Cicada Song

by Bradford Combs

  Chapter 33

  Stan’s knock went unanswered until Phil cautiously opened Sara’s door.

  “What happened to you?” Phil asked, studying the bruises and cuts on Stan’s face.

  “Where’s Sara?”

  Despite the fact that he considered Phil a close friend, Stan wasn’t fond of leaving Sara alone with him while drunk. Phil would never hurt Sara, and he seemed to be sobering up, but the fact that Sara didn’t answer the door had him on alert. Even more so, he was concerned because of Phil’s hesitation to answer his question.

  “Where is Sara?” he asked again, more stern this time.

  “Not sure. She left. Kinda thought she’d be goin’ to see you, actually.”

  “Why?”

  Phil didn’t answer.

  “Do you know when she’s coming back?”

  “No.”

  Stan pushed his way into the house. This wasn’t Phil’s home, and he shouldn’t be blocking the door like he owned the place. Stan sat on the couch and noticed a pill bottle on the coffee table. His mind instantly went back to Leslie’s cocaine, but then he remembered that Phil likely had a hangover and dismissed it. He didn’t seem stoned. In fact, he seemed clearer than he’d been in quite some time.

  “So what happened to you?” Phil asked again while plopping down in a chair beside the couch.

  Stan looked wearily at Phil but reminded himself that they were still friends. “I caught Leslie with another guy. There was a fight. She hit me with a lamp and left with them.”

  Phil cursed beneath his breath. He had been out of touch for a while, and Stan realized that this was likely the first time Phil had heard of his and Leslie’s marital problems.

  “Sorry to hear that, man. I’d offer you a drink but, well, you guys took it.”

  “You don’t need it.”

  “I know. After talkin’ to Sara, I think I wanna try to sober up.”

  “Good. I miss the old you.”

  Phil nodded as Stan moved his shoulder around, feeling the pain shooting down his arm and into his back.

  “Did you know she was cheatin’ on you?”

  “Sara did,” Stan said in a low voice. “She tried to warn me last night, but I wouldn’t hear it. I think I’ve known for a while, though.”

  Phil had never been one for words—that was always Jake’s gift—so he wasn’t surprised when Phil simply shrugged and said, “Women,” as if they were all the same.

  “So what happened with Sara?” Stan asked, changing the subject. “Why’d she leave?”

  Phil hesitated again, and it became obvious that there was something he didn’t want to discuss. He stood and began feeling his pockets, then crossed the room and nervously patted down his long coat.

  “It’s not there, Phil.”

  Then he saw Phil’s hand come to rest on something solid. They must have missed one. He stood and jerked the coat away from Phil, who cried out for him to be careful.

  “You don’t need this stuff,” Stan said angrily as he plunged his hand into the inside pocket, but what he found stilled him. Slowly, he removed the small black gun and looked at it incredulously. The safety was on; but nonetheless, for Stan, it was a thing of pure evil. A gun like this robbed him of his best friend.

  “What is this?” he asked angrily.

  “I stole it from Percy. Livin’ in the woods, I just needed somethin’ to protect me. We got coyotes livin’ around here, and rumor has it a bear or two.”

  “You were going for a gun?”

  Phil hesitated, seemingly confused, but then his eyes widened with realization. “No! I was goin’ for the flask. I panicked and forgot.”

  “Why? What are you hiding, Phil?”

  Phil’s eyes went to the gun, so Stan removed the clip and slid it into his pocket. Then he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. “I’m taking this back to Percy. Now what’s happened to Sara, Phil? What’s got you so nervous?”

  Phil fiddled with his shirt a moment before whispering, “I couldn’t keep the secret anymore, Stan. I had to tell her.”

  Stan’s stomach dropped. He tried to speak, but his words failed him. He swallowed hard and tried again. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Phil said weakly. “I’m sorry, but now Sara knows, too. I just couldn’t hold it in no more. I’m sorry, man.”

  Stan’s face went red, and his mind clouded over in disbelief. Without thought, in a blind rage, he leapt at Phil and shoved him into the wall. As his fists repeatedly beat against Phil’s head, all he could say was, “How could you?” Phil threw him off and Stan tripped over the arm of the couch. Blood trickled from Phil’s nose and lip, but he still maintained an apologetic look.

  “It’s been seven years, Stan,” he said, tears in his eyes. “We never shoulda lied about it.”

  “It was the right thing to do,” Stan blurted out, but he knew it wasn’t true. He had wrestled with the lie for years, but he had more to lose than Phil, so the secret remained. His worst fear was that Sara or his mother would find out, and now one of them had, and his mother would likely learn of it before long.

  Tears filled Stan’s eyes. He took a deep breath and studied the ceiling, but all he could think about was Jake. Jake didn’t deserve any of this.

  Stan dried his eyes with a sleeve and finally darted for the door. He needed to find Sara. Phil tried to stop him but Stan shoved him out of the way, stumbled across the porch, and sprinted down the street. He thought of Arthur Harris coming to his home and knew now that it wasn’t because of the fight. Sara had gone to Arthur instead of him. He cursed into the sky and turned down a small alley to keep from eager eyes. He had to find Sara and explain things. He’d always wanted to tell her the truth but couldn’t. He just couldn’t. And now he needed to explain why it happened—and why he lied.

  He’d lost Jake and Leslie. He couldn’t lose Sara, too.