Snake Face

by Amber Foxx

  Jamie took her hand. “Sorry.” He let go, fell silent for a while, and then said with odd sincerity, as if he thought this made it all better, “I’d leave you Gasser.”

  Over the next two days, Mae went back and forth between Jamie’s room and her hotel. She took long swims in the hotel’s small, oval pool, and remembered him saying it was like being a flushed goldfish. Had a nice swim in the little toilet pool. She wanted to hear him make jokes again. See him smile.

  When she got back to his room in the afternoon of the second day, he remained dim and dazed. He used to move from anger to joy to rage to tears to apologies to laughter so fast she could hardly keep track of him. Now the mood swinging had practically stopped, like the pendulum of an old clock winding down, stuck in an ever-smaller arc.

  As usual, she found Joe Wayne, a burned-out guardian angel, slouched in the chair near Jamie’s bed. Jamie barely emerged from his stupor to acknowledge her kiss, then turned his head and made that unhappy noise in his throat.

  Trying not to feel rejected, she sat to read the fitness magazines she’d brought with her. Joe Wayne had been reading the poetry of William Butler Yeats. The book lay face down and open across his thigh. Mae started to say something about it, but stopped. Of course he read things like this. The asshole cowboy was an English major.

  Jamie fidgeted and groaned. “Bloody fucking hell.”

  She rushed to his side to comfort him. He retracted from her. Joe Wayne rumbled, “You got that right. Shit right up to the eyeballs.”

  Jamie relaxed into a pained half smile and went back to sleep.

  While Mae stifled her worry by studying new workout routines, Joe Wayne read Yeats. He murmured a verse to himself and afterwards gazed at the ceiling, eyes narrowed, jaw slightly open, letting out a soft hah of air. Jamie shuddered and his good arm thrashed at the sheets. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Mae rose and touched his shoulder. He closed his eyes tight, and tears leaked out as he turned away from her as much as his pain allowed. As gently and slowly as possible, she slipped her hand around Jamie’s. He pulled away and whispered, “Fuck.”

  Joe Wayne sighed. “Yeah. Sucks donkey dicks, don’t it?”

  Jamie exhaled a long unsteady sound and relaxed. The only thing that seemed to reassure him was this mutual cussing and moaning. She pushed down the hurt. It had to be the pain and the drugs making Jamie act this way. He’d be himself again as those wore off.

  But what if he wasn’t? He’d been depressed before the injuries.

  A nurse came in and suggested the visitors give her and the patient some privacy. Mae and Joe Wayne walked to a guest lounge with vending machines and a TV tuned to a talk show at a deafening volume. The elderly woman watching the screen from her perch on the edge of a chair looked at Joe Wayne with a puzzled frown. Her mouth opened.

  “No ma’am,” he preempted her question. “Though I been told I look like him.”

  He sat on the sofa with Mae, closer than she would have liked, but he spoke softly and the TV was loud. “I messed up. Sorry. Should’ve left you home with your family. Had some crazy idea that love cures all. I oughtta know better.”

  “No, it’s all right. It’s not that kind of love. And I was coming anyway. I would have found him.”

  “I see.” Joe Wayne cracked his knuckles and slid low on the couch, a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “So it’s that kind of love.”

  “I care about him.” Mae felt strange trying to explain her feelings for Jamie to Joe Wayne when she couldn’t explain them to herself. She gave up. “But he needs some other people here besides me or you. Why aren’t his parents here?”

  “He won’t let anybody notify them. Dude’s in touch with his inner cowboy, dontcha know? Toughin’ it alone. Doesn’t want them to know how fucked-up he is.”

  “His manager has to know. He missed his last show.”

  “She got suspicious. Sylvie sent some bogus messages from his phone and his e-mail saying he had to cancel because of his voice. But they didn’t read like him. Wendy reached me through my agent, but Jamie doesn’t want her coming out here.”

  “He’ll have to see her when he gets back to Santa Fe.”

  “Yep. You have to hope so. And it looks like you’re driving him.” Joe Wayne lowered his volume to a whisper. “You gonna stick with our story when you get there?”

  “That’s up to Jamie. I will if he does.”

  “He will. He already told my little county cops. Can’t go back on it now.” He resumed a normal but low tone. “He needs to sign something when he’s off the meds. Settlement agreement. Ought to have a lawyer look it over.”

  “He can’t afford—”

  “He can if he signs it.” Joe Wayne put his feet on the coffee table, crossed and uncrossed his ankles, wrinkling a celebrity gossip magazine. “And he’d damned well better. I had to fight with my own lawyer to get this thing drawn up. But I wanted Jamie taken care of. He can’t be a cowboy when it comes to this. I already know he has no health insurance. And his daddy’s a professor. Not a bad job, but not rich. Pays what, like seventy-five, eighty thousand tops? And his mama’s a poet. No money in that. Shit—that’s what I’d be if it weren’t for Sylvie. Some goddamn poet or English professor. Anyway, they can’t pay for what he needs. That dude’s so depressed he’s subterranean. You seen him. That’s a dead man walking. Love ain’t gonna save him.”

  “Money is?”

  “Can’t hurt.” He kicked at the tabloid. “Think he’ll end up in one of these? Shot by Brazos?”

  “Maybe. Was that your joke about a shot in the arm? It sounded like Jamie.”

  “Told you. He’s my brother.” Joe Wayne eyed Mae’s curves. “Wish he wasn’t. I’d steal his woman.”

  She stood. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

  “You might reconsider if he doesn’t recover. After all,” his smile vanished, “I have been regarded as the next best thing.”

  The next morning Diego delivered the GPS and Gasser, yowling in a carrier, to Mae’s hotel. The mechanic promised he’d ship the instruments and the bike frame as soon he got back to the ranch. He’d checked on the van and had it towed away. It wasn’t worth saving. Mae expected Jamie would grieve the Aerostar once his head cleared—he’d seemed to think it was alive—but the last time Mae had seen him he’d still been so foggy with pain drugs she doubted he comprehended this loss.

  She pulled up to the patient pick-up area outside the hospital, worried what the drive to Santa Fe might be like with Jamie in such a condition. What kind of commitment had she made? She’d thought she’d go back to North Carolina for Christmas. Jamie would probably be all right once he got to his parents’ house, but maybe Mae would need to stay in New Mexico. She wasn’t sure why.

  The door from the hospital lobby opened with its whooshing electronic breath, and Jamie, in a white cowboy hat and carrying a single red rose, his backpack slung from his left shoulder, walked out on his own. As drugged as he’d been, she’d expected him to be brought out in a wheelchair, but then, she wouldn’t put it past Jamie to refuse the chair or just get up out of it. He was proud, didn’t like to look weak. She jumped out to meet him.

  With a look that tried to be a smile, he reached his left arm out to Mae, handed her the rose and pulled her so close he seemed to be drawing her into him cell by cell, his fracture-wrapped and sling-bound right arm crushed between them.

  Slowly, he rocked the embrace. Something seemed to pass from him to her, a deep aching need so enormous, so desperate, its pain echoed into her bones. His left hand came up and stroked her neck and hair, then slid down to crush her into him again.

  People passed in and out of the hospital on either side of them. Pigeons flapped overhead. A car dropped someone off and left. Mae began to feel squeezed from the tightness of Jamie’s grasp, his right arm pressing into her diaphragm. She whispered, “Sugar? Can you let me breathe?”

  “Sorry.” He stepped back. His speech was clear, and he seemed tense with
pain, wincing as he adjusted his sling. “We need to talk.”

  “Before we drive?”

  “Yeah. Just let me kiss Gasser.”

  She unlocked the hatchback and opened the carrier. The cat purred and made small sounds, while Jamie petted him and talked to him and kissed him between the ears. “Jeezus.” He looked at Mae. “You have no idea.”

  “I think I do. You love him.”

  “Yeah. He’s my mate.” Jamie hugged the cat to his chest, used his elbow to close the hatch, and nodded toward a glaring aluminum bench further along the curve of the sidewalk. “Sit there for bit?”

  “I’m taking up space here.”

  He started without her. “Haven’t been outdoors in days.”

  It was a short walk, yet he gave up halfway and sat on the bumper of a stranger’s car, head bowed down over his cat. Mae remembered him sitting on someone’s bumper outside the Greek bar in Norfolk, cheery and flirtatious after his contest with Stamos. Never thought I’d miss him acting like that. But she did. Mae asked, “You okay, sugar?”

  “Need a sec.”

  She stood beside him, stroking his hair back from his face. It was wild and too long now, past his collar, spraying out in a cloud from under the white hat as she resettled it on his head. “Joe Wayne give you this?”

  “Yeah. And he gave you the rose.”

  “That was sweet. He’s a nicer guy than I expected.” Or a more hopeless womanizer.

  “Yeah.” Jamie stood up and wobbled. “Sorry. Light-headed. Haven’t eaten. Fucking hospital food. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, sugar.” She walked him to the bench, and they sat, shoulder to shoulder. Gasser purred and butted his head against Jamie’s belt buckle, and then spread like a furry liquid on his lap. Jamie dug his long brown fingers through the cat’s coat, kneading, giving his pet a massage. He didn’t seem to be on any drugs, but his mood wasn’t much better.

  Mae asked, “How are you feeling aside from hungry?”

  “Like bloody crap.” He adjusted the sling again and almost shouted in pain, an inarticulate yelp. “Sorry. Like morning fucking sunshine.”

  “You should quit messing with that sling.”

  “I know. Dunno why I do it.” He looked down at their feet. “Jeezus. What happened to your ankle?”

  Mae had gotten so used to wearing the compression sleeve she’d forgotten about it, but this was the first time Jamie had been alert enough to notice it. “Just a sprain. Got my heel caught in a rug Greek dancing.”

  “What? You were with—”

  “Yeah. But I broke off with him for good. Everything’s all right. I’m not hurt bad over him or my ankle. Neither one was serious.”

  “But—you’ve been driving with that. You shouldn’t have.”

  “Yes, I should have. I wanted to be with you.”

  “Nah. Better off with the fucking Greek.” Jamie dropped into a sodden silence, tugged at the sling again and grimaced. His hand stopped short of touching the stitches in his cheek. “Bloody hell, it hurts when I—” He repeated the pained expression, winced yet again, and rubbed his face, fingering the stubble below the injury. “Jeezus. Must look as bad as I feel.”

  “You look good to me.”

  “Look again. Got to learn to shave left-handed or I’ll look like fucking Brazos.”

  Mae suppressed a smile. Jamie sounded so glum, he didn’t seem to know he’d been funny. “When we stop on the way I’ll help. I never shaved a man before but I can learn.”

  “Nah. You won’t be coming.” He pulled a folded paper and a bank envelope from his back pocket, muttering, “Ow, fuck, fuck,” and handed Mae the envelope. “Would’ve done it more graciously and bought you the ticket online, but my credit’s fucked, y’know? I couldn’t. Didn’t have even this much in the bank ’til now. Signed all the papers. That’s why I’m off the meds. Lawyer. Reading. All that crap.”

  “You did all that today? Are you sure you were ready?”

  “Yeah. Joe did the banking.” He met her eyes. “Go on back for Christmas with Arnie and your girls. It’d be a bloody awful drive again, and I didn’t want you to miss your time with them. It’s what you were there for, not to scrape me up off the ground fifty times.”

  Cash. She hesitated, and then thought of Arnie’s theory of men, money, and depression. Jamie wanted to give, not just take, and she did want to spend Christmas with Arnie and Brook and Stream. How could she, though? Leaving Jamie so soon would be wrong. “We need to talk about this—”

  “Nah. It’s settled. It’s what you have to do.” His voice broke, but he kept control. “If you fly out of El Paso rather than here you’ll be closer to home when you get back.” A ghost of a smile. “But Stamos has to buy his own ticket.”

  “Jamie—”

  “Kidding. There’s enough for both of you. Just don’t sit with him.”

  “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Stamos wouldn’t take money from a woman, especially if it came by way of Joe Wayne and Jamie. He’d probably buy a mid-life crisis red convertible in Norfolk and drive himself home. Still, Mae would offer the ticket. “Thank you.” She put the envelope in her purse and caressed Jamie’s hand on Gasser’s back. “You’re a sweetie to do this. You didn’t have to.”

  He slid his hand away from hers. “Don’t be so bloody Southern. Yeah, I had to. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me. I love you.”

  Had she said that? She felt as if she’d opened her mouth and a fish had jumped out.

  Recognition struck first, then relief, followed by a wave of something that almost hurt. It was true. She loved that diamond of heart, that deep strength inside his brokenness. The silliness and noise, the shadow of the shaman in his music. His graceful strong body that he thought was so flawed, his baby seal eyes in that strange yet beautiful face. He would take everything she had—but the love he’d give her back was endless. If what she’d said had gotten through. For some reason he was still just massaging Gasser. “Jamie, sugar—I said I love you.”

  “Nah.” He stared at their feet. “Bloody rescue mission. You only think it’s love.”

  His words cut her and her eyes burned with tears. Too many voices clamored inside her. Stamos saying Jamie wouldn’t take care of himself as long as he had Mae for a mother. Joe Wayne regretting that love didn’t cure all. Hubert and Jen urging her to choose Jamie. Arnie cautioning her against it. Jamie promising he would always be there for her. And then her own voice. I love you. Landing unheard and unwanted.

  “Oh Jeezus, I made you cry.” Jamie’s face twisted with guilt, and his words tumbled out in an avalanche. “I’m such a bloody fuck-up. Sorry—fuck. Sorry. Shoot me. No—don’t.”

  They both nearly laughed, but couldn’t. Jamie unfolded the paper he’d taken from his pocket with the envelope and smoothed it along Gasser as if he were a desk. “I’m tired of being a disaster area. I need time.”

  “Of course you do. So do I.” She’d fallen into this so unexpectedly. It felt right, not fighting her affection for him anymore, but it would take getting used to for both of them. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

  “I meant time out.” He handed her the paper. It was a color printout from a computer, showing a rental ad. Duplex on Don Diego near Cerrillos. Available immediately. Small pets, no dogs. No smoking. The building’s chipped clay-colored stucco gave it a dreary feeling and the yard was nothing but dirt, not even a juniper shrub or a yucca to liven it up. “Getting my own place. Wendy found it for me.”

  A depressed man shouldn’t live in a place like this. “She must not have looked hard. That’s—”

  “Perfect. All right? I’ve got bad credit. Landlady’ll take six months’ rent up front and a deposit. I’m lucky. It’s mine. I move in tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Do you have any furniture?”

  “Nah. No worries. Easier to paint.”

  “With one arm? You won’t even be able to cook, let alone paint. You should stay with your folks ’til your arm
and shoulder heal.”

  “Landlady lives in the other half. She’ll open jars for me.”

  “It’s not just that—you know what I mean. You’re still on pain meds, and you’re not happy—”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the point.” There was a sad-angry weight under his words. He folded the picture of his dismal future home and tucked it into his pocket. “The wall is up and the hole is deep. I’m not taking you or anyone else in with me.”

  “Sugar, we should talk about this on the way. Okay? I’ll take you to Santa Fe and then go back to El Paso to fly.”

  “Nah. Decided. Got a taxi taking me to the bus station. Should be here any minute.” Jamie stood, and sat back down hard, nearly dropping his cat. “Fuck. Better pack Gasser up again.”

  “Can I at least help you with that?”

  He nodded, and Mae hurried to her car and brought the crate back. She helped Jamie squeeze a protesting Gasser into it. “How are you gonna take care of him with just one arm, sugar? Give him baths and everything.”

  “Stop mothering me. Jeezus. I’ll manage.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes grew darker and his voice heavier. “Me too.”

  “This feels so sudden. I’m gonna miss you. Call me as soon as you get a new phone.”

  He shook his head, rose and walked off, his steps slow and careful.

  Mae stood. A knot in her chest barely let her speak. “Jamie—”

  “Don’t.” He stopped. “Let me go. I’m not fit to live. I’m a bloody wreck. I fucking hate myself and everything I do to the people who love me. I’m like some toxic spill. People who try to clean it up get poisoned. I’m not putting you through that.”

  “No—no, that’s not true.”

  Jamie began walking again, too fast for his unsteadiness. Mae caught up beside him, grabbing his arm as he nearly stumbled. He didn’t protest. “When can I see you?” she asked.

  The two-part shrug of evasion.

  “You’re not—not forever, sugar, you can’t mean never—”

  “Shh.” He set Gasser’s crate down, drew her close and kissed her, his lips barely brushing hers, his hand cupping her head. “Six months. All right? Give me six months.”