HICKEY

by Cora Brent

  “They could be yours too. Hell, they’re the same people we’ve known since grade school.”

  Cecily let out a hiss.

  “What?” I said, a little too sharply.

  She stood and faced me with her eyes narrowed. “Keg stands and gossiping about old high school crap that doesn’t even matter anymore isn’t an ideal way to fill the time. I mean, when is high school going to be officially over, Bran?”

  “So what is an ideal way to fill the time?” I shot back. “Sitting around with your nose in a book or spending your paycheck on art supplies that you can’t bring yourself to do anything with?”

  She turned away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I got to my knees, reached under the bed and yanked out the shopping bags she’d been hoarding under there for weeks. Pencils, sketch pads, tubes of paint, none of it opened. I dropped the bags on the bed one by one as Cecily watched me, red-faced and angry.

  “There’s really no way to hide anything in this place,” I told her.

  “You can say that again,” she muttered.

  “You think I’ve been hiding something from you, Cess?”

  She glared, then walked purposely to the refrigerator and removed two six packs of beer and a forty ounce bottle of malt liquor.

  “I guess these are to replace the ones you drank yesterday,” she said sarcastically.

  “I guess so,” I grumbled, and stepped over to the dresser to search for a shirt. She thought I drank too much but that was bullshit. I didn’t drink any more than any other guy and I knew my limits.

  “Did you take these from your dad’s house like the others?” she asked and I slammed the dresser drawer shut.

  “It’s none of your damn business,” I said. If my father didn’t notice or care that I grabbed a few beers from his fridge now and then, Cecily shouldn’t care either. I would have owned up to it in an instant if he or Nell had asked.

  “We’re married,” Cecily said scornfully. “Everything you do is my business and vice versa. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what being married means, Bran?”

  I chose not to answer. I didn’t know what to say anyway. What the hell did she want from me? We were both still figuring out what being married meant. I buttoned my shirt up while she stood beside the small fridge and waited for me to say something.

  “You coming tonight or not?” I asked, grabbing for my jacket.

  She shook her head. “No. Antha’s leaving again tomorrow so she was going to stop by tonight.” She took a step in my direction. “You could stay.”

  I didn’t really want to stay in this tiny apartment and bicker all night. “Can’t, babe. I made promises.” I went to her side and gave her a quick peck. “Look, everyone who’s home from school will be gone within the next week and the whole social scene will die down.”

  “All right, Bran,” she nodded. “All right.”

  “See you later?”

  She smiled and looked around pointedly. “Of course. I live here.”

  It wasn’t until I was at the bottom of the stairs that I remembered I’d forgotten to say ‘I love you’. Usually I never left her without saying that. I wavered for a second, and then jogged over to my truck because it was cold as shit outside.

  The party was like every other party. People milled around the basement of my former offensive lineman while they drank, messed around, told irrelevant stories from high school and laughed too hard at things that weren’t funny anymore. A trio of my buddies tried to hail me for some shots but I shook my head and walked away. Having a brother who drank himself to death at age eighteen ought to have pushed me away from alcohol altogether. But I figured as long as I didn’t go overboard I’d be okay.

  After about an hour I was on an old sofa in a corner, wishing pretty hard I’d just stayed at home and found a way to smooth things over with Cecily.

  Someone wearing far too much perfume plopped down beside me. “Trouble in paradise?” a female voice asked.

  I focused in the dim lighting and saw Kayla was the owner of the voice and the perfume. I hadn’t even realized she was here tonight.

  “Nothing for you to worry about, sis,” I said, emphasizing the last word because I knew it pissed her off.

  “I’m not really your sister, Bran,” she reminded me and scooted a little too close.

  Ever since she breezed back into town for winter break I’d done my best to avoid Kayla Watts, which wasn’t easy considering she lived a few yards away in my father’s house. Sometimes she managed to cause trouble anyway, like when she sat beside me at Christmas dinner and tried six times to slide her skinny hand in my lap. I brushed her off with an icy glare and was grateful Cecily didn’t notice. At least Kayla would be returning to school in a few days and wouldn’t be my problem again for a while.

  “What do you want?” I asked, figuring a direct approach was best.

  Her fake smile faltered. “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just that we never talk anymore.”

  “That’s by choice, Kayla.”

  “Not my choice.”

  I set my nearly full beer bottle down on a nearby table. “Well, it’s mine.”

  She was silent. When I looked at her I saw her eyes had clouded with tears.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so mean to me,” she blurted as a few people glanced our way. “I’m having a really shitty time in life right now.” She sniffed and curled her arms around her body as if she was trying to hug herself.

  Her little act didn’t fool me but I took a few deep breaths rather than jumping off the sofa. Like it or not, Kayla was technically family and I needed to figure out how to get along with her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Things not going well at school?”

  “I got my ass kicked out,” she said flatly.

  “Huh?” I stared at her, figuring she was lying.

  “It’s bullshit,” she said. “I got caught with a couple of wine coolers in my room, which violates their code of conduct. Plus I managed to fail every single subject in my first semester.”

  “I hadn’t heard,” I said, wondering why the subject hadn’t come up before. Kayla had been home for weeks.

  Kayla groaned and rolled her head back on the couch. “My mom doesn’t know yet. She still thinks I’m returning to school on Friday. I was planning to tell her tomorrow.”

  “Shit.” I shook my head. “That sucks. Sorry.”

  Kayla gave me a limp smile and touched my arm. “Thanks, Bran. Look, I could really use a friend. And I don’t mean that in any creepy, seductive kind of way.”

  I didn’t think she was lying about being kicked out of school. But I still trusted her about as far as I could kick a truck.

  “Sure, we’re friends,” I said, a little warily.

  “Good.” She smiled and rubbed my arm. “Maybe we could go somewhere quiet and talk?”

  I stood up. “I’ve got to be getting home.”

  Kayla’s eyes dimmed. “To Cecily.”

  “Yeah, to Cecily.”

  She sighed and stood up, brushing her hands over her dress, probably so I would notice that she still had a hell of a body. I didn’t want to notice but I did.

  “I’d like to head out too,” she said. “You think you could give me a ride?”

  If Cecily saw Kayla in my front seat she would rightly pitch a fit but I couldn’t bring myself to be the kind of prick who refused to drive my own stepsister home.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Kayla was unusually quiet on the short drive. She asked me to turn on the heat and then flipped the radio stations until she found one that pleased her. I pulled around to the front of the house rather the side by the garage in the hopes that Cecily wouldn’t peek out the window and see. I waited for Kayla to get out of my truck but she just sat there, breathing hard, her long hair failing in her face.

  “You could come in,” she said quietly.

  “I know I could. It’s my father’s house.”


  Kayla pushed her hair aside and looked at me with wide, sexy eyes. “My room is on the first floor. You know Eric and my mom would have gone upstairs to bed hours ago.”

  My jaw hardened. “I never took you up on that offer back when you first moved in,” I said evenly. “And I’m sure as hell not going to take you up on it now.”

  “Because of Cecily,” she pouted.

  “You don’t fucking listen, Kayla,” I snarled. “I told you years ago that there was nothing real between us. Wouldn’t have been even if our folks never got married. That’ll never change. Ever.”

  I reached all the way across and opened her door. I waited for her to leave but she still didn’t move. A sound came from her that sounded like a strangled cough.

  “I can’t believe you’ve turned into such a fucking asshole,” she said bitterly. She waited for a couple of heartbeats like she thought I’d apologize.

  “Honesty doesn’t make me an asshole, Kayla,” I said.

  She hissed and shook her head. “Somehow, Bran, you make it seem otherwise.”

  Then she jumped out of my truck, slammed the door and ran for the house. I watched to make sure she actually went inside then I pulled the car around to the garage. There was no light coming from the window that faced the street.

  After I cut the engine I just sat there with my hands on the steering wheel, looking up at the dark window. There was a single bulb lamp that hung over the side door of the main house and Nell always kept it on all night long. The shaft of light glinted off the gold ring on my left hand and with a sigh I exited the truck.

  The apartment was silent. When I parted the curtain that hung between the bedroom and living room I saw that Cecily was sound asleep. Or at least acting like she was. She didn’t stir at all as I undressed beside the bed.

  “Cess?” I whispered but the only answer was the sound of her deep, even breathing.

  I was too keyed up to climb into bed so I went to the fridge and grabbed a few of those beers we’d been arguing about earlier. I’d barely had a thing to drink at the party so I shouldn’t feel bad about polishing off a few bottles but I kept seeing the critical look on Cecily’s face. When I dumped the bottles in the garbage I noticed that Cecily’s bags of art supplies had been stuffed in there and I fished them out. I didn’t know why she felt like she’d ever had to hide them or why she had turned away from doing what she loved. All I knew was that I felt pretty crappy about calling her out on it.

  Trying not to make too much noise with the plastic bags, I removed each object and set it carefully on the table. If Cecily still wanted to throw it all away I wouldn’t stop her a second time but I kind of hoped she would have a change of heart in the morning when she saw all the pencils and sketch pads. During the first few weeks of our marriage she had seemed eager to return to her art and that’s when she painted that picture of the Grand Canyon that hung above our bed. I loved watching her as she bit the corner of her lip in concentration as she got lost in her creativity. I couldn’t figure out why she’d stopped.

  Then I thought of my mother.

  She was a violin prodigy who attended Julliard and then returned home to Cleveland to nurse a sick grandmother. She and my father met at a barbecue hosted by mutual friends and three months later they were married. Ten months after that, Caden was born. When I was little I remembered hearing the melancholy music of the violin drifting down to the yard where I played but I never thought much of it. It just seemed like something my mother did when she didn’t have more important things to take care of. The music grew more infrequent with the years and eventually stopped. I didn’t even know if she took her violin with her when she left.

  Once, shortly after she walked out, I asked my father why she didn’t keep up with her music. He seemed surprised by the question, as if he’d forgotten that piece of her ever existed. After he thought about it for a moment he said that life just got in the way. First she had Caden and then four years later I came along.

  “But did you ever ask her why she stopped?” I had asked.

  “No,” he said quietly. “No, I guess I never did.”

  That conversation played in my head and I shivered as I sat there in the dark in my boxers. The walls weren’t very well insulated and it was freezing. I’d have to get that fixed if we were going to be living here for a while.

  As my mind wandered I found myself thinking about the glossy brochure that had arrived in the junk mail pile at work today. It was an Army recruitment pamphlet that had been addressed to someone else and arrived our way by accident. I’d never given a single thought to the armed forces but I couldn’t help but admire the confident people in the photos. They looked so full of purpose and determination. That wouldn’t be a bad feeling to wake up to every morning.

  The cold finally got to me and I headed for the warmth of bed. Cecily was curled over on her side, facing away. My hand started to reach for her but I stopped and kept to my side of the bed. She was sleeping comfortably. I had no right to disturb her, to wake her up and demand her attention. Chances were we’d just wind up continuing our earlier argument anyway. We argued too much these days and I didn’t know what to do about it. Sometimes it seemed like we weren’t the same people we’d been just a few months ago.

  When I thought about that I started to wonder about something.

  Did Cecily even really want to be here?

  Did I???

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cecily

  Maura knocked on my door Saturday evening and asked if I wanted to walk to the dining hall for dinner.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” she said as we headed toward the center of campus. The crowded quad area usually thinned out this time of day as fewer classes were in session during the evening. But as we approached there were still students milling around, weighted down with backpacks and individual plans as they stared into their phones.

  “No problem,” I said. “I could use a break from the books.” I hadn’t actually been studying anyway. I was sketching a mesquite tree visible from the window beside my desk.

  When I selected a grilled chicken salad at the dining hall, Maura copied me but after we sat down I noticed she was just absently picking at her food.

  “I heard Saffron’s not coming back this year,” she said.

  I already knew that. I’d spoken to the girl’s mother and even helped pack up the belongings she’d left behind in her room.

  I forked a small tomato. “That’s understandable. She’s still got months of recovery left. She did text me about a week ago and said she might try to come back next year.”

  “I haven’t talked to her,” Maura sighed. “I hardly knew her anyway. Maya, her old roommate, told me. Maya’s psyched to have the room all to herself.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t get used to it. Someone might get placed there next semester.”

  Maura had been toying with a piece of chicken. She set her fork down. “I was actually a little jealous.”

  “Because you want your room all to yourself?”

  “No. Because Saffron got to go home.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t know if I’d envy the agony of two broken feet and multiple surgeries.”

  She smiled fleetingly. “I guess not.” Then she made a face. “I’m just being morbid. These last few days have been a bummer with things being so weird between Kevin and me. He still denies it all, but I feel like there’s something he’s not being honest about. Sometimes I just wish I had an excuse to go home.”

  The words ‘go home’ bounced around in my head. All day I’d been doing my best to avoid thinking of Bran being back home in Hickeyville. All day I’d been failing.

  “What’s up, girlfriends,” chirped a high-pitched voice and an instant later a food tray slid next to mine. “Mind if I join you?” Dorritt asked and plopped herself right down in a chair. She smiled at me winningly and took a sip of her drink. I didn’t smile back.

  “Hi,” said Maura. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
>
  Since I didn’t detect any animosity in her voice I figured she had no idea that Dorritt had been messing around with her boyfriend. At least I thought she was. I’d heard Kevin mutter her name quite clearly last night and it was unlikely that another Dorritt roamed around campus.

  “Her name’s Dorritt,” I said, hearing the sour note in my own voice. My table companions didn’t appear to notice.

  “You’re the third floor RA, right?” Maura asked.

  Dorritt set her drink down and grinned. “Yup, sure am.”

  “So you must know my boyfriend, Kevin.”

  Dorritt was phony through and through. A smile stayed on her lips as she mixed her rice bowl. “Of course I know Kevin,” she said, a little smugly. Then she turned her attention to me. “So how are things going on the first floor, Cecily?”

  “Fabulous. It’s been two whole weeks since I’ve suffered any crudely drawn pornography on my door and no one’s crapped in the hallway lately.”

  Dorritt laughed and tossed her blonde hair. “Winning!”

  “Someone crapped in the hallway?” Maura asked, horrified.

  “Weeks ago,” I assured her. “It’s been cleaned up.”

  Dorritt suddenly gasped and craned her neck around. Then she sighed and sank back into her chair.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Thought I saw someone but then I remembered he’s out of town.” She pointed at Maura. “He’s Kevin’s roommate, now that I’m thinking of it.”

  “Oh, you mean Branson,” Maura said. “You wouldn’t see him in here even if he wasn’t out of town. Kev says he’s always working, only comes to the room to sleep. He’s older, like in his twenties. ”

  Dorritt picked up a napkin and pretended to fan herself with it. “He’s screaming hot. God, that man and I are destined for one hell of a conversation if I can manage to corner him for longer than twenty seconds.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have one or two other conversations going on?” I asked pointedly.

  Dorritt looked me straight in the eye. She evidently hadn’t realized I was the one who knocked on Kevin’s door in search of Bran last night but she knew what I meant.