The Fable of Us

by Nicole Williams

  “Plans for shooting up your arm?”

  Wren managed to free an arm from the blanket and didn’t waste a moment slapping Boone’s cheek. The slap echoed across the lake, making me wince.

  If anything registered on Boone’s expression right then, it wasn’t pain.

  “You’re a son of a bitch.” Wren’s voice quivered, more from what I guessed was anger than sadness. “And in case you didn’t catch the first five thousand hints, here’s me saying it out loud—leave me the hell alone.”

  Boone’s jaw set, but he stayed silent. I wanted to move in, but my feet were stuck to the ground.

  “You couldn’t save me then, and it’s too late to save me from whatever it is you think I need saving from now. A person has to want to be saved for it to work, big brother, and does it look like I’m screaming for help?”

  Boone’s arms had fallen away from Wren when he stepped back from her slap. Lifting her arms, she threw off the blanket and did a small spin in front of her brother. If it made me wince to see Wren in her outfit—if that was what one could call it—I couldn’t imagine how Boone felt. How he’d felt when all of those guys inside had seen his little sister the same way.

  “Wren—”

  “Don’t, Boone. Just don’t.” Wren kicked off her clear platform heels and chucked them inside the Honda. Without them on, she barely came up to his shoulders. “I’m sick of the hero act. You’ve been playing it your whole life, and it’s never been that successful of a role for you.” Wren shook her head at him. “You can’t even save yourself.”

  My feet were finally able to move. The sound of my footsteps crunching through the gravel made both of their heads turn, though Boone’s moved as if a weight had been strung to it.

  “Oh, goodie. Clara’s here.” Wren’s eyes narrowed at me as I approached. There was very little of the girl I remembered in the woman before me now. Apparently she felt the opposite from the way she was glaring at me. “You can run along and save her now. She was always your main priority anyway.”

  I tried to ignore that the woman in the high-leg purple sequined thong and matching pasties was the same girl I’d seen camped out in front of the television in Dolly’s trailer, a coloring book and box of crayons colored down to nubs in front of her. It was next to impossible though.

  “God knows she needs all the saving she can get.” Wren shook her head at me next before disappearing into the car and slamming the door.

  “Wren, stop.” Boone lurched forward and rapped on her window.

  She answered by waving her middle finger at him, sputtered the Honda to life, and as she gunned it out of the driveway, it didn’t seem as though she were trying to avoid hitting me with her 80s Accord. It looked more as though she were trying to make me a hood ornament.

  I dove to the side, but it wasn’t necessary. At the last moment, she steered the car to the side. She might have wanted to scare the shit out of me, but she didn’t actually want to maul me. It wasn’t one of the more comforting realizations I’d come to, but at least I wasn’t roadkill.

  “Shit, are you okay?” Boone yelled as he lunged toward me.

  When I said I’d dove to the side, I meant it. I’d actually dove. “Yeah, I’m good. Other than a little road burn and being reminded of my lack of grace, I’m just fine.”

  Boone reached for me, and I took his hand and let him pull me up. He didn’t seem to blink as he watched Wren speed away, the blanket flapping in the wind, its corner caught inside the driver’s door.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, dropping my hand on his arm gently.

  My touch made him flinch, but his shoulders relaxed the moment after. “It’s been so long since I’ve been okay, I don’t think I remember how it feels.”

  The cheek Wren had slapped was red and sparkling with specks of what I presumed was body glitter. I wiped his cheek lightly to dust off a few flecks of glitter. His skin was warm, more so where Wren had hit him. “Sorry, that was probably the dumbest question I could ask you after what just happened.”

  “No,” he said, still watching her car. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t ask. It’s nice to know someone cares.”

  Wren’s taillights disappeared from sight, far down the road.

  “I care,” I said.

  The night didn’t seem so quiet anymore. The crickets were chirping so loudly their calls seemed to vibrate in my ears. The frogs croaking and the waves lapping at the shoreline joined in the deafening symphony. From inside the cabin, I could make out the sounds of laughter. After a few moments, it went quiet again right before another round exploded into the night. I could only imagine the things they were saying, the image they were reliving, the pictures they were comparing.

  If Boone noticed the rounds of laughter coming from the cabin, he didn’t show it.

  “I’m sorry, Boone.” I angled myself in front of him, to try to get his attention.

  “What are you sorry for?” he asked, blinking. “That my sister’s a stripper or that I had to be reminded just now that she was a stripper?”

  “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  I couldn’t tell if the reason he wouldn’t look at me was because he was afraid to look away from where Wren had disappeared or afraid to look at me. “And I’m sorry for a lot of things too, but a lot of good that does.” Turning to the side, he walked down the driveway.

  “Boone, wait,” I called, realizing I was repeating the last thing he’d said to Wren.

  “I need to be alone right now, Clara.” When he reached the end of the driveway, he turned left instead of following Wren’s car back to the highway. He was taking the long way around.

  “I didn’t know they had that planned. I just found out.” I panted as I chased him. He was only walking, but I had to jog to catch up with him. His legs were twice my size and seemed to move ten times faster. “I tried calling to warn you. I tried getting here before—”

  “It’s not your fault. Wren is who she is, and Ford is who he is. I should have seen it coming.”

  Even at my present jog, it became clear there was no way I could keep up with him and keep up a conversation. “Will you please stop?” I was more hyperventilating than panting now. “Will you please just talk to me?”

  His shoulders rose a few inches before falling. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll see you back at your parents’ later. I need to think.”

  Walking away when things got sketchy—a favorite pastime of Boone’s. This time, I wouldn’t make it so easy for him to walk away. “If that’s the direction you’re planning on taking to get back to my parents’ place, I hope you’ve got a lot to think about. A whole week’s worth.”

  Boone continued powering down the dirt road, getting so far out in front of me I was losing him to the dark. “I’ve always got that much to think about. Good night, Clara.” Picking up his pace, he disappeared in another few steps.

  I came to a stop, stomped my foot against the road, and roared.

  He wanted to be alone, he wanted to think . . . code words for him wanting to fester and brood.

  Spinning around, I made use of whatever my legs had left to give me and jogged back to Ford’s cabin. Laughter was still ringing inside the cabin, and as much satisfaction as I would have derived from charging in there and stringing them all up to the rafters by their nut-sacks, I forced myself into the Chrysler and went after Boone. He might have said he didn’t need anyone, and he might have thought he meant it, but I knew better.

  It seemed like the people who cried the least for help were the ones who generally needed it most. Boone hadn’t asked for help a single time in his life for all I knew.

  I peeled out of the driveway, making sure to leave a few unsightly tread marks on the light concrete, before I made a left and barreled down the road after Boone. I’d gone close to a mile by the time the headlights cast their light on him.

  He didn’t look back. He didn’t slow down. He just kept moving forward.

  I rolled the Chrysler up b
eside him and cranked down the window. “Now try jetting away from me,” I said, revving the engine a few times.

  Boone kept his head forward, though I noticed his eyes drift off the road toward the numerous trampled trails animals had made through the trees.

  “Don’t think I won’t follow you in there too.” I gave the engine one more rev. “Come on. Talk to me. Say something. I know you’d prefer to pretend like nothing happened and you didn’t just have to drag your sister out of the bachelor party she was scheduled to strip at and that Ford McBride isn’t still an immature, petty asshole whose goal in life seems to be to make yours as unbearable as possible, but I know you feel something.” I hung my arm out of the window, glancing at him. His face was flat, his eyes matching. “I know you feel lots of somethings. Name one. Any one. Just give me something, for crap’s sake.”

  “Frustrated,” he growled. His jaw returned to its former position—clenched so tight, it made the sinews running down his neck look as if they were going to pop through the skin.

  “Frustrated, okay, yeah, sure, I can understand that.” I nodded and gave the car a little more gas. He was really trekking. “I’d feel the same way if something like that happened to me.”

  “I’m not frustrated with them. I’m frustrated with you.” He glanced at me from the corners of his eyes.

  “With me? Why are you frustrated with me? I’m not the one who hired your little sister as the main attraction at Ford McBride’s bachelor party.” I edged the Chrysler closer to him. He wanted space? I wasn’t going to give it to him.

  “I’m frustrated because I told you I wanted to be alone, and here you are, stalking me down some dark back road in your daddy’s car. I’m frustrated because you’re pretending to care when all you care about is me showing up and standing by your side at the right time for your family to see you’re not some poor, single, just-got-dumped woman. But mostly I’m frustrated because I’m not so sure you picked me to pay ten grand based on your limited options that night, and it had more to do with you wanting to piss off your family and everyone else all over again. I’m frustrated because I feel like a damn puppet in your master scheme of waving your middle finger in your family’s face.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d come to a stop until Boone had to shout his last words back at me. I had to shake my head to clear it enough to make sure that when I reapplied pressure to the gas pedal, it didn’t ram all the way to the floorboard. Still, the car jumped forward faster than I’d intended. Boone shot to the side of the road, throwing me a look like I’d been trying to hit him.

  “If I wanted to run you over, I would have done it years ago,” I snapped, making sure the car was in park before I threw open the door and burst out. “I can’t believe you’d say that to me. Any of that!” I flailed my arms at him as I stomped toward him.

  Boone took a few steps back, not as though he was afraid of me, but more like he wanted to keep his distance.

  “Me choosing you back then had nothing to do with wanting to piss off or please my family. It had nothing to do with them at all. And me choosing you this time definitely didn’t have anything to do with that either.”

  Boone made a face. “Forgive me if I’m not convinced. I’m a little jaded from the two years we spent dating and how you spent that whole time making sure you were holding my hand when Daddy walked into the room, or we were making out when your mommy got home from her rotary club brunch. You weren’t content unless we were wrapped around each other whenever anyone from your inner circle was close by. I was too young and dumb to see it then, but I see it now. Find someone else to be your puppet. I’ve done my time.”

  It was a good thing he’d put so much distance between us, because he’d just earned himself a slap on that other cheek of his. “How dare you, Boone Cavanaugh. How dare you say I was using you when I went through hell that entire time we were together.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it was so hard for you having everyone whisper behind your back about how you just needed to get it out of your system before settling down with some guy like Ford McBride. I’m sure it must have been torture for you to face your parents’ disapproval when it came to your choice in boyfriend, and yet still get that fancy convertible when you turned sixteen and spend two weeks every winter in Vail and four weeks in the Hamptons every summer. I’m sure that was so hard for you, Clara. All I had to deal with for dating outside of my league was having the sheriff pull me over anytime we passed each other on the road, or getting cut from the damn football team every single year because the other guys didn’t want me on it and their daddies had plenty of sway in the community. Then when we did finally break up, I couldn’t find a girl to date me in this county or the next one over. The ones who were supposedly in my league didn’t want me because they took me being with you as intentionally shunning them, and the girls in your supposed league looked at me as used goods.”

  When he finished, I stood in front of him, arms crossed and insides fuming, but I stayed quiet. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to spew right back at him, I needed to figure out what I wanted to argue with first.

  “Are you done?” I said, raising my brow.

  “You asked me to talk.” He held out his arms. “I’m talking.”

  “I asked you to talk about what you were feeling.” I lifted my brow higher. “Not what you’ve imagined up in that depraved head of yours”

  “So what do you want to hear? What do you want me to tell you? I remember that game. I’m sure I can settle back into that role easily enough.” He stepped closer, coming within arm’s reach.

  I cinched my arms tighter around myself to keep from slapping him, because my God, if he ever deserved it, now was the time. I shook my head furiously. “If you told me what you thought I wanted to hear, that’s on you. Not me. All I ever wanted was to know you, the real you. I knew enough about people plucking at my strings and wanting me to act this way and say that and do this. I never wanted you to feel that way with me.”

  “No, you just wanted me to say and do and act how you wanted me to, and say it was who I really was and what I really wanted.”

  I marched closer, my eyes narrowing. “You go ahead and keep on believing whatever it is you think you know. That won’t change how I really felt about you and why I wanted to be close to you. Asshole,” I tacked on when he gave a huff of dissent. “And just for your information, when I reached for your hand, it was because I damn well wanted to hold it. And when I lifted up onto my tiptoes to kiss you, it was because I damn well wanted to kiss you. And since I’m on a roll when it comes to setting you straight of all your preconceived—totally erroneous, by the way—notions, when I made you that offer a few nights ago, it had nothing to do with wanting to piss off my family. If that had been my goal, I would have made sure we had a couple of rings settled on our left hands before marching through those front doors.”

  Boone made another face, one that implied he didn’t believe a word I’d just said. “Then why don’t you clear up why you did make me that offer? I’m still a little sketchy on that.”

  Of all the things I’d just fired at him, I hadn’t expected that would be the part he’d cling to. The one he’d ask for clarification on. It seemed like the most harmless of the list, but I knew better, and from the look on his face, so did he.

  “I told you already,” I said, angling myself so I wasn’t square in front of him. “You were the only one in that sorry excuse for a bar I could get through my parents’ front door without them calling the cops.” When Boone cocked a brow, I added, “Or at least the only one who wouldn’t have warranted an immediate call to the psychiatrist in charge of committing new patients that night.” His other brow lifted. I sighed and rubbed my temples. “My options were limited. At least I knew you and guessed I could trust you not to stab me in the middle of the night before running off with my parents’ crystal and silverware.”

  He was staring at me. I could feel it, but I wouldn’t let myself meet his s
tare.

  “That’s a pretty speech, Clara, but dress it up all you want. It won’t change the fact it’s a lie.”

  “Are you implying that I’m lying?”

  “Not implying, more stating a fact, and yeah, I am.”

  “Well, you’ve accused me of just about everything else tonight, so why not?” I backed up toward the Chrysler. If this was how he wanted to treat me when all I’d done was try to help him tonight, then fine, he could have his alone time.

  “You could have picked anyone to ask to be your date to your sister’s wedding, forget the ten grand. Why did you pick me?” His voice was closer but softer.

  The sudden change in tone took me by surprise. “I’d flown into the airport a whole forty minutes before walking into that bar for a drink. I had a whole fifteen minutes to spare before my family was expecting me to arrive. Not only was I limited on applicants for the plus-one job, I was also a little short on time.”

  Boone’s boots moved closer, crunching the dirt and gravel. “You said you and your boyfriend back home broke up a few days earlier. That gave you a few days to put together a back-up plan. Why wait until you were minutes away from your parents’ front door? Why would you care about having a plus one so badly anyway? The girl I remember didn’t care what people thought about her.”

  I reached for my temples again, but no amount of massaging would make the pulsing dim. It was as if everything I’d kept hidden inside me was trying to break free—their preferred path being through the spots I was rubbing furiously.

  “Clara?” Boone’s voice was closer, even softer.

  “You know why,” I whispered, sealing my eyes closed. “Stop pretending like you don’t. Stop with the questions. You know.”

  I heard his breaths behind me, slow and steady. “I know what?”

  I went to clamp my mouth closed, but it was too late. “Why we’re here now. Together.”

  I didn’t hear his breathing for a while after that. “I need you to give me your explanation for that, because I have my own ideas, but I’d like to hear yours first.”