One Carefree Day

by Whitney Amazeen

  My phone rings, breaking me out of my trance. I glance at the name on the screen and answer. “Mom?” I say, my voice cracking. “Hello?” I pull it away from my face just as the screen turns black. I cringe internally when I realize I never charged it after school. Anything could happen right now, and I won’t have a way to contact the police in an emergency. “It just died,” I tell Theo. “I’m going to let it charge in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  Theo holds out his hand, still seeming dazed. “Allow me.”

  “What? No,” I protest, but he snatches my phone from me before I can stop him.

  “Get your hands dirty. I’ll be right back.”

  “What?” My eyes widen. “Why?”

  “It’s number eleven on your list.”

  “You said we were done for the day!”

  Theo smiles slowly. “I lied.”

  I gape at him.

  “If your fingers aren’t quivering from not tapping by the time I return, I’ll toss you straight into the river.” He offers me a serious stare before heading back to the car.

  I roll my eyes as I approach the water and take deep, calming breaths.

  I’m still reeling at the sudden reappearance of memories from a house where I played as a child, at vaguely remembering the face of the kid who lived there but having the recollections end there. I also recall asking my mom why we stopped playing there all of a sudden, but not receiving an answer.

  Those memories lived in such a small, fleeting part of my mind, I never thought in a million years they would someday be pieced together.

  He is the boy. The one I played king and queen with. The one who read me classic stories before I knew how to. His mom used to make us ham and cheese platters, fruit salad, and mac n’ cheese. But her face, like the rest of what I remember about that time, is as foggy as a steamed window.

  I don’t know how to treat Theo now. Especially after finding out that I was the only friend from his childhood that mattered to him. I don’t know how I managed to make such an impression on him, what I did to deserve that title.

  Other than stand up to his abusive father for him.

  I still need time to reconcile this very grown up Theo with the Teddy I used to play with when I was five.

  Teddy. That’s what I used to call him. It’s no wonder I never made the connection. I can’t believe my mom never brought it up.

  I dip my hands in the water and pick up the dirtiest rock I can find. I rub the dirt into my palms, pressing with more force than necessary. I don’t know why the idea of my mom keeping my childhood friendship with Theo a secret makes me so angry. Maybe she simply forgot.

  Or maybe I’m mad that I’m being forced to face my compulsions in the first place, and all because of her. Her and Gus Badgley. I rub the rock into my palm with even more vigor, my anger fueling me. It alarms me how much the pain of it pleases me.

  “Hey!” A guy in a red shirt from the paddle boat waves at me. “How about you lose some of those layers!”

  I glance around, assuming I’m hearing things, but the guy in the red shirt is staring directly at me. I look down at my loose, flowy top and then back up at him. The paddle boat is close enough to the shore that I know I heard him correctly. Another one of them catcalls at me, and I cross my arms defensively.

  “Come on,” a brown-haired one shouts. “Just for a minute!”

  “Flash us!” Red Shirt waves his beer can in the air. “And we’ll send some beers your way!”

  I stare at my hands, caked in dirt. This is happening because of my hands. They’re dirty, and I need to wash them. But if I bend down and rinse them in the water, Theo will know I failed. I breathe in and out rapidly. I have no idea what to do right now.

  “Don’t make us come over there. I don’t think you’d like that, baby,” one of them cackles. He makes a vulgar gesture, and chills travel down my spine. I’m frozen in place, terrified to run, and terrified to say anything in response.

  Theo approaches me, his eyebrows narrowed in concern. “Are you all right?”

  I look at him, my heart still racing. I can’t even answer because I’m so shaken.

  When I don’t respond, he glances back and forth between me and the men on the boat.

  “Come on, don’t be a buzzkill,” Red Shirt shouts. “He can join too.”

  Theo’s expression sets in anger, his eyes blazing like blue fire. A moment later, his shoes are fully submerged in the water as he makes for the boat.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp.

  “Going to teach those bastards a lesson.” Theo’s voice is dangerously low, and I grip his arm before he can go any farther.

  “Theo, stop. I’m fine.” I tug, but his pulse thrums beneath my fingertips. The sensation calms me a little, almost as if I were tapping.

  His gaze slices through me like shards of glass. “You’re trembling,” he informs me. He looks pointedly at the hand restraining him, and I follow his gaze, only then noticing the shaking of my fingers, still caked with dirt.

  I swallow hard. I’m worried that if I release him, he’ll confront those men. If he does, things might escalate from there, and someone could get hurt. Even though confrontation is a fear I will eventually have to face, I’m not ready yet. I’ve already endured too much today. And with the way Theo’s eyes gleam with barely concealed intentions of murder, I can’t leave him to his own devices right now. “Please, just come sit down with me,” I plead.

  Theo takes a deep breath, and I can’t help but wonder why those guys’ comments bothered him so much. They bothered me too, but his reaction hardly seems warranted.

  I take his other hand, tugging him towards the rocks farther back from the water. I’m hyper aware of the feeling of his skin on mine, but I try not to dwell on it. We sit on the pebbled ground, and Theo glares at the men on the boat, who are laughing at us for retreating.

  “Don’t pay attention to them,” I say softly. “Just look at me.” I wipe off the dirt on my pants and rest my hand hesitantly on his cheek. His lips look impossibly soft, despite the scowl they’re set into. I think about the way I stood up to Theo’s dad when we were kids, how much of an impression it had apparently made on him. He’d been willing to do the same for me right now.

  “Thank you for wanting to defend me too,” I say evenly. “But I’m fine.”

  “It’s more than that.” Theo’s cheeks are heated, as if he’s been lightly slapped. “I won’t stand for men disrespecting women like that. It’s over the line.”

  I stare at him, wondering if his feelings come from having to watch his dad treat his mom similarly, disrespectfully.

  The fury in his expression ebbs a little more the longer I force him to hold my gaze. His hair has completely forgone its perfect style, the wind parting it every which way and forcing it in and out of his face. I can’t help but stare at the dimple in his chin, covered in light stubble. With my hand still touching his cheek, I’ve never been more tempted to inch my way closer and press my finger against the divot under his mouth. Theo lifts his hand, like he’s about to touch me back, and my heart races in response.

  “We should go,” I say.

  Theo glances at the pebbles on the ground. “Right. Your mother will be worried.”

  I blink rapidly, imagining him recounting today’s events to her. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

  At this, he smiles. “Of course not, little Willow. I only meant because your phone’s not working. She’s probably still trying to reach you.”

  I relax a little. The last thing I need is my mom questioning me endlessly in a way that will make me feel three years old. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  My mom is sitting at the kitchen table when I walk in the door alone. I figured it would probably be better if Theo wasn’t with me when I came inside. Whenever my mom is worried, she’s completely unreasonable. I have a feeling she’s on that level today, and I doubt Theo would appreciate having to witness it.

  My mom is in he
r pajamas—beige sweatpants and a white tank top, her blond hair pulled up into a high bun.

  “Trouble sleeping?” I ask by way of greeting.

  She glances up. “Where have you been?” Her cheeks look slightly flushed, and I notice her phone sitting on the table in front of her, face-up. Like she’s waiting for it to ring.

  A pang of guilt shoots through me. I hadn’t thought to tell her where I’d be because she’s usually asleep at this time. Of course the one time I’m not home she wakes up to find me gone. “I’m sorry I never called you back. My phone died while I was at the river with Theo.”

  She frowns at me. “Why were you at the river with him?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I pull out a chair and sit across from her, frowning right back. “But what does matter is why you never told me he and I used to be really good friends as kids.”

  She shakes her head like she doesn’t understand. “What do you mean? Of course you two were friends.”

  I scoff at her dismissive tone. “Well, I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She sighs. “Why would I need to tell you? What did you think? That I’d been friends with Mildred all those years and we never let our kids play together? Theodore is only a few years older than you.”

  I study my mom as she stands up and grabs a water glass from the cupboard. Something is off about the way she’s acting. She’s trying to calm me down, though for what I have no idea.

  “That doesn’t make sense.” I furrow my brows, still watching her. “If that’s the case, why did you stop bringing me to visit?”

  My mom doesn’t move from her position staring into the cupboard. I doubt she’s actually looking for something to eat but rather trying to find a way to avoid eye contact with me. I don’t speak, hoping the silence will make her tell me whatever she’s hoping to avoid. She exhales deeply before finally turning to look at me.

  “Because of Rob,” she tells me. Her voice is so quiet, almost like she hopes I’ll miss her words.

  “Rob?”

  “Theodore’s dad,” she explains. “When you were little, I used to take you to London a lot to play with Theo, while Mildred and I hung out.” My mom shuts the cupboard door, fills her glass with water, and sits back down across from me. She doesn’t take a sip.

  “And?” I prod.

  She pauses to search my face. “One time, Mildred and I went out to get our nails done. Rob stayed behind to babysit. When we came back, he had ...” Her lip quivers. “He was removing his leather belt. He had locked you in his room and was going to whip you with it.” My mom can’t quite meet my eyes, so she takes a drink of water instead.

  My stomach flips. “What? Why was he going to hit me?” As I ask the question, it feels like my mind has somehow formed cracks, letting flashes of memories leak out like water behind a loose dam.

  I recall the way the yellow bedroom felt horrendously wrong, the happy color almost mocking my fear and my tears as I wiggled the handle to no avail. The unnerving feeling of having no control over the situation. Hearing Theo’s pleads for his dad to let me out, to whip him instead of me, even though his arm was already broken. The same sickness in my stomach that I felt then presents itself to me now, clawing its way up my throat.

  Theo’s words from the river echo in my mind. Some details from my childhood are a bit spotty. I’ve been told it’s a symptom of PTSD.

  “Apparently you had disrespected him.” My mom says the word like it holds no meaning. Her voice is so low, it frightens me a little. “And so, I never took you back. Obviously, it wasn’t Mildred’s fault, but I told her that as long as Rob was around, we would mostly have to keep in touch over the phone.”

  I swallow hard. “So, that instance was the last time Theo and I saw each other?”

  My mom gives me a tight-lipped nod. “I visited her alone a few times, but never stayed in their home. And Rob would never let Mildred come visit here. I don’t think he knew I was trying to get her to leave him, but I obviously wasn’t a fan of his, especially after what he tried to do to you,” she says. “I promised Mildred, all those years ago, that my doors would be open to her if she ever wanted to leave him.”

  I stare at the table. “Wow.”

  My mom reaches across the table and smooths down my hair, forcing me to meet her gaze. “As much as I care about Mildred’s son,” she says, “be careful around him, Willow. Rob is not a good man. And Theo was raised by him.”

  I nod at my mom, but this time, it’s me who can’t quite make eye contact.

  I take the neighborhood dogs around the block, mulling over my mom’s words.

  Rob is not a good man. And Theo was raised by him.

  “Isn’t that nice, Darleen?” I ask the rat terrier that won’t stop pulling on her leash. “Isn’t that just peachy?”

  One of my favorite things about walking dogs is that it gives me time to think. Not in an obsessive way, but a rational one. Walking around my neighborhood, glimpsing the gardens people have put so much care into, the clay pots bright with the season’s annuals, is strangely therapeutic. After I drop off Darleen and Tido—the only dogs scheduled for today—I head back home. The sun is just starting to retreat beneath the hills, dimming the street enough to make me rub my eyes.

  When I enter my bedroom, I do a double take. Ash is sitting on my bed. “What are you doing here?” My voice is hushed so I won’t wake my mom. “Your car wasn’t parked outside.”

  “I came in through the window about an hour ago,” says Ash. “You were talking to your mom.”

  The conversation flashes through my mind, along with that moment with Theo at American River, my hand on his face, staring into his blue gaze, my heart thumping unevenly as a result.

  Rob is not a good man. And Theo was raised by him.

  I have so much to tell her.

  “I could really use a girls’ night,” she says, her voice cracking. She’s holding a bottle of Captain Morgan, and her eyes are red and swollen. Maybe she’s still upset that Joseph was walking with those girls on his way to class today. I don’t ask her, though, because I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready. If she knows her distress is obvious, it will only embarrass her. Whatever it is, my heart aches for her. Ash hardly ever cries. I want to hurt Joseph as badly as he’s hurt her.

  Instead, I sit down on my bed. She doesn’t have to say anything else; just like that, we’re taking shots.

  Seven

  My head throbs. My stomach churns. Sick. I’m going to be sick.

  “Ash?” I glance around, but my room is spinning. I can’t see straight. “Ash?”

  No answer.

  I stand up, fall down, and stand back up again. I stumble out of my room and open my mom’s door. I peek inside, but she’s already gone to work. The clock on her bedside table tells me it’s three in the morning. I tiptoe down the hall and glance around the living room, but I don’t see Ash. She could be anywhere. Knowing her, she probably left after getting drunk. I imagine her passed out in the middle of the street and slip on my shoes to check outside. I bump into the walls a few times on my way out. I scan the street, but there’s no one in sight. The neighborhood is dead silent, the streetlights illuminating parked cars and shadows of trees in the darkness.

  I start calling for Ash, my voice a harsh whisper, and then I imagine how I must look right now, drunk in the streets at such a late hour.

  I start laughing hysterically. I have to tell someone. I have to tell someone how funny this is, how hilarious it is that I’ve somehow lost my cousin. Lost her like she’s a pet. I tiptoe across the front lawn until I reach the guest house Theo is inhabiting. Even while under the influence of alcohol, my rituals take precedence in my mind.

  1, 2, 3 knocks.

  Theo will laugh. He will think this is funny. And then we will laugh together. We will laugh until we have to hold our stomachs, until tears stream down our faces.

  Theo opens the door a crack. When he sees it’s me, he opens it all the way. He�
�s not wearing a shirt. I stare at his chest. The muscles are defined, his skin smooth and free of tattoos, with the exception of his arms. My eyes snag for longer than necessary on the fine trail of hair leading from his belly button to below the band of his sweats.

  “Willow. What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Theo’s eyes are squinting, like he’s still half-asleep. His hair is ruffled, a dark ocean of waves. He rubs a hand down his face.

  I giggle. I can’t help it. I’m aware of how rude I’m being. I haven’t even told him the joke yet, and he probably wants to laugh with me. “You’re so British,” I inform him.

  He squints at me for a moment before sighing. “You’re pissed. Get inside.” He gestures for me to come into the living room.

  I wobble through the threshold. “I’m not angry,” I tell him. “Just a little wasted.”

  I’m surprised when he chuckles. “Yes. I know, love.”

  I glance around. “It’s been so long since I’ve been in here.” I wave my hand around. The place is still furnished the way my mom left it for guests—plainly. There aren’t any decorations, but the small house is filled with bare, modern necessities. A TV is mounted on the wall, and a glass coffee table and black leather couch sit in front of it. The kitchen is visible from where I’m standing, and there’s a stainless-steel kettle on the stove. “It’s like you didn’t even bring anything with you.”

  Theo ignores me as he situates me on the couch. The leather is cold through my leggings.

  “Wait here.” He goes off and rummages around in the kitchen for a moment. The cabinets open and close, and the faucet turns on. When Theo comes back, he’s holding a glass of water. “Drink this,” he orders. “All of it.”

  I take the water from him, but don’t drink yet. First, I have to tell him my story. “Ash disappeared,” I tell him. My voice slurs, and it makes me giggle. “She’s a goner.”

  Theo frowns. “What do you mean?” His blue eyes are no longer hazy with sleep.