151 Days

by John Goode

  It was sad to see so many straight boys trip themselves over quad processing.

  So when I called her to tell her about Matt’s little adventure, she was in the middle of a session of “head shot Saturday,” as she called it, so if I wanted to talk, she would have to multitask while she killed people.

  “What’s another way of looking at it?” I asked cautiously.

  She sighed, which was directed toward me, and said, “Crybaby,” which was directed to some poor jerk who just got his game ended. “I can’t see this Tyler person sending his boyfriend in to feel you out.”

  I almost did a spit take. “You don’t even know this guy!”

  “No,” she said calmly. “But I do know guys, and what is there to gain from it? If he sent his boyfriend in, then why would said boyfriend give himself up and tell you?” Before I could respond, she shouted, “Sit the fuck down, bitch!”

  I hated the fact she was smart. I really hated the fact she was smart and younger than me.

  “Maybe he’s an idiot,” I threw out, already feeling the holes in my argument start to widen.

  “Yeah, he’s a guy, so that means he’s an idiot,” she said, the sound of plastic being tapped rapidly accenting her words. “But he wouldn’t go through the whole browsing show if he was that stupid.”

  Did I mention I hated the fact she was smart?

  “Okay then, Veronica Mars, then why did he come in?”

  She paused a few seconds before answering, which meant she was actually thinking about her response. That didn’t bode well. “He came in there for the very reason he said he did. I think he was telling the truth.”

  “Then what are you arguing with me about?” I looked over at the bottle of wine. It was a little lower than I expected.

  “We’re arguing because you said you were pissed because Tyler sent this Matt guy in to spy on you. I don’t think he did, and I think you don’t think that either.”

  Yes, I had drunk a little too much wine, because it took me three times to get that sentence down. “So if I did know that, then why am I upset?” I was no longer sure if I was arguing with her or actually asking her.

  There was silence, real silence on the other line, and I realized she had paused her game. That meant I really wasn’t going to like what came next.

  “I think you’re pissed because you thought he was flirting with you, and for a couple of seconds you liked it.” I heard her put the controller down. “And I think you think that somehow you’re cheating on Riley. So you’re mad at Matt for making you think that, and you’re mad at yourself for liking feeling that way.”

  My eyes were stinging as I put the wine down.

  “What are you still doing there, Mario?” she asked, using the nicknames we used when we were much, much younger. “You know the princess is in another castle.”

  I bit, literally bit, my lip to stop myself from sobbing. “Maybe I don’t have any lives left.”

  “Come home,” she said, tears in her voice now.

  “I need to go,” I said, turning the TV off.

  “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

  “Thanks for the chat. Be nice to the boys,” I told her gruffly as I tried to cough away my emotions.

  She sighed in resignation. “Call me later.”

  I didn’t reply as I hung up the phone.

  I WAS nursing a pretty sizable hangover the next day as Kyle talked to me.

  I wish I could say I was paying attention, but the truth was, the salient facts of what he was saying were lost on me as Nicole’s words bounced around my head. Painfully bounced, I might add. I should have just kept the store closed and gorged myself on Ab Fab until this feeling of darkness passed.

  “So what do you think?” Kyle asked me.

  I looked up at him and realized a good chunk of time had passed, and I hadn’t said a word in response. I opened my mouth to say something as I prayed for something to happen to save me from having to explain to this poor boy I hadn’t been listening to him.

  They say when God is feeling puckish, he answers wishes.

  The door swung open, and I felt the whole shop tilt like I was in the Batman show from the ’60s. I literally stopped breathing as she walked into my shop and looked around with casual arrogance. It seemed Matt was only one of the spirits that were going to haunt me.

  This was the ghost of Christmas Past, Dolores Mathison. Riley’s mother.

  “Oh my God, it’s her,” Kyle whispered to me.

  I felt two things simultaneously. One, relief because he could see her too, which was followed by immediate shock that he recognized her. “You know her?” I asked in the same whisper.

  He nodded. “She was the lady who came to the school board meeting to get the alliance made. Everyone made it seem like she was a big thing.”

  “A big thing” wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

  She looked over at me, and I felt that same sickening feeling in my stomach, as if just standing there, I was a disappointment to her. I almost succumbed to the impulse to flee in the face of true evil before remembering that this was my shop, and there was no way Cruella De Vil here was going to give me attitude within these four walls.

  “Kyle,” I said loud enough for her to hear, “go in the back and fold something.” My eyes never left her.

  “Fold what?” he asked, confused.

  I looked over at him and jerked my neck. “Anything. Just go in the back.”

  He nodded and turned around, making sure to walk as far as humanly possible away from her.

  “Robert,” she said, knowing damn well I hated being called that.

  “Dolly,” I said with a huge fake smile, damn well knowing she despised that. “What brings you down off the mountain? Running out of virgins to sacrifice?”

  I saw the small twitch around her mouth and knew I had scored.

  “Charming as ever,” she said, giving me a smile that made me feel even smaller than I already did. “So this is your place?”

  “Be it ever so humble,” I replied, waiting for the dig.

  She looked around again and then back to me. “It’s far too fashionable for Foster. I can’t imagine how you stay in business.”

  I didn’t have a response to that because I couldn’t tell if it was an insult or not.

  “You look well,” she said, walking up to the counter. “How have you been?”

  “Alone,” I said, each letter frozen in acid like bile.

  She looked at me, and I could see the pain in her eyes. “I know the feeling.”

  Neither one of us said a word, since we were both looking at the invisible corpse of Riley lying there between us. My head was pounding, and I knew it wasn’t the damn hangover. I decided to get this over with and just pull the trigger. “So what brings you in?” I asked her, not caring one bit why she was there.

  “I was…,” she began to say and then paused, “…nowhere near this neighborhood,” she finished truthfully. “You don’t happen to have something to drink here? This is far more difficult than I had expected.”

  I slid open the bottom drawer under the counter and pulled out half a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. There is absolutely no reason for me to explain how or why they got there; suffice it to say they were there and move on. I poured us both a shot of the amber liquid and held mine up. She looked at hers, and I wondered if she was going to chicken out. Finally she shrugged, picked it up, and tapped my glass. “To Riley.”

  That I could drink to.

  It burned going down, and I winced as I swallowed. She didn’t as much as blink as she threw it back. She looked at the glass for a moment in contemplation. “Quaint,” she commented and held it out. “Again.”

  I poured, knowing that at the very least it would deal with the hangover.

  After the second shot, she grabbed one of the stools by the wall and sat down across from me. “I was serious. This place is far too progressive for most of the residents. I can’t imagine the kids buy enough to keep
you solvent.”

  I nodded and poured myself another one. “It’s a labor of love. I sell enough to keep the lights on. Everything else is already paid for.” I held the bottle over her glass, and she thought about it for a few seconds and then nodded.

  “Riley’s settlement,” she said as I picked up my glass. “Right?”

  I gripped the shot glass tightly, and a few drops fell onto the counter. “Yes.” I was surprised I got the word out with my teeth clenched shut. The family had given me a pretty sizable chunk of cash when Riley had died and all I had to do was never talk to them again, which suited me just fine. It was a nice way to get cash if you can stomach watching the most important man in your universe die in front of you.

  “Good,” she said, tossing the shot back like it was water. “He would have liked this place.” She put the shot glass down. “He would have liked to see you happy.” She looked at me. “You are happy, right?”

  I took my shot and nearly broke the counter as I slammed the glass down. “Of course I’m not, Dolores. How can I be?”

  Her mask slipped a bit, and I saw the unabashed pain on her expression as she nodded slightly to me. “Arthur asked me if I was happy the other day, and I said those exact words.”

  “How is Arthur?” I asked, the warmth of the booze dispelling my hesitation. “He still threatening to sue anyone who says his son was gay?”

  Her face paled as she froze in place. After a second she looked away. “I deserved that. We were horrible to you after what happened. That was inexcusable.”

  Somehow her making the fact that she and her fucktard of a husband tried to destroy me because they blamed me for Riley’s death sound like it was a lapse of manners instead of the travesty it was just infuriated me.

  I opened my mouth to hurl a dozen biting and completely insulting comments at her, and something in my mind stopped me. Instead I heard myself ask in a very neutral tone, “What did you come here for, Dolores? Forgiveness? Absolution? Fine.” I made the sign of the cross at her. “Go forth and sin no more. Anything else?”

  She looked like she was going to stand up and be insulted, but instead she just sat there, looking like the frail, old lady she really was. She had always been this juggernaut of a person to me; the fact she was composed of actual skin and bones seemed ludicrous. I would have believed she had been sent from the future to kill John Connor before I acknowledged she was a human being.

  Because human beings don’t do what she did to other human beings.

  “I am done hating you,” she said, opening her purse. “I blamed you for his death, wished you were dead, and now I realize I was wrong. Riley was Riley, and his death was nothing more than a horrible incident in a series of horrible incidents that make up a life. I lashed out at you, and that was wrong, and I wanted to make it right.”

  “If you are going to offer me money, I swear I will knock that wig right off you head.” I was shocked to hear the venom in my voice as I threatened her.

  “No,” she said, pulling an envelope out of her purse. “I’m not going to offer you a thing besides my apology. Trying to buy your forgiveness would be as useless as it was insulting.” She held the envelope out to me. “This is not from me. It’s from Riley.”

  I looked at the piece of paper like it was a snake.

  “Arthur got a ruling, and there is no legal reason that I should be giving this to you.” When it was obvious I wasn’t going to take it, she put it on the counter. “However, there are a thousand other reasons to give it to you, the least being my son loved you with all his heart.” I saw her eyes well up with tears. “And for that I thank you. I never could make Riley happy, no matter how hard I tried. I’m glad you were able to.”

  She stood up and smoothed her dress out. “I expect we won’t be doing this again, so let me say this, and I will be gone.” She took a deep breath. “I was wrong, and I am sorry.” I could see her wondering if there was anything else to add, but instead she just nodded to herself and walked out the door.

  It wasn’t until Kyle walked out of the backroom looking like he just saw a murder that I realized she was really gone. “What was that?” he asked, looking out the door to see her driving away.

  “I have no earthly idea,” I admitted, looking down at the envelope.

  “What’s in it?” he asked, walking up to the counter.

  “Do I look like I have X-ray vision?” I snapped at him. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  He sat on the stool and stared at it with me. “So open it,” he prompted.

  I looked up at him. “You open it.”

  “Okay,” he said almost instantly and picked it up.

  “Wait!” I said, stopping him. He froze, looking at me. “No, go ahead.” He began to tear it open. “No, give it to me.” He handed it to me. I just stared at it. “No, you open it.”

  In a flash he tore it open, and an envelope and a piece of paper fell out. It was a check and from the way the blood rushed out of Kyle’s cheeks when he looked at it, there were a lot of zeroes on it.

  I didn’t care about the check. As far as I was concerned, it was blood money. What I was terrified of was the letter. I could see my name in Riley’s handwriting on the front, and I began to have a panic attack. Last time I was this bad was after he died. I felt my vision begin to pinhole as I struggled to breathe. I felt the world begin to spin as I screamed at myself not to faint in front of the fucking kid.

  I don’t even remember hitting the ground.

  THERE IS nothing in the human experience like losing time.

  I mean, normally when people talk about passing out, they make it sound like they went to sleep for a little bit, which is not unconscious. When you fall asleep, you’re in an altered state of consciousness. If you’re aware you’re sleeping, you’re in some way conscious. If you are one second sitting up having a panic attack and the next find yourself lying down somewhere else, that is, my friends, unconsciousness. I have had more than a few experiences with it over the years, so I speak with confidence that there is a vast difference between what it is and what people think it is.

  But then, life itself is a lot like that. The contents resemble nothing like what is shown on the package when you buy it.

  So when I woke up, which is a phrase I loathe, I found myself still in some kind of nightmarish dream state, where the worst things my mind could summon up were presented to me like a waiter offering up the daily special. I knew this because I had to be trapped in some nightmare; otherwise, that would mean Tyler was standing over me, holding a cold cloth on my forehead.

  With more strength than I would have expected, I batted his hand away from my person. “Get off,” I said, trying to sit up to get away from him.

  That was a mistake.

  Seems my body hadn’t gotten all the blood where it was supposed to be yet, because my head spun like a country fair Tilt-A-Whirl as I fell back into what I realized was a pile of clothes. “Happy?” Tyler asked, his face an expression of distaste that had to be mirroring my own. “You want to hiss and claw, wait until you have some balance back first, kitten.” He dropped the towel on my face and looked to Kyle. “He’s going to be fine.”

  One plus one equaled a dead teenager.

  “You called him?” I asked the shocked-looking Kyle, sitting up slightly. He nodded mutely, taking a half step back. “Why would you do that?” I roared, ignoring Tyler completely. It wasn’t that hard. I had a couple of years practice already.

  “Because you tipped over and slammed into the floor pretty hard,” Meathead explained instead. “He wasn’t sure if you were having a heart attack or just doing a pretty fair Judy Garland impersonation.”

  I looked over to him. “Get out” was all I managed to say.

  He shrugged and looked at Kyle. “Told you so. Make sure he eats something and call him a cab when he’s ready to go home.” Tyler looked over at me momentarily. “He’s nowhere near as fine as he is going to try to convince you once I am gone.”

>   “Get the fuck out,” I repeated.

  “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, holding his hands up in defense. “Let me know if he lives, Kyle.”

  There was silence as I waited for him to get out of my shop. As soon as the bell rang from the door closing, Kyle began babbling. “You just fell over, and I didn’t know any adults to call because you don’t know anyone, so I called him instead of 911 because if they took you to the hospital you’d just bitch that I was overreacting, so before you bite my head off, that’s why I called him.”

  I counted backward from ten in my head as I closed my eyes.

  “I am not mad at you, Kyle. Just go home, and we’ll talk about it later,” I said in the most neutral tone I have ever used in my life.

  “He was worried about you too,” he added, apparently thinking my lack of explosion meant I wasn’t as mad as he thought I would be.

  Boy, did he read that one wrong.

  “Go home, Kyle. Now.” I knew I sounded like an ungrateful bitch, but if this kid kept poking me, I was going to lose it again.

  He seemed to hesitate for a few seconds and then looked to the front of the shop. “Can I at least call you a cab?”

  “I don’t need one,” I assured him.

  “Says the guy who can’t stand up,” he muttered under his breath. “I am going to call you a cab, and you can tell the guy to go away if you want.”

  He began to pat himself down and paused. He had forgotten that he’d returned the iPhone Brad had given him last Christmas. I took the pause to drive my point home. “I am fine. I don’t need a cab, and I don’t need any help.”

  I saw him seem to teeter back and forth on his decision before he just sighed and gave up. “Fine, but if you die, it’s not my fault.”

  He grabbed his backpack and headed toward the front door. “I’m going to flip the sign and lock the door,” he called back to me before walking out.

  I fell back into the pile of clothes and took a deep breath. It was not my day at all.

  “SO YOU passed out, yelled at a kid who called you a cab anyways?” Nicole said later that night. “Wow, you’re a dick.”