The only time he ever let anything go was when he let me go. Then again, that time it was a doozy what I wouldn’t let out.
Therefore not letting it go, Colt said, “A four door sedan.”
“You can’t sweat in a Volkswagen Beetle,” I told him.
“You’re not gettin’ a Beetle.”
“Why not?” I asked, looking back to him and sounding snippy because I liked Beetles.
“Because they’re ridiculous.”
“They are not.”
“No Beetle, Feb.”
“A convertible one?”
“Definitely not.”
I felt my vision narrow mainly because my eyes narrowed.
“Why ‘definitely not’?”
“‘Cause, you got a roof, at least that’s some barrier to the music blastin’ outta your car four seasons in the year. You got a convertible, you’ll get slapped with a moving noise violation.”
I stared at him with what I suspected was horror. “Is there such a thing as a ‘moving noise violation’?”
Colt didn’t answer which I didn’t know whether to take as good or bad.
I decided to ask Sully, or more aptly, to ask Lorraine who would ask Sully which would be more likely to get me a truthful answer.
Then I suggested, “How ‘bout one of those new Minis?”
“How ‘bout a Buick?”
I wasn’t sure but it was almost like I tasted vomit in the back of my throat.
“A Buick?” I whispered.
“They’re safe and they’re American.”
“Minis are English. The English are our allies.”
“The new Mini is made by BMW which is German.”
There it was, proof that he knew more about cars than me.
“Germans are our allies now too,” I told him.
“How ‘bout we talk about this later?” Colt suggested and I stayed quiet because I thought it was a good suggestion.
When we got home Colt went straight to the shower, I went straight to the boxes. I had time to get one unpacked, sheets and towels. My towels would go in his guest bathroom which made our purchases yesterday towel overkill, something I decided I wouldn’t tell Dad. My sheets would fit the bed in the second bedroom. They were feminine but far less flowery than the ones Mom bought. I therefore decided, when Mom and Dad left, to switch out the sheets and comforter in the second bedroom with mine and then put Mom’s back on when she and Dad were in town. I also decided to share this gesture with Colt, thinking it might bring me closer to a convertible Beetle which was the kind of idea I’d never had. I’d never owned a new car or a nice one nor ever really considered such a purchase. Now that the idea was planted in my head, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I was standing at the dining room table, staring at the half empty box with my journals in it, thoughts of Beetles swept away and thoughts of Denny clogging my brain, when Colt walked out.
I looked at him and saw his hair wet and curling around his neck. He had on what he’d worn earlier that morning, a long-sleeved, heathered blue henley thermal, jeans, a great belt and boots. His eyes were on my journal box.
“I haven’t written in my journal since –”
Colt’s arm came up, his hand sliding under my hair and around the back of my neck, this action cutting off my words before he said, “I know.”
I looked down at the box and muttered, “I don’t think I ever will again.”
His fingers gave me a squeeze and I looked at him.
“Isn’t this whole exercise ‘bout us livin’ our lives the way we want to live ‘em?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“So, you wanna write, write.”
I looked down at the box again, seeing mostly my older journals there, ones I’d written in when I was a kid, a pre-teen. Also, some from the last fifteen years.
Once I finished one, I never cracked it open again. I gave it the garbage in my brain hoping to release it. I’d been doing it forever but it was at that moment I realized that this never worked.
I stared in the box and whispered, “No. I don’t need to give my thoughts to a page when I can give them to you.”
His fingers tensed at my neck again, it wasn’t a squeeze this time, or not one he meant to give. This movement was reflexive and intense. Then he used his hand to curl me to his body.
My arms went around him as his other arm wrapped around me. I put my cheek to his chest and plastered my body to his.
“How much chance I got of you takin’ off a Saturday and spendin’ the rest of it alone with me?” he asked the top of my hair.
I thought this was a great idea. However, I part-owned a bar and Saturdays were our busiest days, not to mention these days we were even busier than normal. Already I was way late. I usually worked early on Saturdays so Morrie could have his game with Colt. Luckily, since Mom and Dad were here, they could hold down the bar while we had a lazy day. I could play on the emotional trauma Colt and me were living through to get the whole day off but it wouldn’t be right.
Again, I had to be mature and it sucked.
“Snowball in hell,” I said to his chest but I sounded as disappointed as I felt.
“That’s what I thought,” he replied before he kissed the top of my head and I tilted it back to look at him when he finished, “I gotta get to the Station anyway.”
“Can we get a Meems’s before we go our separate ways?” I asked.
“You wanna cookie for lunch?” he asked.
“No,” I answered, “carrot cake.”
He grinned but said, “Baby, I just played an hour of one-on-one. Carrot cake isn’t gonna cut it.”
“Mom bought enough deli meat and cheese to feed a battalion and we haven’t touched it yet.”
“You offerin’ to make me a sandwich?”
“I’ll make you two if you don’t argue about a convertible Beetle.”
His relaxed face became less relaxed.
I quickly offered an alternate choice, “Okay, I’ll amend the deal. I’ll make sandwiches if you take that journal box out to the garage and hide it in a place I won’t see it for about twenty years.”
I watched his face relax again before he said, “You’re on.”
He hefted up the box, I went to the kitchen.
My head was in the fridge and he was at the side door when I called, “So, ham and cheese?”
Colt stopped at the door, gave me a look and asked, “You want me to spank your ass?”
I considered this. Colt considered me as I did so. Then he laughed low and walked out the door.
I made him roast beef and swiss. I’d save the ham and cheese for when we both had a day off.
* * * * *
Colt and I walked into the bar. We both had our hands wrapped around the cardboard of a Meem’s white, takeaway cup and I had cream cheese from the carrot cake I’d hoovered through at the Coffee House on my lip.
I knew this because when I entered the bar Morrie shouted, “You got a Meems’s carrot cake and didn’t bring one for me?”
Morrie liked Meems’s carrot cake. It was his favorite. I didn’t get him one because the piece I had was the last slice of the day. Even though my favorite goodie in Meems’s inventory was her chocolate zucchini cake, I felt zero guilt about taking the last piece of carrot cake. Mainly because I had a psycho hacking up my ex-boyfriends and I was in a carrot cake mood. I figured the former meant I got dibs on the latter.
“It was the last piece,” I told Morrie after I’d licked my lip clean and while I walked down the bar.
“She have any chocolate zucchini left?” Morrie asked astutely.
“Nope,” I lied.
“Bullshit,” Morrie muttered and, as ever, I found it annoying I could never lie to my brother.
Colt followed me to the office where I stowed my purse in a drawer in the desk, sucked back the last of my Meems’s and tossed it in the trash.
When I straightened, I said to him, “Next time I have frosting o
n my mouth, tell me, will you?”
His arm shot out, hooked around my waist and he hauled me forward. Then he bent his head and licked my lip where the icing was.
My fingers curled into his thermal and they did this in an effort for me to remain standing because Colt’s tongue felt so nice it had a direct effect on the ability of my legs to keep me upright.
“Morrie ruined it,” Colt said when he lifted his head, “I was savin’ it for later.”
“Yeah, and I was walkin’ down the street with cream cheese on my lip,” I returned.
“How much you care about that?” he asked and he sounded weirdly curious.
Because he sounded curious, my eyes slid to the side as I mulled over his question.
Then my eyes came back and I answered, “Not much.”
He grinned.
I continued, “Then again, no one was on the street to see me and it’s only two doors down.”
“About fifteen cars passed us, baby.”
“Yeah, but they don’t count seein’ as I didn’t really notice them so in my head they don’t actually exist.”
He was still grinning when the door opened and Dad stood there. His expression was not good in a way that was really not good and both Colt and I got stiff simultaneously.
“Colt,” Dad said, “fuck, son, I’m sorry but I think you need to get out here.”
“What?” Colt asked and I watched Dad twist his neck, extending it in a way I’d seen before, not often but he did it when something happened he didn’t like, something that upset him or something that worried him.
His eyes hit Colt and he said, “Your Ma’s here.”
This was such a shock I felt my head move forward with a jerk as my eyes grew wide.
“His mother?” I asked.
Dad shook his head but said, “Yeah, darlin’.” Then he looked at Colt. “She’s askin’ for you and Jackie’s circlin’. Morrie and Dee’re tryin’ to get her to move on but she’s resistant and it’s workin’ Jackie up, I can see it, she’s gonna blow. We can’t get rid of Mary and we’re losin’ hold on keepin’ Jackie from goin’ ballistic. Sorry, Colt, wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t have to, you know that, but I need you to come deal with your mother.”
I looked up at Colt and saw his face was blank but stony.
Although most things about Colt had been shielded from me by pretty much everyone, I knew a lot about what had happened with Ted and Mary Colton the last twenty-odd years. One of those things I knew was that Colt hadn’t seen his mother in years and never spoke to her.
Colt had attended my wedding to Pete because he was that kind of person, responsible, doing the right thing, even though I hated him being there as much as it was obvious he hated it and he left the reception before we cut the cake.
I hadn’t attended his wedding to Melanie even though Melanie sent me an invitation. This was because I was irresponsible and rarely did the right thing but also because I was weak and I knew deep down there was no way I could handle it. I sent them a wedding gift from their registry that cost more than I could afford at the time but I did it anyway thinking I was making some kind of idiot point that was probably lost on them.
I’d also heard from Mom, who was furious about it, that Mary Colton had showed at the wedding. She’d been trashed out of her gourd and started to make a scene, blathering on, apparently (this I heard not from Mom but from Jessie) about how the wedding was a farce and Colt was meant to marry me. She luckily didn’t make it into the church, she did this outside and then Colt, Dad, Morrie and Sully got rid of her with Jimbo driving her home. Colt had somehow shielded Melanie from it and, as far as I knew, she never heard a word about it happening. Even back then, thinking I had no right, when Mom called to tell me this happened, and Jessie augmented the information, the knowledge pissed me off to such an extreme that I was glad I wasn’t there because I knew there was no telling what I’d do if I was.
Before Colt and I broke up, but long after he’d moved out of his Mom and Dad’s house, Ted Colton hit two kids while drunk driving and killed them both. Colt and I knew the kids. They were good kids, never got into trouble. The girl was named Jenny and she won the Spirit of Junior Miss at the Junior Miss Pageant the fall before. The boy was named Mike and he was an ace shortstop for the high school team. They’d been dating for ages and were on their way back from a late movie at the mall. They were seniors in high school but I’d been in school with them both for two years before I graduated. Colt and I didn’t know them well, but we knew them.
By this time, Colt was far removed from Ted and Mary Colton. In all eyes, he was a bona fide member of the Owens clan and had been long before he moved into our house. Therefore, no one even looked at him askance when this happened.
Still, Colt knew their blood ran in his veins and his Dad killing two kids cut Colt to the quick. With me at his side, he attended both funerals and for weeks he slid into a darkness that I worried he’d never come out of. But he did when he applied to the Police Academy. He’d always known that was what he wanted for his future but his father’s mindless act of violence spurred Colt to doing it.
After the accident, Ted Colton was in pretty bad shape too, but he survived. Once he was healthy, he went to trial then he went to prison. Years later, he got out on parole and went back due to parole violation, which consisted of twice being hauled in for drunk and disorderly, once being pulled over for a DUI and then there was the small matter of him never showing at parole meetings.
When he did his time, he got out again only to go back in when he robbed a liquor store, not their money, a box of booze. The man behind the counter saw him, called the cops and instead of stopping, Ted led them on a fifteen minute high speed chase through the streets of town that ended with Colt’s Dad driving through someone’s yard and into their living room. Luckily he caused no bodily harm not even to himself. Stupidly, he got out of the car, drunk off his ass, resisted arrest and he did this with a knife. Making matters worse, he had borrowed his neighbor’s car without their knowledge, which meant they were pretty pissed when they found out it was used during a burglary and wrecked during the ensuing chase. Therefore, they were happy to report it as stolen.
Ted Colton had always been a mean drunk but I’d never thought he was a stupid one.
Back to prison he went, where, as far as I knew, he was still rotting.
His Mom, though, had moved to a trailer park in the next town and how she managed to keep her trailer and her vodka and pill habit when I’d never known her to work a day in my life, I had no clue. But I didn’t doubt she did.
Dad turned to walk out the door and Colt and I followed. I did this quickly because Colt was moving fast. I caught up with him when we hit the bar, coming to his side and grabbing his hand. His eyes never left the woman who was standing at the bar but his fingers curled around my hand so tight I worried he’d break my bones. It took effort but I didn’t make a peep at the pain.
The bar was nearly silent, no buzz of conversation, only the jukebox playing. It was usually set low for the day crowd. We turned it up at night.
I was shocked at the vision of Mary Colton. She didn’t look like I always remembered her looking, unkempt, clothes wrinkled and sometimes not clean, skin sallow, hair in disarray. She looked clean, her hair cut and tidied. She had makeup on. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, both of them washed and well-kept, her jeans even looked ironed.
None of this hid the years of hard drinking and internal abuse her body had endured. She was too thin, her hair, although tidy, looked bristly and there were steel gray roots exposed at her part, the rest of it a fake dark brown that was obviously a home dye job in dire need of a refresh. Her face was lined, her skin sagging, her hands were thin and deeply veined, the knuckles seemed huge, the bones were visible, all of this making her hands look like claws.
My Mom, not too far away and staring daggers at Mary, looked the picture of youth and vitality next to Colt’s Mom. They were close to the same age b
ut Mom looked thirty years younger.
Mary turned to watch us walk up to her. I saw her take us both in, her eyes dropping to our linked hands and then they closed, slowly, almost like she was suffering some kind of internal pain.
Then she opened her eyes and Colt stopped us three feet away.
“Alec,” she said, her voice deep, rasping and unfeminine from years of chain smoking.
I felt my body give a jerk when I heard her call Colt that name and I swore, in his bed or out of it, I’d never call him that again. I finally understood why he hated it. Said by her, it was hideous.
“There something I can help you with, Ma?” Colt asked.
She hitched her purse up on her shoulder and shifted on her feet.
Then she said, “I been hearin’ some things.”
“Yeah?” Colt asked, even though this was a prompt, the way he said it communicated that he didn’t particularly want a response nor did he care what that would be.
She looked at me then tipped her head back to look at Colt and I noticed she’d shrunk, significantly. Both Ted and Mary had been tall, which was why Colt was tall. I stared at her, trying to see some beauty in her, racking my brain to remember her when she was younger, to remember Colt’s Dad, trying to figure out how this person and her husband made a man like Colt and I couldn’t see it.
“I heard you sorted things with Feb,” she said.
“I did,” Colt replied, his answer short, not initiating further discussion.
“I’m glad,” she told him but he didn’t respond so she looked at me and said, “For both of you.”
I didn’t know what to say but I thought I should say something so I muttered, “Thank you, Mrs. Colton.”
She nodded, I went quiet and Colt stayed silent.
“I heard other things too,” she went on, looking back to Colt.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Colt told her and her brows twitched.
“You safe?” she asked.
For You Page 49
