by Harley Fox
I was on my bike, going through the streets. It was misty out, which is strange because I’ve never seen mist in Santa Espera before. I didn’t know where I was going, but I stopped outside of an apartment. Trista’s apartment. I looked up at a window on the second floor, one that overlooks the street. And half a minute later Merryn’s head popped out of the window, and she looked down at me. It was so strange and shocking to see her up there, away from me, like a princess trapped in a tower.
I told her I was sorry. She started crying. And I told her that, even though I was sorry about what happened and how I reacted, she was still somewhat to blame. She tried explaining herself, but then this strong wind came and sort of … blew me away. The next thing I knew I was riding my bike back to our apartment, climbing up the stairs, and getting into bed. The mist was still there, in the bedroom, as I was falling back to sleep.
What a strange dream. I throw the cover off of me and get up, stretch, and start pulling on my clothes. When I leave my bedroom I hear soft crunching sounds down the hall, so I walk to the end and see Emily sitting at the dining table, eating some toast and jam, a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Morning.”
She looks up at me. Doesn’t smile. Drops her gaze.
“Morning,” she mumbles around a mouthful of toast.
I leave her and go to the kitchen to get some breakfast. There’s more coffee in the pot so I grab a mug and fill it, then pour out a bowl of cereal and milk. I toss a spoon in the bowl and take both things to the table to join Emily.
I sit down and start eating. Neither of us talk while we eat. What’s there to talk about? Emily’s obviously still mad at me for what I did. And now that a day has passed I can’t say I blame her. They say you shouldn’t regret anything you’ve done in your life, right? Well, I regret this. I regret how I acted towards Merryn. How I let my anger get the best of me. I should have taken a moment to calm down. I should have gone for a walk or something.
You tried that when you took Trista to the Chain Gang, remember? You came back and wanted to shoot her in the head.
Hmm. Maybe it runs deeper than that.
I have to do something, though. I have to make things right, and work on making myself right. And I have to get Merryn back at the same time.
“Hey,” I say, breaking the silence. “So you said Merryn is staying at Trista’s, right?”
Emily shakes her head.
“Don’t,” she says, and I raise my eyebrows.
“What? What do you mean, don’t?”
“I mean, don’t.” She gives me a cold, hard look. “You’ve put her through enough. At least give her some time to decompress.”
“You don’t even know what I was thinking,” I protest, but Emily just rolls her eyes.
“You were planning on going there and telling her that you’re sorry, and that you made a mistake, and that you want her back, right?”
“Um … yeah.”
“And why should she believe that this won’t just happen again, at some other unpredictable point in the future? Huh? You blew up out of nowhere yesterday. What’s to say you won’t do it again?”
“I didn’t blow up out of nowhere!”
“You were calm enough on the ride to the hospital!” she points out. “You held Merryn in the back seat, I saw you two. And then she gets admitted, is told that, congratulations, you’re not delivering your baby six weeks early, and furthermore that everything seems to be fine and you can go home today. Oh, but what’s this? Your boyfriend storms into the room, calls you a liar and a betrayer and that she’s getting kicked out of her own house! Where the hell did that come from, Jake? I was there. You went from zero to a hundred, like that!”
Emily is fuming. Her eyes stare fiery daggers into me. The problem is … I can’t quite remember what I was thinking when that happened at the hospital. I remember feeling like Merryn had done something wrong, and that everybody was going against me … but looking back on it, I can’t think of why I felt those emotions so strongly.
“Well?” she says, still fuming. “Why did you act that way towards her?”
I don’t know what to say. I look down at the cereal in my bowl, hardly touched. Back up at her.
“I don’t know,” I finally, pathetically say. But instead of getting angrier, Emily’s expression relaxes. Sort of … deflates.
“Well, I think you’d better figure it out soon,” she says, pushing her chair back from the table. “Otherwise you’re going to lose Merryn for good.”
I watch as she grabs her crutches from against the wall, picks up her coffee and her plate with unfinished toast and jam, and takes them with her down the hall, all the way to her bedroom. At least she doesn’t slam the door.
She’s finishing her breakfast in her room, without me.
I suppose I deserve that. The cereal in my bowl looks soggy, unappealing. But still I spoon it into my mouth, knowing I need to eat. The coffee’s lost its flavor. I drink it down anyway.
When I’m finished I take my dishes back to the kitchen. I left the milk out on the counter, so I open the fridge to put it back. Looking in, I see we’re running low on groceries.
“Emily!” I call out. “I’m going to pick up some groceries. Want me to grab you anything in particular?”
“No.”
A single syllable, flat in tone. Fine. I grab my leather jacket, sliding it on, and then go down the stairs to the front door, leaving for the grocery store.
It’s a nice day out. I pass by my bike, leaving it. The store is within walking distance. In fact, I remember … going there with Merryn, back when we first met.
That’s right. I haven’t thought about that in a long time. We were still at that stage where we snapped at each other all the time. She thought I was an asshole, and I thought she was some stuck-up yuppie. I was wrong about her. But it turns out she wasn’t wrong about me. She’s changed as a person. Shrugged off her corporate skin and become more down to earth, become a nurturer and caregiver—a mother—to everyone around her. And me?
I’m still the same old knuckle-dragger she first met eight months ago.
I leave our small, quiet street and step out onto the bigger, noisier one, turning in the direction of the grocery store. It’s hot under this jacket, but I keep it on all the same. Pedestrians pass me by, not meeting my eye. I’m bigger than most everybody I pass.
I guess the real question is: why hasn’t Merryn left me? I haven’t changed like she has. I haven’t changed with her. Isn’t that some kind of stereotype? The man just lays on the couch, eating, sleeping, and watching TV all day? It’s not like that’s what I do, but I think the stereotype is more to show that he doesn’t try to do anything different. He doesn’t try to better himself, or anything in his life. If it works, it works, there’s no need to change it, right?
Except that’s not really how life, or relationships, work.
People change. They grow and morph and evolve naturally, and you have to be ready to change too, and not cling to your old habits tooth and nail because otherwise you’ll be left behind.
It’s ironic, then, that I was the one who kicked Merryn out, when it should have been the other way around.
She deserves better than me. Or at least, she deserves better than what I’m giving her right now. Because Merryn is not someone who’s just going to lie down and let life pass her by. She’s the type of person who rolls with the punches and isn’t afraid to punch back. She’s the kind of person who recognizes when things are stale, when things need to change, and she changes with them, not making a big deal out of it because that’s just what needs to be done.
That’s one of the things I love about her. And I realize now that it’s one trait I simply do not have.
I blink and realize I’m already at the plaza doors. I push them open and step into the grungy building, decorated with a style that was popular in the seventies. It’s quiet and cool in here, compared to outside. There’s hardly anyone in here, and the stores I pa
ss all sell niche items, like wedding dresses or toilets. I wonder how a place like this can stay open, and yet it does.
Down at the end is the entrance to the grocery store and I walk in. Soft muzak is playing over the speakers. I grab a basket and pick up some produce first—carrots, onions, broccoli—then I start wandering the aisles, looking for things to get. The chore is boring, but it has to be done. I debate over which kind of canned soup to pick up, Cream of Mushroom or Chicken Noodle, and end up getting one of each. I turn into the next aisle and take a few steps before I realize what I’m looking at.
Baby items. Diapers, juices, little jars of baby food. They even have some plastic toys on the shelves, squishy foam balls and large colored cubes.
Merryn. She and I have been down this aisle so many times together. Too many to count. When we first found out we were pregnant she and I researched things like the type of food to give, at what age they can move from breast milk to things like meat and vegetables. I walk slowly down this aisle, feeling the ghost of Merryn beside me. The colorful jars of baby food taunt me, forcing me to think back to a time when we were happy together. Back when we had our entire futures planned out.
But maybe she wasn’t happy. Maybe I was the only one who was happy. I just didn’t see that because I wasn’t paying attention to her.
Maybe. Maybe Merryn is happier now, now that she’s finally free from me. Now that she can grow and blossom like she’s meant to, and isn’t being dragged back down by the big, blundering oaf that I am.
I shake my head. Turn around and leave that aisle, heading straight for the cashier. As I pile items up on the conveyor belt I think, No Jake, stop it. Stop it! Stop trying to convince yourself that what you’re doing is justifiable. You two are meant to be together. It just means that you have to change.
The cashier rings everything up and I pay him, then I take the plastic grocery bags and leave, leave the store, leave the mall. Throughout the walk back home all I can think of is, What can I do? How can I change enough? What do I have to do to convince her that I’m better than how I was?
I get back to the apartment and go in, walk upstairs to the kitchen, deposit the bags on the counter. Emily’s still in her room. I start putting groceries away, up in the cupboards, stashing things in the fridge. When that’s done I stuff the bags into the one grocery bag that holds all of ours, under the sink. I close the cupboard door and straighten up. Now what?
I leave the kitchen and go down the hall to Emily’s room. Her door’s ajar and I give it a light knock, pushing it open to see her at her computer. She’s on Craigslist.
“Hey,” I say. “What’re you doing?”
Click. The image of a digital camera pops up on her screen.
“I’m looking for a new camera,” she says. “My old one broke. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. She clicks Back and brings up the picture of another camera for sale. “You know, since I got you your other one as a gift, I could help you out for when you buy this new one.”
“No thanks,” she says. Her back is still to me. “I was the one who got the camera busted, showing up at that warehouse. It’s my fault and I have to pay for it.”
“Oh … okay.” I start to leave but Emily pipes up again.
“Besides,” she says. “It’s not like it’s the camera’s fault that it got broken. It doesn’t mean I’m going to give up on it. I mean, I love photography, right? Why would I give up something that I love just because something didn’t go the way I expected it to?”
I let out a sigh. “You know, Emily … I feel like your analogy is a little too transparent.”
“Oh yeah?” She finally swivels around to look at me. “Well then, fucking learn from it!”
And then she turns back to her computer, clicking on another camera for sale.
I leave her room, walking back through the hallway. I stop in the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge and open it up, then walk into the quiet living room. I stand there, looking around, taking a sip of my beer.
Emily’s right. I need to learn. I need to be different. Merryn deserves somebody better than I am. And if I want her back, then I have to be that person. I have to make things right.
I take another sip of my beer. The sight of the bottle catches my eye and I lift it, swallowing the liquid that’s in my mouth. Craig. He wanted to see Merryn. Craig said he can help stop his dad. He talked about Nathan Willow. So did Lance, in the hospital, although I didn’t mention that to Craig at the time. Lance has a car. Three would be better than two, that’s for sure. And especially if Craig isn’t on the level. It would be good to have backup.
The idea swirls up in my head, forming together like a jigsaw puzzle. The three of us could stop Will Silver. If Will is gone … then what happened with Merryn won’t matter anymore. I’ll take care of it. If Will Silver is gone, then the past can be behind us, and she and I can move on together, without the thread of him hanging over us. It’ll all be over and done.
I take one more swallow of my beer, fishing my phone out of my pocket. Scrolling through my contact list, I get to the L section. Lance. I put the bottle of beer down on the table, and hit Dial, bringing the phone up to my ear.
Merryn
The loudest sound in the kitchen this morning is the crunch of cereal between my teeth.
Trista and I are eating breakfast. She’s already fed her mom—yoghurt and applesauce and some PharmaChem-brand pills—and now she’s sitting at the kitchen table with me, eating some peanut butter on toast.
We aren’t talking. It’s not like we’re mad at each other or anything. I think we just don’t really know what to say to each other. There isn’t any music playing. Trista’s crunches match my own as she stares off into space.
“Will Silver threatened to poison my mom,” she suddenly says, and I raise my eyebrows. I quickly finish chewing the mouthful of cereal and swallow.
“What?”
She nods. “He broke in here, back when I was still a part of the Bullets. He said he didn’t trust me, and that if he found out I wasn’t who I claimed to be, that he would switch out my mom’s pills with poison.”
“Oh my God,” I say. “That’s horrible.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything. Her eyes never leave my face.
“But … he knows that you were a cop now, doesn’t he?”
She nods again.
“So … did he do it?”
And here she deflates a bit. “No,” she admits. “I guess, maybe he figured it was too much work. Or it was an empty threat. I don’t know.”
“Still,” I say.
A moment passes, and then Trista looks to the wall again, taking another bite of toast.
We finish eating and Trista takes the dishes, even though I offer to clean my own.
“No, that’s fine,” she says. “I’ve got it.”
I push up from the table, giving my calves and ankles a moment to settle in. I walk out into the hallway. Look down it, where there’s only the top of the stairs that lead outside. I glance back into the kitchen. Trista’s got her back to me, cleaning dishes.
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says, flashing me a quick smile. “I’m good.”
I nod, but she’s already facing the sink again. So I walk back down the hallway to her bedroom, open the door, and walk in.
There isn’t much to do here. Trista’s only got a few books in her room, and they’re all police training manuals. Her window is open so I walk over to it, stick my head out, take in a deep breath of air.
I’ve got to go for a walk or something. I appreciate Trista taking me in like this, but I’m going a little stir-crazy. I pull my head back in, trying to think of where I can go, what I can do.
Grabbing my phone from the bedside table I open up my text messages and see my conversation with Lindsay. Then I remember that I briefly visited her when I went to PharmaChem yesterday. I pull up the keyboard and type in a quick text, asking if she wa
nts to grab a coffee this morning, somewhere away from the office. She replies a few minutes later telling me that she’d love to, suggesting a place.
I slip the phone in my pocket and leave the bedroom to find Trista still in the kitchen. The dishes are done and she’s sitting at the table again, now sipping from a cup of coffee.
“Hey,” I say when I enter. “I’m going to go meet an old coworker for coffee.”
Trista looks up at me.
“Oh,” she says. “And old coworker … from PharmaChem?”
“Yeah.”
Trista gives me a sort of puzzled look. “Um, I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing you of anything, but … it’s not Will Silver, is it?”
“What?” I ask, honestly offended. “No. It’s not.”
“Okay. Good.”
I don’t know what to say. “How could you think I would want to see him again? After what he did?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m sorry if it sounded rude.” Her eyes look distant. “It’s just, you went to see him before. And you were talking last night about how you don’t think he’s capable of being evil and how you … trusted him and stuff.”
“Well,” I say. I feel like I’m being attacked. “I don’t trust him now. But I didn’t say he’s not capable of being evil. Just … that he’s not evil himself.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I … don’t know. They’re just different.” I can feel myself bristling. Trista seems not to notice, based on her expression. “Anyway, I’m going to meet a friend for coffee. I just came to tell you that.”
Trista nods, taking a sip of her own coffee. “How are you getting there?”
“Oh,” I say. I hadn’t thought of that. “I guess …”
“You can take my bike, if you want.”
I blink at her. My own bike is still parked at PharmaChem from yesterday, and there’s no way I’m going to go there to get it anytime soon.
“Are you sure?”
She nods, taking another sip.
“Yeah. I’ll be here.”
“Oh. Okay, sure. Thanks.”
