by Glenn Rolfe
She’d meant to do so last night after the movie, but never got the nerve. She really hoped Kevin would be okay. She didn’t want to ruin he and James’ friendship. She didn’t think their getting together would, but you never really knew how people, even blood, would react to matters of the heart.
God, she’d read too much Twilight.
Matters of the heart?
Bella had an inner struggle between Jacob and Edward. Carrie was Team Edward all the way. And for her, James had no competition.
She watched him wrestling with Eric and Kevin. He kept looking back at her. Kevin wasn’t an idiot. He must have some idea. Maybe she’d approach him first and see what he thought.
…..
“So,” Kevin said, plopping down on his towel, his extra belly flab dancing a quick jig.
James heart hammered, not just from all the battle royal in the lake, but from what he thought Kevin was about to say.
He glanced over his shoulder; the girls had taken the opportunity to enjoy the warm water and leave the boys to themselves.
“So,” James said.
“Guys,” Eric butted in. “I gotta take a dump.”
“Gross, Eric,” Kevin said. “No one needs to know.”
Eric kicked sand at Kevin and ran off toward the restrooms.
James picked his towel up and wiped the already evaporating water from his arms and chest before taking a seat next to his best friend.
“What’s up,” he asked, trying not to sound nervous.
“It’s great having you back, man. What’s Evergreen like anyway? Does it suck?”
The weight of the world slid from his shoulders.
“Yeah, it’s like a rich kid town. Lots of big houses, McMansions, ya know? Like the one out past Melody Lane.”
“The Claymore place,” Kevin said.
“Yeah, just like that, but the town is full of them.”
“And you guys are stuck in a trailer?”
“Yeah, but it’s only temporary. It’s brand new, a double-wide. It’s on the front of the property, which is a huge piece of land. Garrett’s having his own McMansion erected behind it. Construction is supposed to be done by October.”
“Met any cool kids yet?” Kevin asked, he dropped his gaze.
James knew what he was really asking. He had nothing to worry about. No one would take his place as James’s best friend. He heard Carrie cry out and looked to her and Denise. Denise was up on Carrie’s shoulders.
Well, maybe no one.
“No, man. The kids are as stiff as the parents. There’s a kid named, Geoff, spells it with a G, who’s next door, which is like three minutes down the road in the next monster house. My mom made me go over with her, she’s friends with them. I just sat in the TV room, that’s what they called it, and watched soccer with Geoff. We didn’t really talk. He asked if I was worried about fitting into a new school. Regular dopey shit. It felt like his mom had written him a list of topics to talk about.”
“Sounds, pretty lame, Jamey Boy.”
Eric wandered over to them. “Come on, guys, let’s go back in.”
Kevin nodded to James, a sly grin on his face.
He jumped to his feet and bolted for the lake. “Last one in has to suck Old Man Claymore’s dick.”
He saw Carrie and Denise heading over.
Neither Kevin or Eric noticed him when he stayed put.
“I’m gonna go use the bathroom,” Denise said, a strange grin on her face as she exchanged glances with Carrie.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing a bottle of water from her bag and taking a seat next to him.
“The sun did a number on your back,” she said. “You should have listened to Ms. Doleman.”
He could already feel the tightness and knew he’d be cursing himself for the next couple days for not reapplying the sunblock like Eric’s mom told him to. He turned and pointed at Carrie’s legs. They were colored like freshly boiled lobsters. “Looks like you should have, too.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I was hoping for a tan, but my damn Irish heritage never goes along with the plan.”
A cooling breeze felt fantastic against his burnt skin. He watched as her Ramones shirt, which was at least two sizes too big, fluttered. Strands of black hair wafted across her freckled cheeks. She tucked them behind her ear.
The sun was slowly dropping behind the trees that lined their side of the beach, leaving them in a much-appreciated bit of shade. Kevin and Eric flopped around in the lake, trying to out-do each other’s water gymnastics, which considering either’s lack of athletic ability made for amusing entertainment. With Denise off to the bathroom, and Mrs. Doleman strutting her stuff up and down the beach, James finally found a few moments alone with Carrie and wanted to make the most of them.
“I love the Ramones,” he said, trying to keep the conversation going. “They did the theme song to Pet Semetery.”
She looked down at the shirt, her hair falling back to her nose. “Oh, yeah, it’s my brother Ian’s shirt. Or was, I guess. I took it to wear over my bathing suit last summer and just never gave it back.”
“Oh, well, they’re a great punk band, even though I think they’re all dead now.”
She eased herself down onto her spread out towel, ankles crossed, with hands splayed out on either side, and gazed out at the water. He could stare at her profile forever.
“You guys never talk about Ian much. I know the only time Kevin mentions him is when we’re messing with his stuff and he thinks we’re gonna get killed.” He sat down next to her, copying her position, knees close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin, but not quite touching. “Do you see him much?”
“Not really. He’s been like this since he got his license. After our dad died, he just…I don’t know…he kind of started drifting and has never really stopped. I’m surprised he hasn’t moved out.”
“Where does he go all the time? I mean, if I had his car, I’d be driving everywhere.” Ian’s ’68 Gran Torino was the most popular car in Caleb. Just about every boy at school had mentioned it at one point or another, except maybe Kevin who would always change the subject if anyone brought it up near him.
“He’s got friends down near Old Orchard Beach. That’s about all I know.”
They shared the silence. James figured Denise or Mrs. Doleman would have been back by now, or the guys would come racing after him, but they hadn’t.
“Do you have any of their music?” she asked.
“Who?” he said.
“The Ramones.”
“Oh, ah, my dad has some of their records. I just love the songs from the movie.
“My mom has lots of records. She only listens to them when she’s thinking about my dad.”
“Oh, probably slow stuff, huh? The Ramones don’t slow down very often, at least, not that I’ve heard.” He wasn’t sure what to say, but he didn’t want the conversation to end.
“Yeah, a lot of Fleetwood Mac. You ever heard the song, “Landslide?”
“Maybe, my dad listens to everything. If it’s something they play on WBLM, I’ve heard it at some point.”
“I love it. The singer has an amazing voice, she’s really good,” she said. “That song in particular I’m surprised my mom hasn’t worn it off the record. I bought it off Amazon a while ago.” She leaned forward and scrounged in her beach bag, bringing out her phone.
An acoustic guitar came to life from the phone’s tiny speaker. She turned the volume up and held the phone between them. When her eyes came up to meet his, he’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad. He felt his heart hammer in his chest as her mouth started toward his.
“Sorry it took so— “
Denise stopped mid-sentence.
James backed away as Carrie dropped her phone and fumbled after it.
“Oh, sorry,” Denise said. “I didn’t know…”
Kevin and Eric, dripping wet, snatched up their towels and plopped down next to James.
“Didn’t know what?” Kevi
n said, wiping his face.
“That it’s time to pack up,” Mrs. Doleman said. “I got myself a date tonight. “
“Jeez, mom, I don’t want to hear about that,” Eric whined.
“Oh, stop it,” she said, “You’re old enough to deal with it. Now, you kids get your stuff together. We’re leaving in five minutes.” She stopped and stared at Carrie’s legs. “Oh my, that’s gonna hurt,” she said. “I had plenty of sunblock, you know.”
“I know,” Carrie said. “It’s just a tan-fail.”
“You just make sure you get some aloe vera on there tonight. And tell your mother I told you so.”
“Will do, Mrs. D,” Carrie said.
James’s heart was still fluttering. Looking at her now, it felt like God was certainly making up for the crappy start to this summer. James didn’t want to be the first to get up. A ridiculous part of him hoped if they just sat here a little longer, everyone else would drift off and he and Carrie could slip back into their moment.
Eric’s fart next to his head slammed that door shut.
Chapter Eight
Alison pulled into the driveway, instantly noticing the drawn curtains. The dark, fabric blockade against the daylight struck her as a bit odd, especially with James home for the rest of the summer. Richie had slept late yesterday as well and was a grumpy asshole.
He had a way of slipping into these stretches of depression from time to time, and the late sleeping, coupled with the ugliness, were always the first signs that he was feeling down. She was surprised. Getting to see James tended to have the opposite effect on him.
She unlocked the door. Cloaked within the shaded veil, the sink sat cluttered with dirty dishes, while the counter was littered with beer cans and a half-eaten bowl of beef stew. She drew back the maroon curtains hanging in the kitchen window, allowing the sunlight passage amongst the disorder.
She found Richie on the living room floor.
“Oh my God, Richie,” she said, dropping down beside him. She reached over, grabbing hold of his arm and the waist of his jeans, and rolled him onto his back. He was breathing.
“Richie, Richie, wake up.”
He moaned.
She traced his chest down to his opened jeans.
“Wha…what...”
“Hey,” she said. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”
His eyes fluttered open.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you to the couch. I’ll fix you some coffee and some breakfast. Sit right here.”
Stepping into the kitchen, she noticed a spot on the linoleum floor. A blue ghost. She bent down and touched the faded spot with her finger. There was nothing there, just the small stain, like the kind Kool-Aid left on counters and tabletops.
She started a fresh pot of coffee and grabbed a couple packages of instant oatmeal, readying them in the microwave.
“Richie,” she said, peering around the corner. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough, weak. “I don’t really remember what happened.”
She waited, watching him run his hands through his hair.
“I didn’t even have that much to drink, no more than what I have on my nights alone.”
“Well, maybe you’re coming down with something. One of those summer colds, you know?” The coffee pot beeped. She shuffled to the counter and poured each of them a cup, grabbed his oatmeal and a spoon, and managed to carry it to the coffee table.
He took the proffered cup. “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip and setting it down in exchange for the bowl of oatmeal.
“I don’t know. Sorry you had to see me like that.” He dropped his gaze.
She put a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, really. Maybe you bumped your head?”
“It’s possible, I guess.”
His eyes were horribly bloodshot, like they were on his worst nights. Yet, she believed him that last night had not been one of those nights. She could tell when he was lying. He’d come up with a story. He always talked too much when he’d done something wrong. She sensed he was as baffled by this as she was.
It was a good thing James hadn’t been home last night.
“Well, was gonna shower real quick, then get some sleep. Do we know when James will be home?”
“Not sure. I haven’t checked my phone.”
“Okay, well, check in with him. I’d like to see him this summer, too. I’m gonna shower if you wanna join me—”
He raised his hand to stop her. His jaw clenched.
She got up and sighed.
“If you aren’t feeling well, at least come get some more rest.”
She left him to his breakfast and headed down to their bedroom.
What the hell is going on inside that head of yours, Richie? she wondered, shaking her head.
She was exhausted after pulling a double—Christine had called out with the flu this morning. More like a hangover. She hadn’t been sure she would make it to noon, but Mike Connelly had been nice enough to come in early to help alleviate some of the burden thrust upon the department thanks to Christine. Thankfully, Jason was off again. Even thinking his name right now felt wrong. She’d pull it together when they shared a shift next, she was better in the moment.
She reached to start the water, when she decided against the shower, and instead, she went back into the bedroom, put on her cotton pajama bottoms, one of Richie’s threadbare concert t-shirts, and crawled into bed.
Life suddenly seemed too complicated. She reached under her side of the mattress and dug out the orange bottle of sleeping pills. Richie envied her ability to fall asleep so fast without a drink. If he only knew the key to her magic. She popped the top and shuffled two of the long, blue pills into her palm, tossed them in her mouth, and dry swallowed.
Recapping the bottle, she pushed it back in its hiding place, and laying back, she thought about her silent judgments.
She worried about Richie’s bedroom difficulties and his growing drinking problem, and how she didn’t push him on either issue, and that in turn left her holding back her own feelings.
Thinking about her little magic helpers pulling her down to her comfy, cozy zone, she realized she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend after all.
She had her own vices and secrets.
…..
Richie checked in on Alison. She was smiling in her sleep, drooling a little. That woman could sleep through the apocalypse. He went to his dresser and grabbed some clean jeans and a t-shirt. He remembered the thing he’d done in front of the window, though he’d claimed otherwise to Alison, and grabbed a clean pair of underwear, as well.
In the bathroom, he closed the door and undressed. He stared at the faint blue outline on his upper thigh and the matching marks on his underpants. What the hell was that? He’d seen plenty of jizz stains, after over fourteen years of finding or trying to hide them, he knew this was something…different.
He tossed the soiled drawers, and the rest of the dirty clothes from the hamper, into the washing machine and started it. He hurried into his clean clothes and checked his look in the mirror. His eyes looked horrible. Like he’d been drinking. Like he’d been swimming in highly-chlorinated pool without goggles. More like he’d been swimming in a bottle of booze without his eye lids.
He searched the medicine cabinet, found the Visine, and dripped three drops in each eye.
Blinking the saline in his eyes, he made his way to the tiny kitchen sipping the rest of the coffee Alison had made before she went to bed. He’d reheated it in the microwave, something that Alison claimed as gag-worthy, and stared at the clock above the dish-filled sink: 2:30 in the afternoon. His eyes moved across the counter to the twelve-pack aftermath strewn out from the coffee pot to the stovetop. His head felt heavier. He got up and grabbed the Tylenol off the top of the refrigerator. He downed four gel-coated capsules with his burnt caffeine and picked his cell phone up from the graveyard of beer cans.
Shit, maybe I was fucking loaded last night.
; Loaded or not, he was pretty sure something strange and wonderful had taken place right here. He gazed at the window. Sunlight and his front yard were all he could see.
Looking at his phone, he had several missed calls from James.
The first message had been from Alison early this morning letting him know that Christine had called out sick and that she was staying to cover her shift. The next two were from James: the first just checking in and the second letting him know he was heading out to the lake with the guys and Mrs. Dolman.
At least the boy was occupying his time wisely and enjoying himself. That made Richie feel a little better. Still, he should have been up to get those calls. He had no idea why he’d slept so late again, let alone passing out on the floor like a drunk asshole. A twelve-pack had never left him comatose into the afternoon. He did recall feeling tired, drained even, after the incident. He couldn’t explain it and preferred to redirect his line of thinking to something less enigmatic, less depressing, and more useful. He grabbed a couple cinnamon doughnuts from the box of Hostess assorted dozen and set forth cleaning. He could do something nice for someone today.
When he finished drying and putting away the last of the dishes, he grabbed a glass of water and took it to the computer in the den. He logged onto the internet to find out what concerts were coming to Boston.
He searched a dozen venues and hotel websites and came up with two tickets to see Def Leppard at the Verizon Center, plus two tickets to Fenway to catch the Boston Red Sox battle the Tampa Bay Rays. Complete with a two-night stay at the Hampton Inn in nearby Braintree, he would be begging Lucas for work for the rest of the summer, but it would be worth it. He wanted to do something memorable with his boy.
Thursday morning, they’d leave for the concert. He couldn’t wait to surprise James. A little more of the heaviness he’d felt weighing upon him lifted. After everything that had happened this week, he felt relatively good and ready for what was left of the day.
…..
James arrived home a little after five and couldn’t believe his father’s surprise. Def Leppard may be an oldies band to his friends, but he absolutely loved their music. And they were going to see the Red Sox? His father was the best. After a quick chat about the previous evening and the trip to the lake, the two men of the house decided to whip up a little breakfast for supper to surprise Alison.
