?” I yell. “No. I just want a fucking answer!”
“What were you going to do in the desert?”
“Keep driving! You know, like… never come back.” I snort. “Kill myself. I’m not gonna kill myself, for fuck’s sake.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Maddie. You just seem a little bit desperate right now.”
“Yeah, desperate for some fucking meaning!”
“OK,” Plu sings in that therapist voice she seems to have perfected since she became this successful adult. “Let’s see here. Give me a second…” She sucks in air, lets it out, then says, “OK. People are assholes because they’re people. And people aren’t perfect, so they sometimes make mistakes and being an asshole is their defense mechanism. And you’re an asshole because you want to blame people for things that don’t deserve blame. Sometimes bad shit just happens and you happen to take it all very personally and want to punish people just for being in your general vicinity when it does. How’s that?”
“Explain,” I growl into the phone. “Because I’m pretty certain my blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the assholes who earned it and my reaction to them is a natural consequence that comes from the way they treated me first.”
“I’m not done yet,” Plu says calmly. “You’re also combative. And mean. And more than a little self-righteous.”
“What?”
“You wanted the truth, right? You can take it, right?”
“What kind of crackpot therapist are you?”
“A qualified one.”
I snort.
“What do you want me to say, Maddie? Do you want me to find someone to blame for Scotty’s death? Is that it? Should I point my finger so you can say, Ah-ha! I knew it? So you can feel justified for being defensive? For always having that chip on your shoulder? For all the things that go wrong that you take no responsibility for?”
“I didn’t kill my brother,” I growl into the phone.
“Of course not. But your parents didn’t kill your brother either. And his buddies who were there when it happened didn’t kill him. He was a firefighter. He fought a fire and he lost—”
“Fuck you!” I scream.
“Yes, fuck me,” Plu replies, still calm. “Fuck me. That’s a great answer. Just blame me now. Why not, Maddie? You blame everyone else. Even yourself. So what’s one more person to stick that label on in your life? People don’t mean anything to you, so who cares. I’m nobody to you. Just some person you once knew and nothing more.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper.
“No?” she says. “Then tell me where I’m going wrong.”
“You weren’t there when he died,” I say.
“Nope. I wasn’t. So why don’t you fill me in?”
I say nothing. I can’t say anything. Because the memories of Scotty’s last moments flood into my head and I just start crying harder.
“Maddie,” Plu says.
I shake my head, staring at an empty strip mall shop through eyes filled with tears.
She sighs. “Where are you going right now?”
“Home,” I mutter.
“Do you want to come see me first?”
“No,” I say. I have never wanted anything less.
“You need to deal with those memories eventually,” she says. Her voice is still calm, but there’s a softness to it that makes me even sadder. Because she gets it. She knows. She sees through me. “And you need to figure out why you want to punish people for something they’re not responsible for. Because you’re not doing well right now, Maddie. You’re not handling things anymore. If you ever were. It’s all about to catch up with you and if you don’t stand your ground against the pain and deal—accept what happened, that there was no deeper meaning to it, and just let yourself move on…” She pauses. “Well, you’re not gonna last very long.”
I’m silent for so long she says, “Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want a prescription to cure what’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t want to take drugs,” I whisper. “It feels like… a loss. Like a failure. And I can’t fail again. I’ve had too many of those lately. I can’t take another one right now.”
“Good,” Plumeria says. “Because what you need doesn’t come from a pill.”
“Then what is it?” I ask.
“It’s very simple, really. Just forgive yourself. For not saving him. Because there was truly nothing you could’ve done. You know this. And then forgive the people who loved him as much as you did, because there was nothing they could've done either. It was just… it was just a very bad thing that happened. That’s it. It has no meaning, Maddie. It was just a very bad thing that happened.”
The station house has a bunch of guys inside. I watch them from across the street for a while. I drove straight here after running home to change and to apologize to Annie for fucking up her car. She didn’t really seem to care though. She says she’s gonna turn it in and take the loss. She quit her call-girl job and can’t afford it anyway. Honestly, she’s been acting really weird lately. But frankly, I don’t have time to give two shits about what’s going on with her. That probably makes me a bad friend, but I’ve got more than enough on my plate at present.
Looking toward the station house, I see glimpses of Evan. In there. Doing his fireman thing. I picture how Scotty would’ve looked now. All filled out and grown up like Evan. That boyish face I always picture on him long gone. And in its place is a scruffy beard. Maybe like Tyler’s. Maybe well-groomed. Maybe no beard. Maybe Scotty was always gonna be clean-shaven. Always that all-American boy, no matter how old he got. Forever young.
That’s all I ever see in my head. Scotty. Forever young. Because that’s how he died.
Well, no. That’s not how he died at all.
That memory is enough to make me start the car back up.
But then one of the guys in the firehouse whistles shrilly and I look over and all I see is Scotty.
“What the fuck?”
But then he smiles and… yeah, that’s not Scotty. It’s some kid who just reminds me of Scotty.
“What’s up, Red?” he yells.
My stomach sinks at the nickname. I suddenly feel sick. But Scotty’s ghost starts crossing the street to me, and I’m just putting the car into gear so I can take off before he gets over here, or Evan can see me, but—
“You’ve been staring at me for a while.” The kid laughs, walking up to my window.
“I wasn’t staring at you,” I snap, then immediately feel bad when he recoils a little at my venom.
Smile. And be nice.
I do that. Sorta. “I’m… I’m just looking for Evan. I’m Scotty’s sister.”
Baby-face guy scratches his non-existent beard and peers over his shoulder at the other guys. Who are just now noticing that one of their own is out here talking to me. “Who’s Scotty?”
God, this was a mistake.
I pull away from the curb and do a U-turn, ready to give up and maybe take that drive out to the desert after all, when I slam on my brakes.
Because Evan is standing in the street, right in front of my car.
“You like it okay, huh?” asks the older guy called Alex who apparently made the plate of rigatoni I’m devouring. Didn’t know I was so hungry. But I’m wolfing it.
“Yeah. This shit is fucking delicious,” I say, mouth muffled by the steaming forkful of pasta.
The firefighters sitting around the table with me laugh. “Sorry,” I mumble sheepishly.
“Shit, sweetheart, I love a woman with a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” says a little guy with a Boston accent who slides his chair about a foot closer to me. “Say somethin’ else.”
“Rod. Go… coil a hose or something.” That’s an enormous guy they call Bear.
“Fuck did I say?” asks Rod.
“So, Maddie,” says the impossibly cool and handsome African-American guy, Dean, while he pets his French
Bulldog. (This is, by far, the most interesting group of first responders I’ve ever met.) “Was Evan always into clothes and shit when he was a kid, too? Or is that a recent development since he married up?”
I glance at Evan, who smiles and shakes his head as if to suggest that he’s used to these guys busting his balls.
“Um,” I say, shoving the last bit of food into my mouth. “Yeah, yeah, actually he was, I guess. He gave my brother and Tyler a makeover for senior prom, and neither one of them ever looked so good.”
“Well… To be fair, Scotty looked better than Tyler. I can only do so much with the raw materials I’m given,” Evan says, smiling. He winks at me and I lower my head a bit. Everyone chuckles and then Bear apparently decides that play time is over.
“All right!” he says, slapping the table and standing up. “Let’s clean up and get some work done today. Rod, you get that paperwork into district yet?”
“Aw, fuck me, I fuckin’ forgot. Cocksucker.” Then he looks at me. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” I say in return. “I love a guy with a filthy fuckin’ mouth.”
“Goddamn perfect woman here. Jesus!”
Bear pulls Rod away and they head off. Dean gives me a shake as he takes his exit, and it’s the kind of loose but elegant grip that one usually receives at a grand ball or the U.N. or some damn thing. I half expect him to kiss the back of my hand.
“Glad you enjoyed it, honey,” says Alex the chef. “You’re welcome here any time.”
“Thanks.” I smile at him as he takes my plate and heads into the kitchen.
Then this brooding, quiet guy who was introduced to me as Brandon, and who hasn’t spoken a word throughout lunch, steps over and hovers above me, blocking the light with his firefighter-shaped shadow. He doesn’t speak, and I decide not to either, so we just kind of stare at each other until finally he says…
“I like your hair.” And he walks off.
I glance at Evan again, and he gives me a ‘I have no idea’ look.
And then the young guy, Jeff, comes over.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“What are you sorry about?” I ask.
“I dunno, I just, I feel like I was kinda forward and maybe a little rude or whatever, and I… Y’know, I’m sorry.”
Jesus Christ, he’s like a fucking reincarnation. I find myself choking up again, against my will. But I rally and laugh it off.
“Dude,” I say, “that is not forward. I’ve seen forward, believe me, and that ain’t it.”
He smiles. I continue, “But thanks. Apology accepted.” Again, I smile. He smiles back. And it breaks my heart a little bit.
Then he leaves and it’s just me and Evan. Which is why I came here. To see him. But I feel instantly anxious as I consider all the things that I want to say. That I need to say. And as I debate how to begin…
“So,” Evan says, “hi.”
I laugh ever so slightly. “Hi,” I say back.
There’s a moment where we just sit like that, and then I take a breath and say, “Evan, I—”
But he interrupts me before I can say more.
“Don’t. It’s fine, Maddie. It’s fine. It’s just good to see you. Really.”
“It’s good to see you too.”
“How’re your folks?”
“OK. I guess. They’re in Monaco, you know.”
“I do.”
“So… They’re OK. We’ve been talking a lot more recently because of… y’know, the anniversary. We tend to talk a lot around this time of year.”
“When’s the last time you saw them?” he asks.
“Oh, um, I don’t—I mean it’s probably been a couple of years.”
“Really?”
“They’ve tried to visit or have me visit or whatever, but it just feels like… I dunno. Never the right time. It’s, y’know, it’s fine. You know how it is.”
“Sure,” he says. “So… Oh! So, what’s this drone thing Tyler was talking about? Something with real estate?”
I laugh kind of bitterly. “Yeah, fuck. Was supposed to be. Was gonna be my big business idea that was gonna change the real estate game. Thought developers and agents would be all over me for my revolution in the real estate market, but I think maybe I actually just… wanted to buy a drone.” Evan laughs. “I dunno. Nothing’s exactly worked out the way I thought it would.”
“Yeah,” he says, “nothing ever does.”
“Yeah,” I sigh out. “That’s for damn sure. You make plans and plot and strategize and next thing you know you’re a morning manager at a strip club in the desert.”
Evan just looks at me. Can’t tell what he’s thinking behind those black eyes of his. Never have been able to.
“Well, not you,” I say, to fill the silence. “But some of us are. Me. I am. I’m the strip club manager. That’s what I’m saying.”
The corners of his eyes wrinkle and he smiles.
“So!” As I try saying something that’s not totally stupid. “You’re married, huh?” I slap his knee. “That’s so awesome. What does he do, your husband?”
Evan takes a beat, smirking at me before he answers. “He’s a real-estate developer.”
“Really? I ask
“Yup.”
“What’s his name? I’ve probably tried to pitch him on my stupid drone idea.”
“Robert Vanderbilt,” says Evan and my jaw hits the floor.
“Fuck you, dude! You’re married to Robert Vanderbilt?”
“You know him.”
“Uh, yeah, I know him. His name is on every other property I see listed.”
“Yep. That’s him. He’s a go-getter.”
There’s a moment of silence because we both know what should happen next, but I’m not gonna ask and he’s not gonna offer. So…
After a beat he says, “So, Tyler—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “I don’t know. OK? I don’t. I just… The whole thing’s such a mind-fuck, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“The guy I had a massive crush on for my whole childhood disappears on me, basically destroying my hope and my heart, and then after a dozen years he shows back up and we sort of fall for each other, but kinda-not-really because neither one of us immediately realize who the other is because he’s an unrecognizable version of his former self and I’m now a grown-up, oh, and also dressed like a fucking stripper because that’s what I am. Jesus. How do you navigate that relationship? There’s no roadmap for that. I mean, if you wrote that story, nobody would believe it. It’s absurd.”
Evan snorts and says, “Life’s absurd.” He’s right. He continues, “But can I tell you something? And you can ignore me or tell me to fuck off or whatever, but I feel like I wanna say it now because who the hell knows if I’ll ever see you again.”
“Stop!” I say, slapping his shoulder.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, couldn’t resist. But here’s what I wanna say.” He pauses, looks at the floor like he’s gathering his thoughts just so, then takes my hands and looks me in the eye. “Tyler Morgan is one of the best people I’ve ever met in my life.”
I pull back, beginning to protest, but he holds onto my hands.
“He is,” Evan continues. “He truly is. He’s an idiot and can be fucking impossible—”
“Tell me about it.”
“But he has one of the best hearts of anyone I’ve ever known. And he’s loyal. He really is. And he fucked you, yes. He one hundred percent did. But he was scared and he was in the military at the time and he gave over to all that straight-alpha-male bullshit, and he forgot to take care of himself, which means he couldn’t even possibly take care of anyone else, but he’s finding his way back. And you can choose to be a part of that or not, but—and not to play therapist here, but—I think you’re on a similar journey and maybe you two could help each other. That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.”
I close my eyes, taking it all in
.
And then he adds, "Well… And this. If by chance that special place you’ve been dreaming of leads you to a lonely place… Find your strength in love.’”
He squeezes my hands. I open my eyes and blink at him.
“Is that… Whitney Houston?”
“Yep.”
“You’re giving me advice based on a Whitney Houston song?”
Evan throws a finger in the air, pulls his head back, and rolls his neck. “Girl, don’t you even think about talking smack about Whitney.”
And I bust out laughing. It feels wonderful. And like a long-forgotten skill.
“I’ve missed you,” I say, the laughter subsiding.
“I’ve missed you too, Maddie… So, listen, I don’t know if this is of any interest to you, since you’re killing it in the stripper game and all, but Robert has this huge project he’s trying to get off the ground out by the Hoover Dam, and he’s having a bitch of a time getting the surveying done and… Honestly, I have no idea. I don’t understand this shit at all, but perhaps having someone who can help him with a bird’s-eye view might be useful in some way?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. This is my serious face.” He gives me the same dark expression he wears much of the time.
“Oh, my God, Evan, I’d… Yes. Please. Thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll have his assistant give you a call.”
“Oh, my God, Evan, thank you so much.”
I grab him around the neck and hug him like I never want to let go. Because I kind of don’t.
“My pleasure, Mads,” he says. And then he whispers in my ear, “I miss him every day,” and I start crying. And then he whispers, “And so does Tyler.”
And I can’t be sure, but normally unflappable and unreadable Evan might be crying a little too. I don’t know. Neither one of us lets go of our embrace or pulls back to look.
We just hold each other for several long minutes.
Chapter Ten - Tyler
“The Delta, mostly,” says Pete.
“Shit, really? The Mekong Delta?” I ask.
“No, the Mississippi Delta. Yes, of course, the fucking Mekong,” Pete responds.
