Golden Hour (Crescent City)

by Campbell Reinhardt

  “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with some kids goofing off outside a gas station. I spend my fair share of Friday nights at random places when I was a teenager—”

  “Right,” I interrupt. “So you hung out at the local Quick Mart in high school. Those aren’t teenagers, they’re men. And it’s Tuesday night. Don’t be naive, Elise. What they’re doing is waiting for trouble. What you need to do is make sure you’re not around when it shows up. Because, trust me, it will.”

  “You’re not serious,” she says, shaking her head. Fury makes her sputter for a few minutes.

  I bet I can guess what she wants to say to me, and I bet it’s not all that flattering, but I don’t give a shit if I piss her off. I’ll gladly deal with her anger if it keeps her from getting her stupid ass in trouble.

  “I’m dead serious,” I shoot back. “Look, I get it. He’s Mike’s little brother. You feel this loyalty to him.” I bite my tongue and count back from ten to make sure I don’t say anything I’m going to regret later. “I’m not gonna be able to sugarcoat this for you. He’s trouble. Those assholes he was with? They’re into serious shit. They run with people who don’t fuck around, and those people won’t make exceptions for the innocent friends of their dealers who happen to get in their way when shit goes down.”

  “Lawson isn’t dealing,” Elise says, but some of her confidence is deflated. “He’s had some problems, sure. Who hasn’t?”

  “Problems are one thing,” I argue back. “The trouble he’s in? That’s more than ‘problems.’ That’s a death wish waiting to be fulfilled.”

  “Don’t say that!” she cries, her fingers pressed tight over her mouth. She shakes her head and whimpers.

  “Elise.” I soften my voice. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.” I’m relieved to be pulling down my road. I turn onto the dark gravel road, my house just a little ways up and cut the engine, reaching out for her. She recoils. “Please, hear me out. I just—”

  “No, I’m not sitting here listening to this!” she yells, yanking at the handle of the door and slamming her shoulder against it. She practically falls out of the door and stomps a few steps down the drive, stopping short, I’m sure, when she realizes I’m sitting in her car.

  I open the door and swing my legs out, but I don’t leave the seat. I have a feeling if I did, she’d already be peeling out and driving away, leaving me choking on her fumes.

  “Get out,” she says, then rolls her eyes when I don’t. “Caleb, get out of my car. Now. Please.” When I just stare her down, she loses it a little, stomps her foot, and yells, “Out! It’s my goddamn car! Get the hell out!”

  “I’m not letting you leave when you’re all worked up like this,” I say holding my hands out, keeping my voice measured.

  All the calm I’m trying to project seems to fray her nerves even more. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m some hysterical child!” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and points at me. “You. Get. Out. Of. My. Car.”

  “Can we talk?” I ask, standing up.

  She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. “Sure. Let’s talk. Let’s go ahead and talk like you’re some grown-up, experienced man and I’m some stupid little girl who needs a lecture about who she’s allowed to interact with and when and where.” She shakes her head and sneers at me. “You know, I liked you right away because you didn’t treat me like some damsel who needed saving.”

  “Elise.” I take her by the shoulders. She tries to shrug my hands off, but I hold on. “Look at me. This is about you being safe, about you taking care of yourself and—”

  “Do you hear what the hell you’re saying?” she asks, pushing my hands off of her and staring at me. “Listen to yourself. I’m a nurse for fuck’s sake, Caleb. Do you imagine that’s a safe, easy job any brainless asshole could do? I spend every single day seeing the worst pain and suffering life throws at people. I’m strong, I’m smart, and I’m very goddamn capable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions!”

  We lean close so close, eyes narrowed, breath ragged, it feels like we have an equal chance of continuing this fight or tearing each other’s clothes off and taking this to the bedroom.

  If I get a vote, I hope it’s the latter.

  But the way her eyes spark at me, I have a feeling it’s going to be the former. Especially because I’m not backing down on this one.

  “I never said you couldn’t take care of yourself.” I run my hands through my hair and kick at a loose rock in the driveway, feeling a deep satisfaction when it ricochets off the side of the house. “I said your loyalty to Lawson blinded you to a dangerous situation.”

  “Whatever Lawson might be involved in, I’m his family,” she says, her face stony. “Mike was the only one in his life who stood up for him, cared about him. I’m sure as hell not turning my back on him because he was in a parking lot with some other guys doing nothing illegal on a random Tuesday.” She presses her lips together, then blows out a long breath before she looks up at me. “Look. Part of making peace with what happened to Mike involves me looking out for Lawson. I don’t expect you to understand—”

  “Good, because I don’t,” I snap. She looks back at her car like she’s going to march away, and the fear of watching her leave me brings something ugly to the surface. “I hate to be the one to tell you, because it’s not pretty, but some people just self-destruct when life loads too much shit on their shoulders. Clearly Lawson is one of those people who got dealt a shitty hand and buckled under the pressure.” I shrug. “I just wouldn’t want to see you get dragged through the muck with him. But that’s me.”

  Her arms had been crossed hard over her chest, but she drops them. Her narrowed eyes widen, almost like she’s surprised. And feels sorry.

  For me.

  “So Lawson is one of those people who buckled because of the shit he had to deal with?” she asks, her words tinged with an ugly combination of sarcasm and pity.

  “What exactly are you trying to say to me, Elise?” I make my voice clear and hard. Heat prickles up and down by back and shoulders, and I shrug the sensation off. “Because I think you should just come out and say it.”

  “Oh, I think I will,” she says, her eyes locked on mine. “Lawson can’t hold a candle to you when it comes to having a fucked up way of dealing with losing someone.”

  I give a short bark of a laugh. “You’re serious? You actually want to compare your druggie friend to me?” I snort. “Here’s a newsflash, sweetheart. While your Goth buddy hangs out at dumpsters looking to score his next fix, I’m working a job, saving lives. He’s nothing but a junkie, Elise. How is he doing better than I am?”

  “So the fact that you’re not shooting up means you’re okay?” She twists my logic and bats those doe eyes my way like she made some big point.

  “I’m okay because I get my ass up and do what I need to every day,” I snarl.

  “You go through the motions,” she accuses, her eyes gleaming, her finger poking into my chest. “You show up to work worse than hung-over, you insist on being such a jerk to everyone else that no one wants to deal with you. You can barely say your friend’s name, and every time you start to talk about him, you shut it all down.”

  “That makes me worse than Lawson?” I throw my hands up and shake my head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  She shakes her head, like I’m too pathetic for words. “You know why you’re worse? Lawson might be making mistakes, but he’s trying. He’s come to me, we’ve talked about Mike and how hard life is without him. He doesn’t just shrug his damn shoulders and say, Oh well, people die, life sucks, there is no hope. He feels his pain instead of burying it.”

  “You don’t think I feel my fucking pain, Elise?” I ask, my voice so quiet, I’m not completely sure she hears me. “Funny. I haven’t felt anything but pain since the day I watched Lopez bleed out in front of me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help him.”

  Her lips shake and she blinks hard.
“Don’t you think...don’t you think Lopez would have wanted you to live? Wouldn’t that be the best way to honor him?”

  The beautiful thing is, she means those words, from the bottom of her innocent little heart.

  “Here’s the thing, Elise.” I reach up and cup her chin so she’s looking right at me. “I guarantee if it had been your life on the line, Mike would have jumped in front of you and taken those bullets in a heartbeat every time.” I look into her big brown eyes and wish I could lay claim to that loyal heart of her. The thing is, I know exactly how fucked up I am, and it’s way too fucked up for me. “I understand how in love with you he must have been. And I respect that. So that’s your pass, darlin. That’s your free ticket to live this life. Mike wouldn’t have had it any other way, and he’ll rest in peace knowing you’re happy. Me, on the other hand?

  “Lopez liked me well enough, but he had a wife. They met when they were in middle school. Middle school. And they were madly in love. Sickeningly. They were the kind of people who would have made it to their silver anniversary and died the same day holding hands, all that romantic crap. And his kid? You couldn’t go a day without that guy dragging out a new picture of that kid swimming or losing a tooth or dressing up for Halloween. Lopez liked me, sure, but he loved them. And if it was me or him? It should have been me. It fucking should have been me,” I grit out, never more sure than I am standing before this woman who’s too damn good for me.

  “You’re wrong.” She’s shaking her head like she can make it so just by believing hard enough. “Just because you didn’t meet your soul mate yet, just because you didn’t start your family, doesn’t mean your life isn’t worth anything.” She grabs my hand squeezes hard. “It sucks, it really fucking sucks that it Lopez died the way he did. But there’s a reason you’re here.”

  “I am,” I agree. She starts to smile, but I stop it in its tracks. “But it should have been me back there and Lopez here, now. It made sense for it to be me instead of him. He would have chosen me, I would have chosen me, Jesus Christ himself would have chosen me.” I close my eyes and press her hand to my face before I back away from her. “So I’m here on Lopez’s ticket, and every single day I wake up knowing I’m not good enough to be here when it should have been him. There’s a kid growing up with no father and a woman who lost her soul mate while I’m here getting wasted and living this shitty life.”

  “Then stop getting wasted. Start living,” she says, her voice choked up.

  There’s a glimmer in her eyes, a hope that’s too big and strong for me to face. It scares the shit out of me, and my inner coward roars out with a nasty vengeance.

  “There isn’t a damn thing in my life worth living for,” I say.

  It only takes a few seconds for the color to leech out of her face, for her lips to flatten, and her eyes to go blank.

  “Wow. Burn, Warren.” She swallows hard. “I’m going. Now.”

  There’s time for me to stop her. There’s time for me to chase her down, take her in my arms, tell her what a fucking asshole I’ve been, that I’m wrong and scared. That she’s the first thing that’s made me feel again since Lopez died, and that’s reduced me to some kind of gutless wonder whose ass I would have kicked in a former life.

  But I stand in the driveway and watch the only person who’s bothered to call me on my shit since my best friend died drive away.

  One things for sure; whether or not Lopez would have traded his life for mine, he would definitely have been pissed as all hell about the way I’m spitting in the face of every good thing that’s come into my life.

  I roll over and pull the pillow out from under my head and crush it to the side instead, hoping to block out the sound of my mother’s voice and grab onto a few more minutes of sleep.

  Thoughts of Lawson and Caleb circled in my brain all night, keeping me awake for hours. Arguing with Caleb was the last thing I wanted to do, especially after such a beautiful day together, but he had no right—none at all—to tell me to stay away from Lawson. And when I brought up Lopez and he told me, in cold, clear terms that he had nothing worth living for, it was like a he was waving a giant red flag in my face, letting me know there was no point in wasting time on with him.

  The worst part is, I feel like the rug got pulled out from under me. I truly thought Caleb got me, that he and I connected in a way I haven’t felt since I was with Mike.

  “Elise.” My mother’s voice makes its way through the down feathers of my pillow. “I said ‘get up.’”

  I count to five—the age I am not, but my mother still treats me as though I am—before pulling the pillow off of my face.

  I sit up on my elbows and squint at the too bright sun. “What is it, Mom?”

  My mother starts picking clothes up off my floor and tossing them into my laundry basket, while I grit my teeth and think, for the thousandth time, what a bad idea it was to move to an apartment adjoining my parents’ house. “Were you planning on sleeping the entire day away? I’ve been standing here for five minutes. I called earlier and—”

  I fall back onto the mattress and bury my head in the pillow, talking through it. “I have to work tonight. I was just trying to get a couple more hours in before shift,” I explain, even though I shouldn’t have to. Yet another drawback of living on my parents’ property.

  “I need to talk to you. Sit up,” she orders.

  She pulls the thick robe from the hook near my bathroom door and tosses it to me. I run my hand over the fleece, but don’t put it on. I wore it for months. Every day. I forfeited clothing in favor of this robe for long enough, and I can’t put it back on now.

  It would be too many steps backward.

  With my laundry all in the hamper, Mom looks around for something else to do with her hands. When she comes up with nothing, she sits on the edge of the armchair I read in and folds her hands in her lap. She clears her throat, and I feel a lump in mine.

  “Before I say what I need to say to you, I want you to know that your father and I have talked about this extensively. And we’ve done everything we can to put off doing it, but the time has come.” She throws her hands up and shrugs like Scarlett O’Hara. “The time has come.”

  “You’re so dramatic, Ma,” I groan, hoping this is about something asinine, like their plan to have the downstairs redone or install the pool she keeps lusting over. A small, icy prickle of dread settles in my stomach, warning me it won’t be anything so silly. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Gran. She isn’t healing well.” Her tone is already defensive.

  I sit up, wide awake now.

  I toss the covers aside and stand, ignoring my mother as she presses my robe at me again. I’m already way beyond caring if my t-shirt and underwear offend her delicate sensibilities.

  “What do you mean she isn’t healing well? She broke her hip again, yes, but it’s only been a few days. She’s almost ninety-years-old, Mom.” I stare at her, watching the nervous way she twirls her rings on her fingers.

  She continues like she’s reading off fucking cue cards. Like this is a script for some terrible after-school special. “The doctors have suggested that rather than her coming home, she be transferred to a care facility—”

  “A nursing home,” I interrupt, too furious to care about her frown.

  “A facility more equipped to deal with a patient of her status,” my mother says firmly.

  “More equipped than a house full of family—nurses at that?” I argue, so full of disgust, it sours my stomach.

  “Elise, it isn’t that simple,” my mother says, her voice sharp and desperate. “Her mind—you know how it is dealing with her. You can’t leave her for a second—you saw firsthand the day she fell.”

  It isn’t a dig—it’s only a statement of fact. But it cuts like a knife.

  “She’ll be getting better care there than we could ever give her at home, Elise,” my mother says, her voice gentle.

  I blink hard, trying to imagine my sassy, warm grandmother two
towns away when she’s been around the corner or in the same house all my life. “Do you even know the life expectancy of a person after they’re put in a nursing home rather than remaining at home with family? Of course you do. You teach the course on geriatric care at the college. I can’t believe...How can you—I can’t—”

  “I have no life right now, Elise,” Mom interrupts sharply, her composed facade falling away. “This wasn’t an easy decision, but I’ve paid my dues. I’m tired and I want to have my own life again.”

  “She’s healthy, Mama. She has a broken hip—” I argue.

  “And a broken mind, Elise,” she snaps, holding her arms tight across her stomach. She hangs her head and blinks hard. “I...I just can’t deal with her anymore.”

  “You shouldn’t look at caring for your own mother as ‘dealing’ with her. You brought her here after Papa died,” I say, but I know I sound petulant.

  The weariness in my mother’s voice gives me a flash of sympathy for her. “And I tried. I have tried. I’ve done my best.” She repeats it like it’s a mantra she’s using it to convince herself that she’s not the bad guy, no culpable in any of this.

  All that sympathy dries up and hardens.

  “So, things are hard? Guess what, Mom. Life is hard. Family is hard. She’s here, with us, alive. I can’t believe you’re going to toss her in a nursing home to die.” I close my eyes as the beginnings of a splitting headache tendril out and grip my temples.

  “Cypress Estates is one of the best facilities in all of Louisiana,” she says, but her voice sounds far away.

  “Can I convince you to change your mind?” I ask, but my voice is flat. Hopeless.

  She presses her lips together. “Elise, please. The paperwork has been signed. They’ll come pick her up tomorrow morning.”

  We stand in stony silence. Usually I have to bulldoze my mother out of my room and my life. But, after a few terse seconds, she turns on her heel and leaves without my having to ask.