Losers Weepers

by Nicole Williams

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” Smiling at me, a glint of mischief lit up her eyes right before she all but leapt into my lap.

  A rush of air burst from my lungs at the impact, but I recovered quickly. She wound her arms around my neck and situated herself in my lap so she was perpendicular to me. I wrapped one arm around her waist and used the other to push us to the table.

  The restaurant might have been staring at me before, but now they were really staring. As if me being paralyzed weren’t bad enough, it was unequivocally worse that a beautiful, healthy, fully-functioning woman would want to sit on my lap and look at me with almost worshipful eyes. From how I gauged most people’s stares, Josie’s faithfulness to me was the most tragic part of the whole thing.

  They made me want to raise both middle fingers at the entire restaurant, but I’d given the spectators enough attention already. They didn’t deserve my attention—Josie did. I was giving her the rest of it for the night.

  “Do you guys, like, get off on making some big public scene or something?” Rowen’s nose was curled as we wheeled up to the table.

  A chair had been removed from one of the spots, which I guessed was designated for me.

  Josie blinked across the table at her. “Don’t you guys?” Then, without any warning or indication, she twisted in my lap, straddling me as she had in the truck, and dropped her mouth to mine while she slid off my hat and tangled her fingers in my hair.

  “Fuck, Joze,” I breathed, nipping at her lower lip as she continued to kiss me in a way that wasn’t exactly PG-family-rated.

  When her tongue slipped past my teeth, tying with mine, a chorus of groans and comments circled around the table . . . and, from the sounds of it, the restaurant too. From the Masons’ table behind us, someone hollered something about getting a room, followed by a comment about getting her pregnant kissing like that. From the other side of the room, where I guessed Jesse’s table of friends was, hoots and cheers broke out, the clink of beer bottles interspersed.

  From across the table, another trademark sign of the disgruntled sort came from Rowen. “Enough with your overactive libidos already. Don’t make me anymore nauseous than I already am.”

  When Josie’s and my mouths stayed connected, her tongue still doing things to mine that made me wish I’d taken her up on her offer out in the truck, something smacked me on the side of the forehead.

  “Down, boy,” Rowen said, reaching for another piece of bread to lob at me in the event Josie and I either couldn’t or wouldn’t separate. Beside her, Jesse shifted in his seat as if he’d just witnessed his grandmother naked on a freezing cold day. “I came here to eat and catch up with you guys, not be brought dangerously close to emptying the contents of my stomach in my lap.”

  Josie settled a final kiss on my mouth before replacing my hat and sliding off of my lap. “Whatever, don’t deny that just got you all hot and bothered and practically panting for Jesse to take you to bed tonight.” As Josie slid into her chair beside me, she winked at Jess. “You can thank me later.”

  Jesse turned an impressive shade of red and buried himself farther in his menu.

  “You’re right. I cannot wait to crawl into bed tonight,” Rowen replied. “To sleep or hibernate or slip into a coma or whatever it takes so I can make it through a day without feeling like I’ve got mono.” With a yawn, she settled her head against Jesse’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her.

  Josie bounced her eyebrows at them. “Stop keeping her up all night, Jesse. We women might seem invincible, but even we need the reprieve of sleep every once in a while.”

  Jesse motioned at Rowen halfway asleep on him, her eyes more drifted close than open. “This isn’t my fault. We haven’t even—”

  “Oh yes, it’s your fault,” Rowen interjected, giving him a pointed look but keeping her head on his shoulder. “Nice try there, cowboy.”

  Jesse’s face was still a little red, but it went a shade redder after that. I leaned forward, inspecting the two of them carefully. Josie mirrored me.

  “What the hell is going on with you two?” I asked, summing up all the questions rolling around in my head.

  Rowen shook her head and tried to stifle the next yawn. “Uh-uh. We’re here to talk about how you’re doing and how your life’s been, not talk about us.”

  Jesse slipped his wife a look. A secret message passed between them, and just when I was about to pound my palms on the table and demand to know what was going on, our waiter arrived to take our drink orders. Jesse ordered a Coke with me, as he always did now that I’d virtually stopped drinking. The girls would usually still order a drink, but Rowen ordered a Sprite. Josie whined about not wanting to be the only lush of the group and wound up ordering a Cherry Coke.

  I waved my finger around the table. “The four of us are together and no one’s drinking? Cue the end of the world.”

  Jesse gave an intentional clearing of his throat.

  Rolling my eyes, I modified my original comment. “Fine, the three of us are together and no one’s drinking.” This time, my finger only indicated Josie, Rowen, and myself.

  “So, really, how are you doing, Black?” Rowen dug a piece of bread from the basket before passing the basket around the table. I was opening my mouth to answer when she added, “The non-wiseass, sarcastic version please.”

  Josie chuckled as she placed a piece of bread on my plate before snagging one for herself.

  “I’m okay, I guess,” I said, feeling like having my eyelids stapled open would have been less torturous than talking about how I was doing and my . . . feelings.

  “You’re okay, you guess?” Rowen repeated as she spread butter on her bread. When she was done, she tore it in half and gave a piece to Jesse. Jesse just put his piece back on her plate. “What does that mean in non-vague terms?”

  I sawed off a piece of my bread and chewed on it for longer than necessary. “It means I have good days and bad days like before. I just experience those good and bad days from a wheelchair.” My words came out sharper than I’d intended, but if it upset anyone around the table, they didn’t show it.

  “What’s the latest news on your spine? How much longer do they think you’ll be in that wheelchair?” Rowen took a sip of her water after she’d taken a small bite of bread. She winced and took another sip. Jesse seemed to be watching her without blinking.

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I said, gripping the arms of my wheelchair. “Why is everyone so concerned about me getting out of it when they’re not the ones confined to it in the first place? Why is everyone so fucking concerned with what’s going on with my spine?”

  Josie’s hand dropped to my leg and gave it a squeeze that warned me to cool my jets. My eyes closed as I took a slow breath. I was just about to apologize to Rowen when she spoke up.

  “We’re all so concerned about you and your spine and your defensive disposition because we care about you. We also were around to see you go from paralyzed from the neck down to only being paralyzed from the waist down, and we’re hopeful the mobility trend will continue.” Rowen took another sip of water.

  Jesse scanned the restaurant, relief flooding his expression when he saw the waiter approaching with our drinks.

  “If we didn’t care what happened to you, we wouldn’t ask, so don’t take a shit on us for caring. It would be a lot easier to not care.” Rowen’s words were searing, but her tone was quiet, almost as if she were nursing a headache. “So why don’t you sideline the a-hole act for a couple hours so we can enjoy the rest of the night? You can slide back into it tomorrow if you want.”

  Josie was pursing her lips to keep from smiling while staring into her lap, and Jesse looked as if he were about to flag down the waiter before Rowen and I got into one of our infamous horn-locking “discussions.” When the waiter set our drinks in front of us, Rowen downed half of her Sprite before we’d finished ordering. We all ordered the New York strip, but when Rowen ordered hers medium-rare like the rest of
ours, Jesse’s forehead wrinkled.

  She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Make that medium-well.”

  “If anyone catches wind of the wife of one of the biggest cattle ranching names in the area ordering a steak a hair below well-done, the Walker name will take a serious tarnishing,” I said in a lowered voice.

  This time it was Jesse who lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

  “So Josie mentioned something about an MRI,” Rowen said with her straw between her teeth. “That you’re pretty much refusing to have one done because you’re a cheapskate. Is that right?”

  I wrapped my arm around Josie’s neck, drew her close, and mussed up her hair with my other hand. “Traitor.” I gave her hair one last muss before letting her go. “In so many words, yeah, that’s right. Doc Murphy did recommend an MRI, and yes, it would cost more than the cozy little trailer I grew up in was worth in its prime, but the thing is, the MRI won’t make me better. It can’t diagnose something that can be fixed with surgery or therapy. All it will do is tell us what happened.” I shrugged and motioned at my legs. “I already know what’s happened, so I think I’ll save myself the five grand, but thanks for inquiring.”

  “Are they sure that fall didn’t break something inside your head too? The part that regulates logical thinking?”

  I put on my most impressive smirk, but if it fazed Rowen, she didn’t show it. “That part got knocked loose way back when I was a baby and Clay would have sooner dropped me than let a bottle of hooch slip from his hand.”

  “Get the MRI,” Rowen said, followed by a long exhale. “If only for your peace of mind.”

  “Hey, Sterling-Walker, I don’t need peace of mind to accept what’s happened to me, and I don’t need peace of mind to accept what’s going to happen to me in the future. I do, however, need the five grand since I’ll be lucky to get hired on part-time at the thrift store on Main, sorting people’s used crap and making minimum wage.”

  “Garth—” Rowen started, shaking her head.

  “I’m paralyzed. Every day I stay this way adds a few more percentage points to the odds of me staying this way for good. The fancy machine isn’t going to tell me something I don’t already know.” I took a long drink of my Coke, wishing I’d ordered a double whiskey instead. I wasn’t angry at Rowen for asking questions—I was angry at the questions for being there in the first place. I was angry at the situation that had put me in the position of those kinds of questions existing. I was furious at myself for not being able to fix this or figure out all the answers or make up my goddamned mind about what I should do moving forward.

  Rowen shoved her seat forward, her eyes narrowing at me in a way that had me bracing myself to get it, when Jesse spoke up. “So we’re going to be moving back to Willow Springs.” He glanced at his wife, seeming to gauge her emotions. “At least for part of the year.”

  That shifted the conversation topic real quick. Josie’s and my heads whipped toward him, our jaws practically hanging open.

  “Say what?” Josie said, leaning forward. “I thought you guys just purchased a condo in Seattle and were settling into the whole grunge scene and getting used to carrying umbrellas everywhere and replacing the colors in your wardrobe with gray and black.”

  Rowen arched an eyebrow at her. “Our condo is a fancy word for a coat closet, and my closet was already spilling over with black and gray, thank you very much.”

  Josie and I looked between the two of them, waiting for the punchline. I knew Jesse wasn’t a big fan of city life, but he’d have moved smack into the middle of New York City if it meant being with Rowen, and Rowen’s career as an artist was taking off on the West Coast. Why they’d suddenly decide to go between living in Montana and Seattle wasn’t adding up.

  “What’s up?” Josie asked in place of how I’d phrased earlier, What the hell is going on?

  Jesse shifted in his seat as he took a drink of his Coke. “It’s getting harder and harder for Dad to manage the ranch, so we’re planning on spending three or four months during the summer helping out.”

  “Plus the thought of spending the rest of my life trapped between sky-scrapers, people, and overcast weather is enough to make me mental,” Rowen added, finishing her soda. When she caught Josie and me looking at her, she added, “More mental than I already am, at least.”

  “But you love the city,” Josie said.

  Rowen lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  Josie’s forehead creased. “And with both of your jobs, it’ll be okay to simply pick up and leave for a few months every year?”

  “Most of the big art shows take place during the fall and spring, and I can paint, sculpt, and draw in Montana as easily as I can in Seattle.” Rowen replaced her head on Jesse’s shoulder and reached for his hand. “Jesse’s been a trouper the whole time, and not once has he complained, but he won’t miss working construction. He was born on a ranch. He was raised on a ranch. That’s where he belongs.”

  “That’s where he belongs . . .” Josie hinted.

  Jesse’s chin curled around Rowen’s head, his expression almost troubled.

  “And I belong with him,” Rowen replied firmly. “It’s not fair to expect him to move away from the people and places he knows when we can make this work. Besides, I miss Montana.”

  Josie smiled. “It’s the cow crap ground into the floors, isn’t it? Appealing on so many levels.”

  “Nah,” she replied, winking at us. “It’s more the people in this cow-crap-crusted state than the actual places I miss.”

  “Holy cow crap. Good for you guys.” I leaned back in my wheelchair and grinned at my friends, who I’d be getting to see more often than the occasional weekend. “Is this move happening, like, this summer or next?”

  “Happening as soon as possible,” Rowen answered, followed by Jesse shaking his head.

  “We haven’t decided anything for sure yet,” he said. “We have to find a house close by the ranch first, or build one, and there’s a bunch of other things to get worked out too.”

  “What else is there to get worked out, Jess? Besides which side of the bed you’ll sleep on . . .” I asked as the waiter arrived with a large tray about to spill over with steak and sides.

  Jesse lifted his eyes to mine. There was something in them I couldn’t translate. “Lots of things.”

  The waiter was just about to set Josie’s plate in front of her when Rowen shoved back in her chair, covered her mouth, and sprinted across the restaurant before Josie had realized she was gone.

  “Crap, Garth,” Jesse groaned, tossing his napkin onto the table as he stood. “I thought I told you not to order the creamed spinach.”

  My brows pinched together. “When the hell did you tell me that?” I waved my fork at the tray. A steaming plate of creamed spinach had my name all over it. “And why the hell would you tell me that in the first place?”

  All Jesse did was shake his head at me before following his wife, who I guessed had disappeared into the ladies’ restroom. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he got there, but he obviously wasn’t happy with me.

  “What’s got his chaps in a twist?” I muttered to Josie as the waiter finished placing the plates in front of the chairs, throwing a concerned looked in the direction of the restrooms. “And what’s the deal with the creamed spinach? I always order creamed spinach. It’s never sent him over the ledge before. Something’s up with those two.”

  Josie stared at Rowen and Jesse’s empty seats, her forehead creasing. “What do you think is up?”

  I glanced at the restrooms. “I don’t know, but nothing good. Jesse’s been on edge all night, and Rowen’s been especially snappy. I always worried that, with those two being so different, their honeymoon period would be over quickly, and when it was, those differences would drive them apart.”

  Josie cut into her steak. “I don’t think they fell in love because of their differences.”

  I was still worked up over what had happened and what was currently happe
ning. I’d rarely seen Rowen and Jesse so out-of-sorts as a couple, and it was hitting me hard. If they couldn’t make it, what hope did the rest of us have? “Then why?”

  Josie nudged me with her elbow and finished chewing. “Gee, I don’t know . . . maybe because they loved each other.” Another nudge. “It’s not like you and I are exactly alike, so you better be careful what you’re saying.”

  I watched as we both cut into our steak from the same angle, at the same spot, and stabbed the chunk with the tips of our knives instead of our forks to bring it to our mouths. “Joze, you and I are more alike than both your mother and father pray every night we’re not.”

  She finished chewing and then kissed my cheek. “Ah, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Nothing says romance like implying your woman’s the asshole equivalent of you with boobs.”

  “I like to think of us as strong-willed.”

  “You can consider us or yourself strong-willed all you want, but that doesn’t mean that’s the word people whisper behind your back.” Josie glanced up, something catching her attention.

  When I followed her stare, I noticed two boys hesitantly making their way to our table. “More fans of yours?” I muttered at her.

  She lifted her chin at them. “I’d say from the napkins and pens in their hands, it’s you they’re fans of.”

  She was right. They were each clutching a cocktail napkin in one hand and a pen in the other. It seemed like so long since I’d been asked for an autograph, and so much had happened since that that felt like a whole other life.

  “Excuse us, Mr. Black, we’re sorry about interrupting your dinner . . .” the older boy, who looked to be around twelve or so, started.

  “But can we have your autograph please?” the younger of the two boys piped up, holding out his napkin and pen.

  Josie set down her silverware, smiling between the boys and me. She scooted my plate a bit to the side to make room for me to sign the napkins.

  “Of course you can have my autograph.” I took the pen and napkin from the young boy first. “It’s only a hundred dollars per signature. How many would you like?” When I looked up to find two faces shifting deeper into shock, followed by Josie’s elbow bumping mine, I grinned. “That’s a joke. No charge.”