by C P Harris
It’s all that asshole's fault!
That last one thawed something cold and hard in me. It was Damon’s way of saying he wasn’t the one that hurt me. He was asking me why I was punishing him.
They were all sent within the same minute. Rapid fire. Damon was on edge. I struggled with the decision to reply. I typed and deleted my response several times. Punishing Damon wasn’t my intention, but I wasn’t ready to forgive Blake. I don’t even know if I can.
What if Blake was the one currently on the other end of the phone? He’d see my text and gain a measure of peace that the petty part of me didn’t want him to have. Or even if Damon saw it first, Blake would eventually.
I settled on, I’m okay. Then changed it to, I’m safe. I wasn’t anywhere near “okay.” Regardless of what Blake and I were going through, I didn’t want Damon going off the rails, and I wanted him to continue therapy.
Hitting send and then silencing the phone, I rolled over and tried to get some sleep.
I spent my weekend researching flowers, and who knew you couldn’t merely plant whatever you wanted? There were things to consider. I needed to take into account the wet climate in Oregon and plant accordingly. I began to hate my bright idea, and I hadn’t even started yet. Gardening? What the hell made me think I would enjoy this?
I got some Japanese primrose, tulips, hibiscus and hydrangeas—according to the name tags said. My new plan was to get the front of the house done. I’ll dig a few holes and throw them in, then call it a day.
The backyard could stay as-is. Who would notice it anyway?
Monday morning found me out front with all my tools and colorful companions spread out on the lawn. To my disappointment, it wasn’t going to be a simple matter of digging and tossing like I’d thought. No, I had to first add soil that’d been augmented with compost and humus. Some plants required more sun than others, and some more water than others, so it was essential that I strategically placed them accordingly. Oh, and let’s not forget the pebbles and coarse sand that worked to prevent algae from growing due to the copious amounts of rainfall that we got. Who knew that algae could grow on soil? Fuck me and this brilliant idea.
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I stilled at the sound of a horn. Max turned his truck onto my driveway. Getting up and brushing my knees off, I made my way to him. “Hey, are you off work already?”
“Already?” he asked with a faint laugh. “It’s five o’clock.”
“No way. I’ve been out here all day then.” I looked behind me at all the tools, dirt, and plants splattered around. “I got nothing done,” I mumbled to myself, pulling the gloves off my hands.
“The job got you down?” Max deadpanned.
I begrudgingly smiled because really, this was pretty ridiculous. “Is that why you stopped by? To poke fun at me?”
“It could easily become my new favorite thing.” Amused at my expense, he said, “We’re going to the community center.”
I peered around Max; Pluto sat in the passenger seat.
“You wanna come?” Max asked, throwing an arm casually over the steering wheel.
“Yeah, sure,” I answered excitedly. “Let me get this stuff into the shed and grab a quick shower first.”
“Okay, I’ll circle back in thirty.”
I hustled to be ready by then and was waiting outside when Max pulled around.
“Why am I not surprised that you drive a pick-up truck?” I climbed up and into his black F250. I almost required a stepstool, and I’m tall. Pluto stuck his head between the seats, and I absently rubbed behind his ears.
“Oh, maybe because I’m a good ole country boy from Kentucky,” he said with an authentic accent.
“Now that I think about it, I never noticed much of an accent coming from you. Why is that?”
Max pulled onto the road, adjusting his rearview mirror while responding, “I worked hard to get rid of it. It’s impossible to hide when I’m around my parents, though.”
I leaned against the door and asked, “Why’d you want to get rid of it?” Before he could answer, my stomach let out a rumble. I’d spent all day in the garden and hadn’t eaten. Max made a sudden U-turn. I had to grip the grab-handle to remain upright.
“I know a great spot to get a burger. It’ll be quick.” He shot me one of his easy going smiles, and we were off.
We drove maybe a mile before entering the parking lot of The Best Burgers in Town—according to the sign. “Is that the name of the place?”
“Yup.” He laughed, then added, “And it’s a good thing they are, isn’t it?”
“We shall see,” I replied playfully, getting out of the truck.
Wood planks covered the walls, and light oak picnic tables made up the seating area. We seated ourselves, placed our order, and fell into easy conversation. He surprisingly had more than a beginner’s understanding of ballet. I found his furrowed focus on my explained history with dance charming.
“Whoa, Ballet Master? That’s quite an accomplishment. Why would you walk away from that?” Max took a sip of his beer that had arrived not too long ago, then peeked out the window to make sure Pluto was okay in the truck.
“I want to try new things, find other interests. It might turn out that giving up dance isn’t the answer, but the road I take to dancing might be different.”
In a serious tone, he said, “In between your landscaping work, of course.” Those brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smile took ten years off him. I wondered at his age. He looked about twenty-five with that baby face, but his bearing gave him away as older. His gaze turned assessing, enough to make me think he was up to something. But then the moment passed.
I shrugged inwardly. “How do you know so much about ballet?”
His expression turned proud. Paternal even. “From one of the kids at the center.”
My intentions to pry were benched when the most amazing burger I’d ever laid eyes on was placed in front of me. “Am I drooling?” I asked distractedly as I reached for it.
“Why, yes, I think you are,” Max said with a staged concern.
Not having to manage every macro that went into my body was a nice change, something I could get used to. The groan I let out after taking that first bite should have embarrassed me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “Jesus,” I breathed, licking my lips, eyes closed. I swallowed and glanced up, freezing in place. Max observed me with dilated pupils, his burger midair.
I swallowed again and cleared my throat, “Sorry, I’m just... really hungry.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” His eyes traveled to my lips.
He’s interested in me. I’d known it since our first meeting. That moment would have been perfect to be honest about my situation. To let Max know I was married. And that while I didn’t yet know what the future held for me and my husband, all I could offer him was friendship.
But it felt good to be desired, to be flirted with. I wasn’t used to lacking attention, and Max unknowingly stepped in to provide me with it.
Maybe I should be seeing if there’s someone else out there for me. Blake cheated on me, so why do I have to feel bad about this? I tried to justify.
Even as those thoughts circled my mind, I understood that it wasn’t about me. Max didn’t deserve to be played with. However, instead of doing the right thing, I found myself saying, “We should hurry up. It’s getting late.”
Max got a hold of himself. He ducked his head, trying to shield me from the look of disappointment in his eyes. I questioned whether it was with himself or with me for not reciprocating his obvious insinuation.
“Yeah, I’d like to show you around and introduce you to everyone,” Max said. The awkward moment forgotten. “There’s a small crew of us that meet up Friday nights. We have a few beers and take turns tossing our problems into ‘the bucket.’ We’ve even got a name.” He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “The Misfits.”
“I’m confused,” I confessed, my forehead creased.
“I kn
ow,” Max said, and the sound and feel of coffee filled my ears when he laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain on the way.”
We settled the bill and left.
“There’s five of us that make up The Misfits,” Max explained as we made our way down Wilton Drive. “It’s really just an excuse to get together, have some drinks, and unwind after a long week. Each of us takes turns hosting. Old Man Jack―whom you’ll meet today—has a firepit in his backyard, so it’s more of a bonfire when we’re over there. When the rest of us host, we sit in a circle with a bucket in the middle. It’s used for symbolism. Nothing actually goes in there.
“We go around, and everyone sheds their burdens. No judgments, no interruptions. You can talk about anything. How your boss pissed you off, the kids breaking curfew, how the Trail Blazers are a poor excuse for a basketball team.” He took his eyes off the road to smile at me. “Nothing is off-limits. After your turn, you say ‘thoughts’ if you’re looking for feedback or ‘next’ if you’re not.
“I’m hosting this Friday. I’ll try and have my pit set up by then. The bucket is pretty sad.”
I had to look away quickly. “I went to school here,” I said, as we were about to ride past Chadwick High.
“Did you?” He slowed to a stop in front.
I answered with a nod. My thoughts drifted back to those years. “None of the other high schools I attended worked out. I felt the most welcomed here.” I raised my hand to open the door but then remembered we had somewhere to be. I indicated for Max to keep driving.
“A lot of our kids come from Chadwick,” Max said. “Some from the junior high school over on Delbrook. We also have a few drifters come in, but our rule is everyone needs to be attending school. If they’re not, we help to get them enrolled. We accept them all.”
“Principal Stuart had a zero-tolerance policy for hate.” I sat back in my seat and fixed my eyes on him. “You talk about the center as if it’s personal to you.” I went back to staring out my window.
“Principal Stuart—as you call him—is my uncle.”
“What?” I whisper-shouted, twisting around. With my back against the passenger door and my left leg bent onto the seat, Max had my full attention. “Was he married to Mrs. Larson? No, that can’t be right. He didn’t live with her. I would’ve noticed.”
“They were siblings. My grandparents had three kids: Aunt Lula—Mrs. Larson—Uncle Gregory, and my mother. I started visiting several years ago when my aunt became sick. My uncle asked for my help in building the center. One thing led to another, and I ended up opening a branch of the business down here when it became obvious that I was planning to stay. So yeah, you could say it’s personal.”
“Mr. Stuart's first name is Gregory?” I had many questions, but that ended up making the cut.
“Yes.” He laughed. “Here we are.”
Putting the truck in park and getting out, Max opened the back door for Pluto. “This is incredible,” I said in awe as I got out and slowly closed the door. I stood rooted to the spot, taking in the two-story facility. Pluto loped ahead, barking, and Max came around to stand next to me.
“How were you able to make something this size look like a cabin in the woods?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Max said. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
The rustic aesthetic was at odds with the architectural landscape of Chadwick, causing the building to stand out like a sore thumb, but it worked. The fact that there wasn’t anything surrounding it helped. A secret hideaway. What I suspected these kids needed.
“The landscaping is amazing,” I said, taking time to check out the wildflowers surrounding the front.
“That would be Old Man Jack’s doing. We have a huge vegetable garden and a greenhouse out back that he started. The kids help with both.”
We jogged up the wooden steps and entered through the oversized oak door. The inside looked much like a school. Long, narrow corridors with wood trim around doorways. Everyone signed in at the reception area as soon as they entered. Behind the large circular desk were state-of-the-art security monitors. The footage on the screens flicked back and forth between the rooms and halls.
Max caught me looking around for the cameras and leaned close to my ear. “You’ll never find them.”
“Is that a challenge?”
Leaning back palms up, he said, “Hey, I just don’t want you wasting your time.” He was amused. “We have the cameras to keep the kids safe, but we don’t want them feeling like they're in a prison, so we took pains to ensure that while they know they’re here, they don’t know they’re here. The bathrooms, changing rooms, and counselor offices are off-limits, though.”
My tour included several art rooms, a pottery studio, a chef’s kitchen for cooking classes, a video game room, a room for board and card games, a billiards room, a computer lab, a huge pantry, and the nursing clinic, where the kids could be treated and learn the ins and outs of working in the medical field. Every room equipped to offer recreation and class instruction. So if you were gaming, you were also going to learn how the game was created from inception to end.
Max glanced at his watch. “There’s also a fitness gym, a basketball court, and dormitory-style rooms where kids can come during operating hours to sleep.” He voice dropped. “You’d be surprised how many of them come here just to sleep.”
We stopped in an auditorium where the town-hall meetings were held. Max informed me that about once a month, they’d have a speaker come in to share their stories of adversity and how they overcame it. Or how they’re overcoming it.
“We do allow parents to come in but only as a contributor of some sort. We help with job placement—parents and the older kids—and we allow the kids to take food home from the pantry and the garden. We teach them how to cook their own meals here too.”
“How can you afford to do all this?” I asked in stunned amazement.
“We run it like a nonprofit organization. We get funding from the state and private donations as well. We’re holding our first fundraiser at the end of the summer.”
He led me to the garden and greenhouse, and I paused on the threshold. Kids of varying ages were hard at work. Pulling carrots, potatoes, and other varieties of veggies and fruits.
“It’s harvest day,” Max interjected. “It’s not much—we don’t have the acreage needed to really make a difference—but we grow what we can and supplement what we can’t. Come on, I want you to meet Jack. He’s in the conservatory.”
Stepping into the greenhouse, we encountered a cute little girl with pigtails and braces. She couldn’t have been older than eight.
“Hi, Mr. Max!” She leaped into his arms, and I hid a smirk at his exaggerated stumble and grunt.
“Hi, Debbie, are you helping Mr. Jack today?” Max asked.
Back on her feet, she smoothed down the front of her pink dress and informed Max, “Mr. Jack left for the night.”
The weather was heating up, so they were in the process of transitioning the warm-weather plants from the greenhouse to the garden. Mr. Jack left her in charge of finishing up.
Clueing into my presence, Debbie pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and asked Max, “Who’s your friend?”
“That’s Justin. I’m showing him around. Justin, meet our resident green thumb, Little-Debbie.”
Before I could extend a “Nice to meet you,” Debbie said, “You’re pretty. Prettier than Mr. Max, and Mr. Max is pretty. Everyone thinks so. Your eyes are big. I’ve never seen a boy with a hair bun before. How long is your hair? And why is it so white? Can I see—”
“All right, Debbie, don’t scare him off so soon, okay?” Max said gently while pulling on one of her braids.
“Fine,” she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. Something behind us caught her attention, and she ran off, shouting, “You can’t mix the greens with the browns, Solomon!”
“Max…” I placed a hand on his forearm to stop him from leaving. “This is extraordinary. How can I be a par
t of it?”
A sensation of rightness stirred in my core. Of knowing without a doubt what my path should be. For the first time, I experienced a true sense of purpose. The knowledge was liberating.
“Lucky for you, I’ve saved the best for last. Follow me.”
Walking up the winding, wooden staircase in the middle of the facility, I followed Max to the end of the second-floor hall. We were in front of a doorway, and he gestured for me to go in ahead of him. I stepped in and examined the empty space, and now his calculated gaze back at The Best Burgers in Town made sense.
“We could use an instructor. Many of the kids have expressed their desire to dance. You tell me what you’ll need in here, and I’ll build it or purchase it.”
My excitement mounted as I started to envision what this would mean to these kids. Max leaned against the doorframe: arms folded, one leg crossed in front of the other. Patiently allowing me to sort through my thoughts.
“Do they have any experience?” I asked, running my hand along the wall.
“Some will join for fun. To try something new. Most will have experience, but they probably stopped training because their parents could no longer afford it. Or they were bullied into quitting.” He came further into the room. “Seeing someone like you dancing will make all the difference in the world to them.”
The space was simple, four white walls—one with a mirror along it. “We’ll need a barre bar setup along that wall. Two at least, at different heights to accommodate the younger kids. A matted area for stretching and a sound system.” I scuffed the cement floor with the toe of my shoe. “And vinyl flooring.”
“Consider it done.” He nodded decisively. Stepping into my personal space, he said, “I can’t wait to see what this becomes.” His statement was full of ambiguity. The look of hope and expectation in his eyes filled me with guilt and a longing for someone else. Which only amplified the guilt. I turned and walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
Max waited with me on my front porch while I dug around in my pockets for the house keys. The cries of the cicadas and his truck engine as it ran idle at the curb filled the silence. Pluto stuck his head out the window and barked. Letting Max know it had been a long day for him too.