Bad Will Hunting

by Heather Wardell

  “What else have they got?” I say once he’s sent off requests for the information packages for both programs.

  He glances at me, smiling. “Just want to scroll through and see?”

  “Why not? Maybe there’s something we’ve never thought of.”

  “Why not indeed.” He pulls up a list of all programs. “Aviation technician? Cosmetic application?”

  “Both at once. Make those planes pretty.”

  He laughs. “It’d be a unique career, that’s for sure.”

  “Definitely.”

  We keep on through the list, making jokes, but when we get to ‘support and distress center operator’ I say, “Can we look at that one’s details?”

  He blinks. “Of course. I don’t even know what it is.”

  Neither did I, but my guess was right: it’s about the techniques of working at a distress hotline like the one I’d called in Vegas. Had Lynn taken such a course? She’d handled my anger and frustration, and my sadness, so well, she must have had at least some training.

  It’s only a two-month course, but it requires full-time classroom attendance. I can’t do that, not without giving up my job and making Grandmother so angry that a million pithy plaques wouldn’t help.

  And of course I wouldn’t be any good at that job. How could I help someone else find their answers when all I have are questions and frustrations?

  “Interesting,” Sam says. “I like that those people are out there helping other people.”

  “Yup. Definitely.”

  After joking about taking the ‘underwater skills’ course so we could go diving in the Caribbean, Sam says, “Well, with any luck they’ll get back to us--”

  My phone signals an email.

  “Soon,” he finishes, smiling. “Could it be?”

  I check, and it is. We read through the automatically-sent application package for the admin assistant training together, shoulder-to-shoulder to both be able to see my phone’s screen, and he says, “Well?”

  I stare at the phone. I hate my job so much. Being off the floor, or at least not being bossed around by Marshall and Sally, could only be an improvement, and since I already know nearly everything listed in the course description I probably wouldn’t fail. Unlike the distress center one, in which I’d be struggling every moment. And that would only be a volunteer job anyhow, even if I did manage to get through the course. “I think I’ll do it.”

  Sam gives my arm a squeeze. “Awesome. Let me know if I can help.”

  Feeling a little hope, for the first time in a long time, I say, “You already have.”

  He clears his throat. “I’m glad. And, um, as for finding that Will guy...”

  Two pieces of good news in one day? Can it be?

  No. It can’t.

  Sam shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I tried everything I can think of to find him and I got nowhere. I’ll keep trying, if you want me to.”

  I nod. “I’d really appreciate that. I need to find him.”

  Sam sips his latte instead of responding, and I realize how true my statement is. I do need to find Will, because he set me up then knocked me down and I will not let that stand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  MC settles herself on the couch with her newly acquired beer bottle in her hand and as Kent wraps his arm around her shoulders she says, “Yeah, for sure. I hated lots of it while we were there, obviously, but it was an amazing experience.”

  Everyone nods, and I do too though I don’t mean it. I didn’t find my time on the island amazing at all. I hated every second. I didn’t have a choice. Without Brett it meant nothing. Worse than nothing.

  “Which is funny, given how horrible parts of it were.” Lily scratches her purring cat behind the ears. “All those bugs, and the dirt, and the horrible food.”

  “Speaking of which, anyone need another slice of pizza?”

  We all laugh at Sam’s comment and I hold out my plate to him. I’m not quite sure why Lily included me in her Christmas party but I have no doubt Sam’s a big part of the reason. I hadn’t wanted any contact with these people after the show, but I enjoyed yesterday’s shopping with Sam and tonight it feels kind of nice to be surrounded by people who had the same experiences I did.

  Except they didn’t. Once everyone who needs it has more pizza, Greg says, “I think the part I remember most is the view. Looking out of the jungle to see nothing but water? I wish I’d had a camera.”

  The others nod and start discussing their favorite sights and sounds and smells of the island, and I keep an ‘I’m involved in this conversation even though I’m not talking’ kind of smile on my face and hope nobody asks me for a memory.

  I don’t have any good ones. I stayed focused on the work and surviving and my determination not to break down and give the producers the spectacle they wanted. My rage kept me warm at night and kept me moving forward. But it also kept me from collecting any of the little moments everyone else seems to have found.

  But I don’t see how I could have handled things any differently. I was furious, and I still am, and the whole thing was horrible and unfair so anger is an appropriate reaction. It’s the only reaction I know how to have.

  “Ashley?”

  I blink and realize everyone’s staring at me. My cheeks getting hot, I say, “Sorry, Sam, what?”

  He smiles at me. “Just wanted to make sure you heard Kent raving about your spear fishing.”

  I look from him to Kent and back again, horribly sure they’re messing with me, but Sam looks as proud as if he taught me to fish and Kent is smiling and nodding.

  “It really was my favorite moment on our island,” he says to me. “When you first picked up that stick we sharpened and boom, caught a fish, and then another and another? Just incredible. They really should have shown that on the final show.”

  “Yeah, yeah, she’s a great fisher.” Aaron rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “And she beat me later on in a contest. We all remember.” He rolls his eyes again then winks at me. “There are a lot of people I’d hate losing to more than you, though, so I guess I’ll survive.”

  “We might not have,” Summer puts in before I can find a response, “without her fish. You could make a career of it, Ashley, supplying restaurants.”

  Aaron laughs. “I think she’s already got a career, gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, right. I have a crappy job.”

  He tips his head to one side and MC says, “But what about the videos? They can be a career. You and Sam are getting those going, right?”

  I look to Sam for help. He nods and says, “We are. It’ll take a while but it’ll work out.”

  Hardly. Not if I never post anything. But I appreciate his support so I smile at him.

  He smiles back and MC murmurs, “Good.” She sounds like she means it, though I don’t know why she’d care. These people are all so nice to me, and I don’t get it. Could the producers be arranging some massive humiliation for me? I doubt everyone would bother being involved, and I can’t believe Sam in particular would do that to me, but that they all want to include me in their group doesn’t make sense to me.

  They seem to want to, though, as we spend the next few hours talking and laughing and eating pizza and the Christmas goodies everyone brought, and as I walk out with Sam afterwards I realize that I don’t feel the usual ‘everything sucks and I hate my life’ vibe I get after hanging out with Becky and Shannon. These guys see the world differently. I don’t share their view and I think they’re beyond naïve to hold it, but it is kind of nice to experience it on occasion.

  Sam and I drive away, but he pulls into a parking lot not far from my place. I turn to him, surprised, and he parks the car then says, “Got something for you.”

  I touch my fish necklace, which I’ve worn every day since he gave it to me because it’s so cute. “You got me something before.”

  “Yeah, but it’s Christmas next Friday.” He reaches into the back seat of the car and pulls out a squishy-looking package. �
�Now don’t open it until the twenty-fifth,” he says, pointing a mock-accusing finger at me with one hand and giving me the package with the other.

  I laugh and reach for my purse. “Only if,” I say, pulling out the smaller but also squishy package I put in there for him, “you wait too.”

  He chuckles. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Neither did you,” I point out.

  He smiles, then it fades and he says, “Can I ask you something? You can say no, of course. Are you... is there any chance I could spend Christmas Day with you?”

  Surprised, I say, “With Grandmother? You’d hate it. I know I will.”

  “That’s why I thought... never mind. Ready to get going?”

  He starts the car, but I put my hand on his shoulder. “Wait. Tell me what you meant.”

  Sam shakes his head. “I just... this is my first Christmas since the whole Melinda thing blew up. My parents are going to Germany to see Mom’s college roommate and my brother’s off skiing somewhere and all of my friends are with their families and... I know you don’t love going to your grandparents’ so I thought maybe we could hang out together. Just us.” He clears his throat. “I thought we could have a nice day. If you wanted to.”

  I sit, trying to decide. I’m sure we would have a nice day, but I can’t. Can I? Grandmother does bitch unmercifully about all the work she goes through to get Christmas ready for me and--

  A shock wave goes through me at the realization this will be my first Christmas without Brett. We used to keep each other sane as our relatives snarked at each other. How am I going to survive this?

  Could I spend the day with Sam? He’ll be all alone if I don’t.

  Anger snaps through me, and I’m glad because it pushes away my misery over Brett. Being alone is the only reason Sam suggested this. He’s got no other options so he calls on me. Well, forget it. I won’t let him use me like that. I shake my head, trying to look sad. “I’m sorry, but she’d kill me. I have to be there.”

  Sam nods and pulls the car out of the parking lot. “I understand. Maybe I’ll get to see you after at some point?”

  “For sure.” I make myself chuckle, though I feel sick. “And maybe I’ll even have a video ready to go by then.”

  “That’d be a great present,” he says, shooting me a quick smile before returning his attention to the road.

  We don’t talk much as he takes me home, and I think that an even better present for me would be for him to never have asked me to spend Christmas with him. That way I wouldn’t have to wonder whether he actually wanted to see me or just didn’t want to be alone. I think I’m starting to like him but I will not risk letting him set me up and then knock me down like Will did.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I sit on Grandmother’s uncomfortably hard couch, sweating in my zipped-up hoodie because she’s got the fireplace blazing away, trying to gather the nerve to tell her my January plans so I can undo the hoodie to reveal the t-shirt I’m hiding.

  So sweet of Sam, getting me my first officially branded thing from my new college. I texted him to thank him this morning, and he wrote back to say my gift was perfect and he’d make use of it during today’s workout. I hadn’t been sure what to get him, and I’m surprised and a bit scared by how much time I spent thinking about it and about him, but in the end I decided to encourage him in his goals as he’d encouraged me so I picked out a pair of weight-lifting gloves since he’d mentioned his were wearing out. I hope he’s as good a guy as he seems. I don’t want to have to get revenge on him some day.

  Grandmother leans over and fiddles with the end of my simple fishtail braid. “Can’t you tidy this up a bit? It’s all loose and sloppy.”

  I tug my hair from her grip and move away from her. “That’s how it’s supposed to be. And why does it matter anyhow? It’s just us here.”

  She gives me a frighteningly wide smile. “So far. Who knows what will happen?”

  If she’d said that when I was little, I’d have assumed she meant my parents were coming to celebrate the day with us. I hoped for that the first few years after they left, hoped so intensely I couldn’t sleep on Christmas Eve, and even after that I hadn’t been able to completely avoid longing for their arrival. Once I turned thirteen, though, and they had been gone for longer than they’d been with me, I had given up entirely. Now, I can’t imagine that her suggestion means anything good for me.

  She’s probably bringing over some annoying friend of hers who’ll poke at me with her withered claw and harass me for not being married. That’s what happened last year. Brett made it bearable by scribbling up bingo cards to keep track of the old bat’s annoying comments, but playing bingo by myself won’t be the same.

  Maybe I should have brought Sam. It’d still be awful, but at least I wouldn’t be alone.

  I push that thought aside. I have to get used to being alone. Alone means nobody screwing you over.

  I don’t want to discuss my college plans with whatever wingnut is going to be arriving, so I take a deep breath and unzip my hoodie on the exhale. “I have an announcement,” I say, turning to face Grandmother so she can see my shirt. “Starting the week after New Years I am going to college, online mostly but with a bit of classroom time, to get an admin assistant certification.”

  “Good for you.” Grandfather smiles at me from his armchair in front of the fire. “I hope it goes well.”

  “Oh, so do I.” Unlike him, Grandmother sounds like she can’t imagine how it would. “I don’t trust these computers but at least you won’t be in the classroom all the time. Save you from the bad company your mother fell into.”

  I’m not sure my father deserves the ‘bad company’ label, since from what I’ve pieced together my mother wanted to run away at least as much as he did, but I don’t bother trying to defend him. “Yes, it will. I’m pretty excited about it.” I want to be, anyhow. But I’m not sure I have been, other than when I opened Sam’s t-shirt gift this morning. Even receiving the acceptance email didn’t do more than make me smile a little, and I immediately began wondering if I was doing the wrong thing. Maybe that’s just as well. No point in getting over-invested and then disappointed if it doesn’t help me at the factory.

  I take a breath to say something about the factory to Grandmother, about why I’m getting the certification, but stop myself just in time. She’ll feel compelled to tell me why it wouldn’t help, and I don’t want to hear it right now. Even the thought of her words makes me angry.

  Being silent, though, means I have no trouble hearing the loud knock at their front door. If a knock can have attitude, this one does.

  “Oh, Ashley, get that, would you?”

  Grandmother’s tone is weirdly light and flippant, and she speaks so loudly and emphasizes my name so much that the person at the door must be able to hear.

  Annoyed, especially since I’ve always been the one to answer the door so I don’t need to be told to do it, I get up and start walking. I glance at Grandfather as I go, and his set face doesn’t make me feel any better. He usually gets along with everyone, so why does he look so displeased now? Who on earth is on the front steps?

  I steel myself and open the door.

  A guy of about my age, wearing a denim jacket and low-riding black exercise pants with a heavy metal t-shirt hiked up enough that I can see an inch or two of admittedly good abs, sweeps back his over-styled brown hair and says, “Ashley?” as he runs his eyes over me with what his expression suggests he thinks is a sexy subtlety.

  If the grandparents weren’t arriving in the hall behind me I’d say no, but I nod because I have to.

  He holds out a hand, sending a wave of stench that has to be cheap body spray toward me. “Chuck,” he says. “How you doin’?”

  His unconscious imitation of Joey from “Friends”, or at least what I hope is unconscious, makes me want to laugh, but instead I shake his hand and say, “Fine, thanks. You?”

  He squeezes my hand so hard it feels like my bones are grinding
together, but I keep a relaxed expression because I think he’s trying to show off his strength and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurting me.

  A frown crosses his face, making me smile inside, and he releases me. “Oh, I’m great,” he says, his suggestive tone making my inner smile vanish.

  “Invite him in, Ashley,” Grandmother flutes from behind me, and I step backward to get out of his way but can’t bring myself to say anything welcoming. I’ve watched enough horror movies to know that if you invite the monster in, you’re stuck with it.

  It’s quickly clear that I’ll be stuck with Chuck regardless. He saunters in, giving his painfully-trendy-running-shoe-clad feet a half-assed wipe on the welcome mat, and shucks off his jacket. “Here,” he says, handing it to me. “You can hang it up or cuddle it, whichever works for you.”

  “Can I set it on fire?”

  I’m not actually joking, because his attitude is infuriating, but he laughs and adjusts his t-shirt over his bulging biceps. “Whatever you want, gorge.”

  I take a breath to ask him what the hell he called me then realize he’s shortening ‘gorgeous’. Ick. Our latrine after three weeks on the island was more gorgeous than this guy. He does have a good body, but so does Sam and I don’t find myself wanting to set Sam’s stuff on fire every time he speaks.

  Chuck winks at me, making a helpless rage flash through me, then cruises on into the living room. I throw his jacket on a hanger, wishing I had the nerve to throw it out onto the front steps, and follow him in time to see him drop onto the couch. Since I already hate every atom in his disgusting body I have to bite back a giggle at his startled grunt when the couch doesn’t give way beneath his weight. “Hard as a rock, this thing,” he says, poking at the cushion. Then he pokes at his stomach. “Like this thing.”

  A thought I would never have imagined I would think goes through my mind: I would rather have sex with the couch.

  To her credit, Grandmother looks horrified at his statement, but unfortunately she recovers fast and fetches him eggnog and Christmas cookies. We all make awkward conversation, and when he’s finished his first plateful of food, she suggests in that same weird flirtatious voice from earlier that she and I should go to the kitchen to get him some more.