The Chapel Wars

by Lindsey Leavitt

  “How much have you had?”

  He waved a hand. It was a gesture I’d seen him do before, but this time, it was like he was moving in slow motion. “Good question, numbers girl. I should have kept you nearby to count. I always lose track.”

  “Always? How often do you get faintly inebriated?”

  “Intoxicated.” He smiled lazily. “Not a lot. Holidays, we’ve already established, are awful. Hmmm, Tuesdays! Never been one for Tuesdays.”

  “What did Tuesdays do to you?” I asked.

  His smile was a slow fade, like the last gasp of a meteorite crashing into the ozone. “My dad died on a Tuesday. Not a fan.”

  He was so sad. Drunk sad, raw sad. If he were an angry drunk, I could stay angry too, but he just looked so desperate and needy and my broken-bird instinct kicked in. “It’s not really New Year’s Eve though. You were sober then.”

  “Sober but not in my right mind. I can’t believe I gave you that limo.”

  “Is that what this is about, that limo?” I asked.

  “How much did you make on them?”

  “They pulled in because they saw Elvis,” I said. “You didn’t give me that limo.”

  “But I told you to do Elvis.”

  “Wow. Elvis at a Vegas wedding chapel. Revolutionary idea. Did you want me to make you partner now?”

  “I’m just saying, that wasn’t the smartest business move I’ve ever made.”

  “Neither is making out with your competitor or showing up here drunk.” I scooted away from him. “Seriously, are you mad at me now? Is that how it’s going to be?”

  “I’m not mad at you.” Dax peered into his cup. “I’m mad at me. I’m mad at, just … I don’t know what I’m mad at. I’m being stupid. Sorry.”

  “Look, Dax. I don’t mess with stuff like this. And you shouldn’t either, especially given how much your grandpa drinks.”

  He hiccuped. “You’re right.”

  “I’ll get you home and we can talk later.”

  “But later I won’t be able to talk about this stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “My mom went on a date tonight.” His voice scraped over the words. “First date since Dad died.”

  My stomach dropped. “Oh, Dax.”

  “She’s … she’s moving on. There are boxes of his that we brought when we moved from Birmingham. Some of his sports stuff, trophies. Things that mattered so much when he was alive, they’re all in boxes now. A few weeks ago, she took those boxes out of the closet and put Dad … put his boxes in the garage.” He threw his cup into the grass. “It’s my fault. Did I ever tell you that? It’s my fault that he died.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “We were in a car accident. Headed home from practice. I was driving. Dad was talking about how much my fastball had improved. He wasn’t one of those dominating coaches—just really smart about the game. Kind of like you, looked at sports like a science. Quiet guy. Humble. God, I miss him.”

  “Dax—”

  “There wasn’t rain, we weren’t fighting, I wasn’t texting. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about, I just wasn’t paying attention, and then I thought I saw something on the road and swerved and hit an oncoming car. Smashed my dad, tore up my shoulder. It was my fault. People didn’t try to tell me it wasn’t. Everyone just said it was a tragedy. I don’t think Mom’s even made eye contact with me since the funeral.”

  Dax buried his face in his hands.

  Look, I’d just lost someone too, I knew how much it burned his throat to say these things out loud, but even with all that empathy, I couldn’t touch Dax. I felt no responsibility for Grandpa Jim’s death.

  “Dax, I’m … Of course there is nothing I can even say. That’s just … horrible. That’s … I’m sorry.”

  Dax wiped at his face and stared forward. “Me too. I don’t understand why it happened. What if practice hadn’t gone over five minutes? What if my dad had taken his car? What if there wasn’t something on the road? What if that other driver wasn’t going somewhere else? Do you know how many things had to line up for such a random thing to happen?”

  “If you spend your life agonizing over the what-ifs …”

  “But you don’t. Right? You don’t think possibility. You’re about probability. Measure it out, move forward. The only moving I’ve done in the past ten months is from my home to Vegas.”

  Moving forward? I’d been in the same safe place my whole life. “But you do so much for your poppy, and the chapel—”

  “It’s fine. Sorry I went off like that. Suckafugawhatever, right?” He laughed hoarsely. “Sometimes I feel like if I could just have that one question answered, why did he die, then everything else in my life would line up.”

  I looked down at my hands. What was I supposed to do? Hug him? Hold him? Tell him that everything was okay when it wasn’t? I’d never gotten this deep into a relationship. I wanted out of this territory, this zone of caring and worrying and feeling. Dax’s vulnerability almost made me like him more, when it shouldn’t. It wasn’t safe to like him as much as I did.

  “I wish I had an answer for you,” I said.

  “I’m really sorry. You have everything so together, I hate that you’re seeing me. Like this. It’s not who I am.”

  “Just don’t drink like this around me again, okay? I hate it.”

  Dax slipped his hand on my knee. “How many dates have we been on now?”

  “Actual dates? Two? I guess you could count this as our third.”

  “What’s the etiquette? Am I supposed to tell you this stuff on the third date?”

  “We met at a funeral. I don’t think there’s etiquette after that.”

  Dax looked around the backyard. “I’m kinda feeling sick right now.”

  “Physically or emotionally?”

  “Both. But more the first.”

  “Did you want to lie down somewhere?” A couch. Or maybe a bed. I would get Dax situated. Taking care of basic human needs was something I could handle.

  Dax raised an eyebrow.

  “Shut up,” I said. “Seriously, how much have you had?”

  Dax tried to stand, stumbled. “Too much. Yep, too much.”

  I eased him up the stairs to Sam’s room, realizing that we didn’t look like the most innocent pair, but better a rumor than Dax throwing up or passing out in front of everyone.

  I knocked once on Sam’s door and said a silent prayer of thanks when no one answered. I pushed the door open with my foot.

  Dax giggled. “Holy Hogwarts.”

  I would consider myself a fan of Harry Potter. Sam, on the other hand, had a bit of an obsession. Granted, his mom had decorated his themed bedroom in eighth grade, so it was over the top, but he could have changed things since then. The colors were Hufflepuff yellow and black, with a shelf of different wands and Lego creations. The funny thing was he also had some band posters, a girl in a bikini, and a huge 8 × 10 picture of Camille. Did she buy that for him or did he frame it himself?

  I eased Dax onto the bed, praying that he wasn’t a frisky drunk. He flopped down and stretched. “Hogwarts has comfy beds.”

  “I’m going to put a trash can by the bed in case you throw up. But please, don’t throw up. Sam will hate you forever.”

  “I really wanted to impress your friends,” Dax said, cuddling into a pillow.

  “Well, Grant likes you. Although he might not remember you in the morning.”

  “Tell Alex to come get me.”

  I tugged off Dax’s shoes. “I will. And don’t get up. Try to, I don’t know, sleep it off.”

  “I like you,” Dax said.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. You can’t take the things people say when they are drunk as meaningful. Alcohol is not a truth serum; it’s a mask. You never know if it’s the person or the drink talking. “Yeah, I like you too. Just not so much when you’re like this.”

  He didn’t respond. I checked my watch. 11:22. I was at the door when I heard hi
m mumble, “Really, numbers girl. You couldn’t count all the ways you have my heart.”

  Alex, shocker, was MIA. I’d already described him to three different people before I found a girl who said Alex had left with a friend of a friend. Whatever his whereabouts were, it was not Sam’s house.

  Sam and Camille had repaired things enough to begin a public make out on the bench next to the tennis court. Honestly, they didn’t even look comfortable. If this really was love, I was fine if I never left ‘like.’

  I poked Sam with a tennis racket that was leaning on the fence. “Hey, I need to get a ride for someone.”

  Sam pulled himself away and grinned. Camille looked like she’d been caught, which wasn’t too hard when there were tennis lights beaming down on her. “Who?” Sam asked. “Not that very drunk gentlemen friend of yours, right? What’s his name again?”

  “Shut up. You know it’s Dax.” I rubbed at my eyes. “I put him in your room.”

  “If he messes with my Hogwarts—”

  “I’m sure Hogwarts is safe.” Camille smoothed down her hair. “Dax doesn’t seem like the type to draw lightning bolts on his forehead, okay?”

  “Just another thing wrong with him,” Sam mumbled.

  I smacked Sam on the shoulder. “Fine. You two go back to face snarfing and I’ll find him a ride.”

  “Sam, your friend needs your help,” Camille said.

  “Dax isn’t my friend.”

  “Is your head that thick?” Camille stood. “Fine, I’ll take Dax home. I don’t know where he lives and my car interior is much nicer than yours, but I will drive him because that’s what friends do.”

  Camille’s whole timid Victorian lady thing was a very clever disguise. Girl had bark.

  “What are we fighting about?” Grant and Mike sidled up. Great, more input.

  “Holly’s boyfriend is drunk and passed out in my bed, and she needs to get him a ride,” Sam said.

  “Boyfriend?” Mike looked hurt. “I thought you’d only been on a few dates.”

  I let out an exasperated breath. “We have.”

  “So when did he become your boyfriend?” Mike shook his head. “I have to tell you, I’m not totally comfortable with you defining the relationship this early on, especially with someone who puts you in these kinds of awkward situations.”

  “Yeah, Dax is the one making this awkward right now,” Grant said.

  “Okay, all.” I held out my hands. “It’s fine. I’ll just call my sister.”

  “No you won’t. Your sister won’t come get you,” Mike said.

  “Guys, it’s eleven forty-four,” Camille said.

  Everyone checked their phones or watches. Grant finally said he would take us home, but not until he wanted to leave. Which, I knew, would be forever. While everyone left to ring in the Fake New Year, I sat crossed-legged on the court and tossed a ball up and down. My phone rang at 11:53, and for one fleeting second I thought it might be Dax, that he wasn’t really drunk, that he was searching the party for me so we could count down together. But it was Lenore, who never called, only texted. I answered. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know what to do!” She sounded near hysterical. “Do you know Ren Madfield?”

  “Who?”

  “He’s apparently James’s friend. James was at his house earlier, I dropped him off there, and now the kid’s mom called and said James walked home, like, two hours ago and just wanted to make sure he got home safe. He’s not answering his phone, so I hurried home, he’s not here and … what do I do?”

  The noise from the house was picking up as everyone crammed into the basement. I covered my ear with my hand. “Lenore, stay calm. James does stuff like this all the time. What did Dad say?”

  “Your father isn’t answering the phone,” Lenore said. “This is why I’m never having a family. It’s not fair to thrust this level of responsibility on me when I’m so young.”

  “You’re twenty-two.”

  “Exactly!” Lenore cried. “What if he’s in a ditch? Do I call hospitals?”

  “Just … come get me. We’ll look for him together.”

  “Are you still at Sam’s?” Lenore asked.

  “Yeah. And … we need to give a friend of mine a ride too.”

  “He better live close. This break sucked. I should have gone back up to school early. You know I got invited to a huge party in San Francisco? Instead I ended up at a club with a girl from high school I don’t even like that much, with all these middleaged guys in blue dress shirts leering at us like there is any way I would ever—”

  “Lenore. Come get me. Bye.”

  The countdown started then. I watched midnight hit through the window. Sam hugged Camille and spun her around. Porter grabbed some girl nearby and smacked her a kiss. Confetti swirled around the basement while sombreros were tossed in the air.

  I slipped through the back door and up the stairs. Dax was sleeping peacefully. I flopped down on the bed and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

  “Happy Fake New Year’s, you idiot.”

  Chapter 14

  Despite Lenore’s hysterics, it still took her twenty minutes to show up at Sam’s. She gratefully didn’t ask too many questions as we stuffed Dax into the backseat. She wasn’t the most observant sister; Sam was the only friend of mine she even vaguely remembered or recognized anyway.

  “I want to find James before we take him home,” Lenore said.

  I clicked on my seat belt. “That’s fine. He’s napping.”

  “Where does he live?” Lenore asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought you said he was your friend.”

  I cut her a glance. “He’s kind of a new friend.”

  Lenore whistled. “Sounds like you’re having a big night.”

  I snuck a glance at Dax in the side mirror. “Not as big as I’d hoped.”

  Lenore twisted around in her seat. “He’s pretty, when he’s sleeping.”

  “He’s pretty when he’s awake too.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “Lenore! Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

  “Look at him. What else would I ask?” She leaned farther. “Wait, is that the Cranston from the funeral?”

  “Shut up.”

  A grin spread across her face. “You know, this is probably the first time you’ve made me proud.”

  While we drove back to The Space, I tried James on his phone, but everything went straight to voice mail. Dad didn’t respond to any of my texts or calls. I didn’t try Mom. She was out of the state, she couldn’t do anything, and besides, I didn’t want to scare her. Not yet.

  When we got home, Lenore stayed in the car with Dax while I ran inside to look for clues. It’s probably not too surprising that James wasn’t a fan of people visiting his room, but when a thirteen-year-old disappears for almost three hours, all bets are off. I clicked on his computer and checked his browser history. Cleared. I fumbled through his backpack, finding only duct-tape creations and sheet music.

  I ran back outside. Dax was awake now, his head against the window.

  He winced when he saw me. “I met your sister,” he said.

  “Yeah, Dex looks like he’s had better days,” Lenore said.

  Dex. He winked, but it was sort of a sloppy blink.

  “I didn’t find anything,” I said. “We need to call Mom if we don’t find him soon. I mean, he has a bus pass, but I don’t know where he would have gone.”

  “Should I drive around to bus stops?”

  I pinched the top of my nose. He left that party alone. His friend lived maybe a mile away, so if he didn’t get on the bus, he could still be somewhere within walking distance.

  “Let’s go drive around the lake first,” I said. “Maybe he’s at the minimart.”

  I took Lenore to my spot, to the minimart, to James’s friends’ houses. We’d resolved to head back to the house, call Mom and the cops. But as we drove around the north side of the lake, I spot
ted James on the top of the grassy hill along the community running track.

  It was the road that began at the elementary school and ended at the gate to the rich lake houses. He was sitting up there with a block of ice. So he had to have walked over to the grocery store, bought the ice, carried it for almost a mile, and now … he was just up there alone. That kid.

  Lenore parked the car and hopped out. “James! What are you doing?”

  “Nothing!” he yelled down. “Leave me alone.”

  She shot me an exasperated look. “He’s killing me.”

  “I can get him,” Dax said.

  “Sure you can.” I slid out of the car. “Lenore, babysit my friend Dex here while I save our brother from himself.”

  “Are you guys dating?” Lenore asked as I started to run up the hill. I didn’t hear the answer.

  “Hey.” I plopped down in the grass next to James. “Ice blocking?”

  Wordlessly, James pushed the piece of ice down the hill. It slid across the grass and crashed on the street.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Looking for you,” I said. “Ren’s mom called Lenore. She’s been … we’ve been hysterical. Your phone is off.”

  “It died.”

  “Then call us from home.”

  “I went home. No one was there. No one is ever there. I called Dad too; he didn’t answer.”

  I scooted a little closer to him. He scooted away. “So … why’d you leave the party?”

  “They’re all dumb.”

  “Why?”

  “They started to play spin-the-bottle. What are we, six?”

  “You played spin-the-bottle when you were six?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean. It was all so fake. The girls were all like, ooh, we want to kiss Jonathan Fickler, who is dating a ninth grader anyway. And there’s this girl named Hannah that everyone thinks I like and I don’t, okay? That was last year. And Theo wanted to smoke, and I haven’t smoked since that scout meeting, that’s why I chew seeds, you know?”

  I wanted to hug him so bad. There were so many problems in one tirade. I forgot how young James was sometimes, even with his angel cheeks. “That does sound like a sucky night. I can see why you left.”