by Marie Sexton
“My dad said the car was totaled, the top of it just torn right off.”
“They won’t be able to have open caskets.”
Nate waited, his foot bouncing nervously as the seconds ticked by.
Cody entered just before the bell rang. One look at him was enough to break Nate’s heart. There was no sign of tears, but there was something so wrong about Cody—some terrible stillness that Nate couldn’t begin to describe that told him he was right—that the person who would probably mourn Logan the most was the one person nobody bothered to think of.
Cody stopped a foot inside the door, his eyes locked on the desk where Logan normally sat. His jaw clenched. His eyes closed. For one fraction of a second, Nate thought Cody was going to fall apart right there in the classroom. But just as the bell rang, Cody turned on his heel and walked out the door.
Nate jumped to his feet, made it half a step before he remembered his books. He turned to grab them, wanting to call out to Cody but unwilling to draw attention like that—
“Mr. Bradford, take your seat please.”
Nate stopped, his books a jumble in his arms. “But—”
“I know this has been a tough day for everybody, but the bell has rung.” Mrs. Simmons seemed to be holding her neck at an odd angle so as to look at Nate without seeing the horribly empty desk three seats behind him. “Take your seat, please.”
Everybody’s eyes were on him, and God only knew where Cody was by now. Nate sank into his chair, defeated.
But only for now. Class was forty-five minutes long, and after that, he’d find Cody, no matter what it took.
Cody had noticed everybody in school whispering and crying, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Nobody ever bothered to tell him gossip, and there was nobody he could ask except for Logan, but Logan hadn’t been around.
It wasn’t until third period that he found out the two things were related. He felt like he’d been in a trance since he’d first heard those terrible words.
“Logan Robertson is dead.”
He’d only survived the day by diving for that deep, cold place inside of himself where he didn’t have to feel happiness or pain or heartache. It was a defense mechanism he’d learned as a kid. There hadn’t been an option. It was an instinct born of nights cowering beneath his blankets as his parents fought in the living room, and days waiting on the front porch for a father who never arrived, birthdays that went unmentioned and Christmas mornings when the only gifts were a mushy orange in his stocking and a packet of socks underneath the tree. It wasn’t that his mom didn’t try, but he suspected she’d learned long ago to do what he was doing now: killing everything inside. Locking away any dream of a real life was the only way to survive. There was no such thing as hope. There was just this moment, bleeding into the next, and into the next, slowly trudging toward the sunburnt patch of brown grass where residents of Warren were finally dropped into the cold, hard ground, with only a flat, gray stone to mark the spot.
And now, Logan would be there, long before his time.
Cody walked home, buffeted by the wind, warm in a coat that was suddenly more precious than it had ever been. His mom was gone when he got home, either at work or at the bar, and Cody sat in the empty, silent living room, a cigarette slowly burning to the butt between his still fingers, holding himself in that lonely, safe place. He had to be careful not to move.
Careful not think.
Careful not to hear Logan’s laugh echoing in the distant corners of his mind. Otherwise, he might not make it. He might fracture and break, shatter into a hundred pieces, fall apart on their filthy living room floor.
No, he couldn’t do that.
And so he sat, watching the smoke from his cigarette curl toward the ceiling, convincing himself that this was all there would ever be—this moment, and this numb emptiness keeping him from the pain.
The room was deep in shadows when the knock came. It was only four o’clock, but the sun was low in the sky, ready to be swallowed by the barren, wind-blown earth.
The knock came again, and this time, Cody stirred, turning toward the sound.
Nobody ever knocked on their door except the cops and the occasional Mormon missionary. Even they hadn’t been around in a while.
Knock, knock, knock.
Cody dropped his cigarette butt into the ashtray and pushed himself off the couch, moving slowly to keep from losing his center. The room seemed to tilt around him, everything going left while he went right, and he flicked the light switch by the front door, illuminating the porch, before opening the door. His heart missed a beat when he found Nate waiting on the other side of the torn screen. The careful stillness that sheltered Cody threatened to crumble, just seeing Nate standing there with the wind blowing his hair into his face, his eyes so full of concern that Cody could barely stand to look at him.
“I wasn’t sure which one was yours. I tried that other one first, but—”
“Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Cody did his best to sound angry. “Well, now you have. Is that it?”
Nate didn’t even blink, as if he’d expected Cody’s hostility. “Can I come in?”
Cody hesitated, but only for a second. What was the point? He’d dreaded this moment since the day they’d met. He’d tossed a pack of cigarettes to Nate and climbed into his car, and ever since then, he’d done everything he could to keep Nate from seeing his real life, but he didn’t care anymore. It was time for all pretense to be tossed aside. Time for all his careful dissemination to be discarded like the stack of crumpled yellow butts in the ashtray. What the hell did it matter anyway, with Logan gone?
He turned away without opening the screen door, but Nate opened it anyway and followed him inside. Cody glanced around and the familiar space—sagging couch, threadbare armchair, dingy curtains, the whole place reeking of cigarettes and stale beer, a bit of smoke still lingering in the air. He wondered how it looked through Nate’s eyes, but when he turned to face him, to try to gauge his reaction, he realized Nate wasn’t seeing any of it. Nate, it seemed, only had eyes for him.
And Jesus, those eyes. Cody knew in that instant that Nate had come for him. Despite everything that had happened, despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken in weeks, Nate had seen what nobody else had. He’d recognized that Logan’s death would break Cody’s heart. And he’d come to the Hole, knocking on doors, until he found the right one.
Nate said only, “I was worried about you.”
Cody’s stillness cracked right down the middle like the earth in some Hollywood movie earthquake, everything he’d been steeling himself against welling up through that breach. He turned away, trying to stamp it all down, trying to locate that safe place he’d found earlier, but it was out of his reach. He wanted to run, but he only made it as far as the kitchen, where he came up short against the refrigerator, the stupid stained towel with the crocheted hook hanging from the handle, and Cody hung there as well, his shoulders and jaw tight, his teeth clenched, his knees threatening to give out.
“Cody, I’m sorry.”
Cody bit his lip, shaking his head, wishing he could send Nate away.
“I know you must be upset.”
“I’m fine,” Cody choked out, but he wasn’t fooling anybody. Not even himself.
“Look, I know you probably hate me. I know I’ve been an asshole. But I just—” He sighed. “I care about you—”
“Stop.”
“And I’m sorry about what happened between us. But most of all—”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry about—”
Cody put his head in his hands, trying to cover his ears, trying to block out the words. “Don’t say it!”
“I’m sorry about Logan.”
Cody couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t face the wave of emotions rising over him, threatening to drown him. He put his head against the freezer handle, clenching his eyes shut. He wanted to quit fighting it. He wanted to scream at Nate, to tell him
to go to hell, to go away, to leave him the fuck alone.
But most of all, he wanted to bury his face in Nate’s chest and cry. He wondered if that would feel as good as he’d always imagined, to have somebody hold him while he let go.
God, he couldn’t let that happen.
He took a deep breath, his lungs aching. “I need you to leave.”
“No.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“I know, but you shouldn’t be alone.”
Alone. Alone sounded good. Alone sounded safe. “I want—”
“I know you’re upset. I know you must be devastated, Cody.”
Devastated. One simple little word to describe the horrible turmoil in his heart, the awful emptiness in his life, the Logan-shaped void nobody else would ever be able to fill, just standing there next to him at work, talking about girls while he put away the dishes.
Talking to Cody like he wasn’t so bad after all.
“I know he was your friend.”
“My friend,” Cody managed to whisper. “Oh God, Nate. He was my friend. He was my only friend.”
“I know.”
And then it all hit him at once, that hot, horrible weight he’d worked so hard to avoid suddenly filling his chest, rising into his throat, and Cody bent forward, gasping, trying to hold it in, wanting to just maintain. Just keep himself together.
“Cody.” Nate’s hand on his shoulder was so soft. So gentle. “It’s okay to cry.”
Cody shook his head, choking on his tears. “No, it isn’t.”
“It’s okay to miss him.”
That was the worst part, knowing he’d go on missing Logan like this forever. That nothing he did could change it. A sob burst out of him, wretched and humiliating but such a fucking relief after fighting so hard, and Cody gave up. He surrendered at last to the pain, shaking as he cried, almost falling to the floor as his knees gave out.
Good thing Nate was there to catch him.
Nate ended up sitting on the kitchen floor with Cody curled against his chest as he cried. It was painful, witnessing Cody’s grief, feeling the way Cody’s entire body shook with the force of his sobs, but Nate just held him, feeling strangely at peace. Holding Cody felt as natural as breathing. There was none of the strange terror like when he’d touched Christine, or the awkwardness he felt when he danced with Stacy.
It went through his head, over and over again as Cody’s tears finally began to slow.
This is right.
Although after half an hour or so, Nate’s backside was beginning to hurt. For the first time, he noticed how uncomfortable he was, scrunched against the cabinet, but he wasn’t about to disturb Cody now. Nate glanced around at the sad state of Cody’s home, and his heart ached for him anew. Even in the dim light, it was easy to see that the floor probably hadn’t been mopped in ages and the cracked linoleum was curling at the corners. Several of the cupboard doors hung crooked on their hinges. One was gone completely, revealing a shelf that contained only a couple of cans of soup and a jar of peanut butter, all generic brand. No Campbell’s or Skippy Extra Chunky for Cody. Probably no Coke or Pepsi in the fridge to wash it down with, either.
It was just one more thing Nate had taken for granted his entire life.
Eventually, Cody’s breathing slowed, although his chest still hitched every few seconds. Nate ducked his head, burying his nose in Cody’s dark hair, breathing in the clean smell of shampoo and the familiar tang of smoke.
“I’m sorry,” Cody whispered, between hiccups.
“For what? Being upset? You don’t need to apologize for that.”
“Do you know . . .” Cody had to stop and take a deep breath. Then, his voice even quieter, “Do you know how it happened?”
Nate had to think for a second about exactly what Cody was asking. “How he died?”
Cody nodded without moving his head from Nate’s chest.
“Didn’t you hear at school?”
“I heard a car wreck, but . . .” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to hear any more. I didn’t think I wanted to know, but now—”
He choked again, his shoulders shaking, and Nate hurried to fill the gap. He didn’t have to rely on the little information he had from his father. He’d heard plenty at school. “He was coming home from Casper with Shelley. Remember how it started snowing all of a sudden yesterday afternoon? I heard they stayed at his cousin’s through dinner, thinking the weather would clear, but it didn’t. And since it was a school night—”
“He should have stayed.”
“I know.”
“He shouldn’t have been in that stupid Camaro this time of year.”
“I know.”
“If I hadn’t traded shifts with him, if I’d just told him no, maybe he wouldn’t have gone to Casper at all and none of this would have happened.”
Nate wasn’t sure exactly what Cody was talking about, but it didn’t matter. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make it your fault. You had no way of knowing.”
“He just wanted to trade shifts.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. There was no reason for you to say no.”
“I wanted the hours! How could I think the hours were more important than him?”
“You didn’t.” Nate shook his head, rubbing Cody’s back as he tried to piece together what must have happened. “He asked for a favor, right? And you said yes. That’s all. You had no way of knowing.”
Cody shuddered. “And Shelley. God, I haven’t even thought about Shelley.”
“You didn’t know her as well.”
“All I can think about is going to work and not having him there to talk to. Or going to school and not having him sitting next to me in social studies.” He sniffled. “All I can think about is me, and how much I want him back.”
Nate stroked his hair. “I know.”
“Does that make me selfish?”
“I think that makes you normal. I think the rest will come later.”
“It should have been me.” He was crying again, although not the gut-wrenching sobs of before. This was quieter. “Logan was going to college. He was probably getting a football scholarship. He could have done anything.”
“I know—”
“He wouldn’t have been stuck here, don’t you see? He had more than the oil wells or the coal mines to look forward to. It should have been me! Nobody would care if I died.”
“That’s not true,” Nate said, holding Cody tighter. “I’d care.”
“I wish it had been me.”
“No,” Nate said simply, shaking his head. “No.”
Cody settled closer, his tears subsiding again. One arm snuck around Nate’s waist, and Nate’s heart swelled. He rubbed Cody’s back, making soft shushing sounds until Cody sighed and shifted his weight, pulling away a bit and tilting his head back to look up at Nate. The light from the porch fell through the kitchen window to be reflected off Cody’s damp cheeks.
“Thank you for coming over.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I feel like a jerk for crying all over you.”
“I don’t mind.”
Quite the contrary. He didn’t like seeing Cody in pain, but he appreciated having an excuse to be so close to him. It might have been arousing if Cody hadn’t been so distraught. Nate brushed a lingering tear from under Cody’s eye, then continued the caress, letting his fingers tangle into Cody’s black hair. They were almost nose to nose. It would have taken so little to close that gap—to simply claim Cody’s lips with his own. Nate knew how he’d taste—how the tears would have turned his tongue salty—and he almost moaned with the desire that rose up in him, seeing Cody look at him like that.
But he stopped himself.
This wasn’t the time. Not when Cody was wracked with grief over Logan.
“He wasn’t your only friend, you know. I’m sure that’s how it felt, these last few months. And that’s my fault, for being such an idiot, but I won’t leave you like that again.” He wasn�
�t sure if he saw doubt in Cody’s eyes, or if it was only his own guilt making him think so. “I promise, you still have one friend left.”
Cody leaned closer, and for one amazing second, Logan thought maybe Cody would take matters into his own hands and initiate a kiss himself, but he didn’t. “Promise me something else?” His voice almost cracked as he said it.
“Anything.”
“Let your dad buy you a truck. Please. Don’t make me lose you too.”
Nate almost laughed. He’d already made the agreement with his dad anyway. He wasn’t giving up his Mustang, but that didn’t mean he had to court death. “Okay.”
They stayed like that for a moment, lingering on that promise. Nate thought again how easy it would be to kiss Cody, but he found himself thinking of Logan. Wondering when Logan had last kissed Cody. Wondering how long it would be before Cody could kiss somebody and not think of Logan while he did it.
Now who’s being selfish, Nate?
Cody sat back on his heels and wiped his face. The motion moved him away, taking him out of Nate’s reach. Nate mourned the loss a bit, but he was also relieved to be able to stretch his legs and his back. And seeing the peanut butter had made his stomach grumble.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
Nate waited, trying not to smile. It seemed wrong to smile. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Because Nate knew how grief could make somebody forget to check in with their stomach.
It took Cody a second to answer. “I guess maybe I am.”
“We could go downtown—”
“Uptown.”
“Uptown, then, and get ham-fried rice and sweet and sour pork.” The black-and-white labels in the cabinet caught his eye. He had no idea how much money Cody made at the Tomahawk, but he didn’t want that to be an issue. “My treat.”
Cody shook his head. “I don’t want to go in there.” Already, his voice was threatening to crack again. “All those people. Everybody will be talking about—”
“You’re right.” In such a small town, something as juicy as two teenagers dying in a gruesome car wreck would certainly have everybody buzzing. “How about if I go pick it up and bring it back here instead?”