by CJ Daly
promise me you won’t go with Ron Tillman.”
I forced a laugh. “I can virtually guarantee that.”
It seemed like we were starting to say our goodbyes already, and I wasn’t
ready for that, so I led him by hand into the dining room, where the smell of
French fries was calling my name. After a thoughtful dinner of veggie burger
for me and regular burgers for them, we played a few hilarious rounds of
Bul shit, or “I Doubt It,” as it was called in my house. Pete had to intervene on that one, so we settled for “Bul crap” to the delight of the boys, who thought they were getting away with something.
Mikey and I won, of course, because I always knew when Pete was lying.
And called him out on it every time. He seemed to grow exponentially quieter the more rounds he lost, until every spec of good humor was gone from his
face. Finally, he threw down his thick stack of cards and groaned that it would
take till midnight to get rid of them all. But his humorous tone seemed forced.
Could it be he was a sore loser? Life’s winners were often the worst losers.
Maybe I should’ve cut him a break, like I did everybody else. But I was really
enjoying sticking it to him for playing for the wrong team.
We sent the boys off to get ready for bed and began clearing the dining
room table. As he slid past me with a plate of stumpy fries bloodied from their
ketchup-drowning, I poked him in the ribs. “Don’t tell me you’re feelin’ sore
cause I finally found somethin’ I can beat you at?” I teased.
Pete looked directly at me for the first time since I last blasted him with
Bul crap! Half a lip lifted. “You should quit waitressing to become a card shark.”
I laughed a little too heartily. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. But
alas, gamblin’s a sin, so Daddy’d never go for it.”
• 401 •
He laughed, a little less heartily. “Probably for the best. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready for bed while I finish cleaning up?”
I dropped my dishrag into his palm. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”
A quick goodnight to the boys, and I was in the bathroom brushing my
teeth. It was about at the end of this endeavor when my brain started to feel
two sizes too big for my skull, so I decided to pop a couple of more Tylenols.
But before I could get ‘em down the hatch, Pete came up behind me and
replaced them with two Vicodin. I looked askance at the intervention.
“Acetaminophen’s workin’ just fine. Plus, those happy pills tend to really
knock me out.” I politely declined the offer— so wanted to stay awake right
now. Gulping down my pain reliever with some coffee had even crossed my
mind.
“You could use the extra sleep,” he said gently. “And I kind of like seeing
you when you’re a little . . . less inhibited.” This little revelation preceded those lips, I’d been admiring all night, nuzzling my neck; I practically swooned right
there on the bathroom floor. But before I could melt into a puddle of pink
ooze, he popped a pill between my lips. “Bottoms up,” he commanded with
the kind of smile that dropped panties.
I wasn’t sure, so Pete gave me a reassuring squeeze, running his hands
over my shoulders and down my arms. Then, biting his lip, he gave me the
eyes and an accompanying head toss. Gah! —s o sexy. I was able to witness this contrived move, and the corresponding bloom manifest upon my cheeks, from
our reflection. But before I could reflect further, he pushed the pill into my
mouth. I automatically swallowed it down with the water he tipped to my
lips, and a sweet kiss was swiftly bestowed upon my cheek.
Pete reversed his fingertips to trail up the insides of my arms, dredging
the pleasure bumps back up. Then a second pill was pressed to my lips. I
hesitated, feeling funny—I didn’t take him for a pill-pusher. He countered
with another panty-dropper and got back to work on my neck. I could barely
breathe, much less think straight. My eyes found his in the mirror. Something
flashed there . . . until a small shape coming up behind us moved our eyes to
a wide-eyed four-year-old.
“Pete, will you—hey! Are you a vampire?”
Pete threw back his head and howled at that one. After which, Mikey
immediately persuaded him into leaving, but not before he did the sexy-lip-
biting-head-toss thing again. I gave him my Mona Lisa and popped the pill
into my mouth. A dazzling smile was my instant reward for good behavior,
but the second he walked out the door I poofed it out into my palm. I’d save
• 402 •
part deux for later—I could handle a little headache as long as it came with a side of Pete.
Being stuck in the confines of a matchbox all day had me feeling way too
stir-crazy to go straight to bed, so I went out on the front steps to get some
air. It was a beautiful night for stargazing; the air was crisp, the sky a black
velvet. I sat there, absentmindedly petting Blue and reflecting on everything.
The creaking of loose floorboards—and the thrill along my spine—alerted
me to Pete’s presence.
“Whew! I don’t know how you do that every day,” he said. “I’m bushed!”
“It’s definitely a labor of love.” I smiled and leaned against the splintered
wood column holding up our porch while he stared up at my part of the sky.
“Have you ever played poker?” he asked apropos of nothing.
I laughed. “Why? Are you challengin’ me to a game of strip poker?”
He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Maybe.”
My smile faded. “Actually, yeah. My mother taught me when I had the
flu. Turns out—I really have a knack for cards. She made me solemnly vow
to never play anyone for money, sayin’ I was too good at it for my own good.”
“I bet she said that a lot.”
I shrugged. “What can I say?—a mama’s love.”
Pete worked his mouth around before coming up with another one of his
smiles. I could read him now like the cards—this one was fake. “Remind me
to never play strip poker with you then—I’m afraid I’d come out on the losing
end of that gig. Defeat the whole purpose!” he said, ending with the real deal.
“Yeah you would.” I laughed along, my eyes sparking with a flash of
suppressed anger. “It’d be as easy as takin’ candy from a baby.”
Pete started laughing at the same time I quit—to stare meaningfully into
his eyes for as long as it took. Not long. The boy was a gosh dang elite cadet after all.
I saw it happen—that thing that passed between us—the tacit
understanding, a realigning of all that we thought we knew, with what we
now knew. Waves of emotions came rolling across his face with neuron-rapid
speed: surprise, denial, anger . . . humor. He threw his head back and barked
out a harsh laugh then walked forward and planted his hands across the
twin beams of rotting wood, straining beneath their weight. After taking a
long moment to stare up at the heavens, intermittently chuckling and acting
thunder struck, he finally spoke. “Of course . . . I should’ve known.”
Arms wrapped around my knees, I rocked back and forth, smirking up
at him. Pete was still processing, so I decided to fill the silence. “Of course,
• 403 •
you know . .
. the only problem with takin’ candy away from a baby is they howl and cry and point fingers, makin’ a big ole ruckus,” I warned. He looked
down at me sharply. “And then they never, ever fully trust the one who took it from them. No matter how much they might want to, or how nice the
person is—they never forget who stole their precious candy . . . and will never forgive them.”
Pete took in my face and the kind of deep breath that only yogis do.
After expelling it out in a long stream, he looked down on me with a tender
cross between respect and aggravation. He held out his palm. Peace offering?
I accepted it, and he hauled me to my feet. We padded a few yards from
the house, gazing up at the same night sky that suddenly looked a whole lot
different. A full moon, like a Chinese lantern, shone out from a blanket of
shimmering stars. It seemed to be a portent of some kind — a reckoning was
coming — a change, and not just of the seasons, was in the air. I shivered.
We obviously couldn’t go on like this—feigning ignorance on both ends.
Not now. Not after the cat just got dumped out of the bag by my happy pill.
Pete was struggling, his thoughts running unchecked as first graders at recess
across his face. He let out another gusty sigh, raked both hands through his
hair. Twice. I just indulged in my favorite pastime—staring at his face. A
few moments of windy silence, and Blue whined. I shivered patiently in my
T-shirt. The evenings were cold now that we were digging out the last dregs
of September.
He barked out a couple of laughs that sounded arrogant when the notes
weren’t warmed with humor. I recalled how I saw him that first time in the
restaurant—rude, arrogant, privileged—and tried to reconcile the Pete from
the past with the one I now knew. I’d have to take well-spoken off the list
because the ambassador was rendered speechless.
A wind blew, seeking something in this forlorn land to push up against.
It chose me, making me sway like a corn sapling. “Whatever you gotta say,
Cadet Davenport, you better spit it out, because the sergeant will be makin’
his way home soon.”
Pete guttered a laugh, one I was glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of. “I
doubt it. Daddy Dearest is down at the local watering hole, imposing penance
upon himself by drinking himself into oblivion . . . for selling out.” He finally
spoke, and it was a doozy.
Now I was speechless. “Ahhh,” I finally said. “That explains a lot.”
A glimmer of a smile when he looked at me. “I could say the same.” He
scrubbed a hand up the back of his neck, stalked away from me, swung back
• 404 •
around. “I guess I should apologize for being an asshole,” he said. “My only excuse is it comes with the territory.”
“That’s real comfortin’ seein’ as how my precious brother is on his way to
the territory Monday mornin’ bright and early.”
Pete growled out some aggravation. Looked on the verge of saying
something. Instead, he bent over to rub at his face again and again while I
dispassionately watched him. When he righted himself, he came up with a
face deeper in color—a shade I’d call shame.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I really am. I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t tell you anything but that, okay?”
“No,” I said, my throat aching. “It’s not okay! I deserve better than that.
My brother deserves better than that—he looks up to you with god-like
devotion. You should feel ashamed of yourself!”
Pete fast-paced forward, throwing his arms out, like for mercy, as if there
were a jury out there in the pasture. “I do! Alright?” he yelled, losing his voice
to a break. He dropped a sigh, his arms, then his voice. “Look, I’ll recommend
Andrew not be admitted to the program. . . . Honestly, I don’t even think
that’s in everyone’s best interest, nor do I believe it will do much good, but
there it is—the best I can do for now.”
I stared into his eyes; he was telling the truth. That was something at
least. “How bad is it, Pete? Are y’all like devil worshippers or somethin’? Why
don’t you just quit?”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Religion—in any form—isn’t exactly a factor at
The Academy, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said, answering only one
of my pointed questions.
I shiver-swayed with the wind again. “Pete, can we go back in? I’m freezin’
and startin’ to get a little woozy.”
He pursed his lips at me. “Hold on a second. It’s a beautiful night. I’m
going to miss all these stars. One good thing about living out on the flat plains
of nowhere is I’ve never seen such beautiful skies . . . or girls,” he added, with
a brief, bruising kiss before sprinting to the Hummer. He grabbed something
out of his console and tucked it into his back pocket. Then walked around to
the back to grab the infamous blue jacket. I was beginning to feel like it was
my jacket now, and shuddered from the thought (or from the cold I wasn’t
sure which).
“You know,” I began when he jogged back to grab me, “I can think of a
great deal many things I’d rather wear than this thing . . . and that includes
one of Tillman Mill’s feed sacks.”
He chuckled and held out the jacket for me to slip my arms into. “Humor
• 405 •
me, one more time,” he said, zipping me up. This made me feel a little like a child being attended to, and I frowned at the thought that he saw me that way.
By this point I could hardly stand up. Unfortunately, there was nothing
for us to sit down on because we were standing on what would normally be
considered a front yard, but in our case consisted of dried brush with the odd
cactus thrown in for unpleasant surprises. Pete held me steady in his arms
while I snuggled up, deep breathing him in.
“Kate . . .” It sounded like the beginning of a goodbye.
My spine stiffened immediately. “Don’t say it yet,” I pleaded, feeling
heartsick even as my stomach dropped. I clutched his arms as if I could hold
him hostage here—to this spot a long ways away from his world—just a little
longer.
A few more moments of me trying real hard not to cry later, and he tried
again. “Kate . . .” I looked up to face my bleak future. “I only came back to
pack and escort your father and brother back to San Francisco. I have to go
back, be the ambassador, show them around campus, facilitate the paperwork.
The mission is essentially over, honey.” I didn’t think my heart could sink
any further in my chest. Then he said, “If all goes as expected, they’ll have
attorneys present Monday to sign the official documents.”
“But-but we don’t even have an attorney!”
“The Academy has provided one for your father.”
“Right,” I snorted. “Very helpful that.”
“Kate, I-I just want you to be prepared . . . this could be the end. I don’t
want you to do anything rash that could get you into trouble. I’m doing the
best I can to help you, but you’re not making it very easy for me.”
So little time, so many questions. “Pete!” It just dawned on me he was
leaving. Forever . “But there’s just one more
day! What is that physical even about? Should I be worried? Is it even safe?” I gushed out questions. “I have to
find out everything I can to help my brother! Pete!” My face crumpled. “Please!
I love him so much! I don’t wanna lose him, too. I’m so scared!”
Pete looked down on me with pity but firm resolve. “I’ve told you
everything I can.”
“Which is exactly nothin’ that’s not in the brochure. Or why you lied to
me! Or why y’all feel the need for parents to give up their rights in order for their kids to attend!”
He sighed. “You didn’t take that second Vicodin, did you?”
“Why? Are you waitin’ for me to pass out, so you can run off with my
brother?” I realized his bag was already packed. By me.
Pete looked pained while my ears strained for a denial. “I didn’t want to
• 406 •
end this way with you—again. It seems like we can never have a good ending.
Maybe . . . there isn’t one for us.” His voice sounded raw.
“Because you’re still masqueradin’ as a cadet. Still not bein’ forthright
with me.” I pounded on his shoulders, hating his dispassionate face. “What
am I even to you?” My disjointed thoughts actually came out sounding exactly right.His eyes shifted in the moonlight. “I don’t know exactly.” I waited him out
for a better answer. He shook his head, looking up, searching. “Something . . .
real I need to protect for one.”
“That’s real poetic comin’ from the guy who set out to win me over with
lies and deceit.”
Pete’s face fell, and when he spoke next, his voice sounded thick. “I can
understand how you could feel that way, knowing what you know now. But
I’ve always had your best interests at heart, Kate . . . you have to trust me.”
“I wish I could—there’s just too many unanswered questions. And until
you answer them . . . I can’t.”
“And I can’t really say anything more,” he said, wrapping up.
“So this is it? We exchange email addresses and follow each other on
Instagram? ”
He let out a hollow laugh. “I guess so,” he said, but we both knew it was
a lie.I felt like crying. It was going so fast. Time: it was the force that couldn’t be stopped. Not water. Water could be quelled, dammed, bottled up. Not
time. It couldn’t be manipulated. It was a constant, propelling us forward into
