by Jamie Zerndt
“Would you mind giving me a hand real quick, so I can mount him?” When Kay looked at her skeptically, Shawna interlaced her fingers and held them out. “Just keep your back straight, and you’ll be fine. I’m not all that heavy.”
Kay smiled at the girl. “My back hasn’t been straight in years, but, okay, I’ll try.”
As Kay hunched over, Shawna carefully placed her foot in the web Kay was making with her hands, placing one hand on Seven’s back and the other on Kay’s shoulder. Then, in one fluid motion, she swung up onto Seven. Kay was about to ask if she should follow them back home when the front door of the house opened.
“Can I help you?”
There in the doorway stood a bearded man in overalls. A not-uncommon sight in Mercer, but there was something about the man that Kay immediately disliked. When Shawna just stared at him, Kay took it upon herself to answer for her.
“You seem to have found her horse. We’re just taking him back home now. Thank you.”
The man seemed about to say something when a little boy came running out of the house, pushing past him. “Hey, that’s my horsey!”
Instead of correcting the boy’s claim, Kay thought she could see a wry smile creep out from under the man’s beard. The boy, like the father, gave Kay the impression that he lived under the house rather than in it. His brown hair was unusually long for most boys in town and shot out in all directions. Which could have been endearing on most other children, Lord knew Douglas looked similar at that age, but Kay found herself feeling sorry for the boy instead. At the sight of him, Seven took a few quick steps back, seemingly just as repulsed by the little ball of dirt as Kay.
“I said that’s my horsey!”
Shawna regarded the boy a moment then gave Seven a little kick and guided him toward the man in the doorway. As she did so, the boy called out, “Indian giver!”
Shawna simply turned and smiled at the boy like he’d just said something adorable. The boy, obviously confused by her reaction, said it again. “Indian giver!”
Kay found herself transfixed, not for the first time, by Shawna sitting there atop Seven. They were like one word, something fluid and written by a steady hand: FuckOff. The man in the doorway took a step forward as Shawna and the horse approached, almost as if he was determined to stop them from entering the house.
“You got papers for that animal? How we supposed to know he’s yours?”
Shawna regarded the man not much differently than she had the boy. “Do you know who I am?”
The man turned his head and spit in the grass. Men. Always posturing. What a tiny specimen he seemed alongside Shawna and Seven.
“You’re Ayasha’s girl. So?”
Shawna turned her head and spit and it took everything Kay had not to clap. The smirk that came across the man’s face was sickly. “That’s right. Ayasha’s girl. And I know exactly who you are.”
The man turned his head like he was going to spit again but thought the better of it. “Fine, I’ll bite. Who am I then?”
Shawna looked at the boy who was now pouting and close to tears, realizing, no doubt, that soon his horsey would be gone. “Peyton Crane. Owner and proprietor of Treaty Beer. And best friend to Stephen Bessmer.”
The man smiled up at Shawna, and again Kay saw the rotten scrawled therein. “That’s me. What of it?”
Shawna turned to the little boy. “You like Spider-Man?”
The boy looked up at his dad like maybe he needed permission to answer. When his father nodded, the boy said, “Yeah, I like him okay. Why?”
“No reason. I used to like him, too, is all.”
“But you don’t anymore?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I still like him.”
“He can shoot webs from his hands to catch the bad guys.”
“That’s right. You just have to know who the bad guys are.”
“That’s easy.”
“Yeah? How can you tell?”
“They always look dirty and wear black and sometimes bandanas.”
Shawna nodded. “In comic books maybe, but in real life, it’s not so easy to figure out sometimes.”
“But I can tell.”
“Am I a bad guy then?”
Kay watched as the boy looked back up at Shawna and, after a few seconds, begrudgingly shook his head from side to side.
“And you know this is my horse, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“That’s good,” Shawna said, smiling down at him. “Keep doing that, thinking for yourself. That’s what Spidey always did.”
Without so much as giving the father another glance, Shawna turned Seven around and brought him over to where Kay was standing. “Don’t ever get on my horse again. Understood?”
“Understood. I’m sorry about all this.”
“I know you are. We’re good.”
Kay got back into her car and backed out of the driveway. She stopped and watched the man, a scowl still on his face, making sure he didn’t try to follow them. The boy had his back to the man, busy as he was watching Shawna and Seven disappear down the road. Then the man said something to the boy that Kay couldn’t hear, but the boy turned, the unmistakable look of fear spreading across his face as he hung his head and headed back inside the house.
Chapter Twelve:
Douglas
Douglas sat in the Scamp trying to sketch Jenna’s face, but his hands were trembling from working on the steps. It happened some days after working at the shop, too, all that clenching and squeezing of big dumb things made it nearly impossible for him to manage the thinness of a simple pencil. And so, after barely managing an eye, he gave up and laid down on the bunk. He could hear someone out on the lake fishing, an old boat groaning and creaking its way across the water like a rusty echo. Someone cracked open a can of something and Douglas found himself imagining the lake drained of water, how deep the center of it would be, then, over time, covering over with ryegrass, reincarnating itself as a field, the fish turning to wildflowers, the docks all lying down like so many bones littering a vibrant grave. Would it feel different being down there? Would you somehow still feel the water around you? Would you find yourself having trouble breathing? Douglas closed his eyes and listened to the lake, all that dark life going on just under the surface. It was like a neighbor you could hear but only ever saw passing glimpses of.
As he drifted off to sleep, Douglas could see Jenna’s mouth, the way her lip sometimes curled when she smiled. His father’s death was there the night he’d slept with her. It was there in the room, and then it was inside Douglas, and then it was inside Jenna. Douglas didn’t quite know how to explain that, creepy as it sounded, but he knew it was true just the same.
Later, a knock at the door woke Douglas from a dream he was having where Seven had become human. Human Seven had become a big drinker and basically lived at the bar and never stopped talking about the Packers.
“Douglas, honey, you in there?”
His mom poked her head in, her eyes averted like maybe she expected him to be naked. Or worse. She did the same thing whenever she came into his bedroom though he’d never given her any reason to do so. “Can I talk to you in the house for a second? Whenever you’re done out here, of course.”
Douglas slid his notebook under the covers and hopped down from the bunk. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I just want to talk for a bit.”
As they walked up to the house, Douglas found himself piecing his dream back together. Jenna had been at the bar talking to Human Seven and was laughing at all his stupid jokes. And Seven would laugh, too, his big horse-teeth angling out of his mouth as he did. Douglas had just sat there at the bar watching how she put her hand on Human Seven’s thigh and kept looked down there, like she was checking to see if that area was horse or human-like. Human Seven had been wearing this t
hick leather necklace which, once he’d had his fill of whiskey, Jenna had grabbed hold of like reins after hopping on his back, then the two of them trotting right out of the bar and laughing all the way while Douglas just sat there doing nothing. The dream had left a sick feeling in his stomach.
Once inside, Kay sat across from him at the kitchen table. Douglas swore he could hear ice cubes tinkling in the living room; it took him a few seconds to realize it was just something coming from the TV and not one of his dad’s Manhattans.
“I miss Norm,” Kay said, and Douglas wondered if she’d heard it too.
“I know you do.”
It was the first time she’d said anything of the sort since his dad died. It felt strange just hearing his name spoken aloud.
“You know you don’t have to stay in Mercer. Your old mother will be just fine if you leave.”
Douglas wasn’t sure where any of this was coming from. And he didn’t think she was just fine. Neither of them were.
“What would we do about the shop?”
“Maybe it’s time we put the shop to rest as well. We could sell, use the money so you can go to college. Maybe take some real drawing classes. I don’t know.”
“No.” Douglas got up, poured himself a drink. He then poured another for her and jangled the cubes around. The sound was comforting. “I’m not leaving Mercer. I like running the shop. I’m good at it.”
“Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it.”
“I know.”
“Fine,” she said and took the drink from him. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t become the shop like your father did. Don’t hide your dreams inside a silver box. Or a sketchbook. Oh, I don’t know, just live your dreams before it’s too late.”
“Okay,” he said, still not sure where all this was coming from. “But I’m still not going anywhere.”
“You know I’d keep you here with me forever if I could.”
“We’d become alcoholics.”
Kay raised her glass. “Funny.”
Outside the wind was acting up again, the trees all bending and bowing in the half-light.
“I’m almost finished with the steps,” Douglas said, but his mother only nodded absently. She was looking out the window, at the fading outline of the lake.
“I swear the days are getting shorter and shorter.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Did you hear me?”
“I’m sorry. That’s good, honey. Real good.”
When Shawna’s naan opened the door, Douglas immediately regretted bringing his drink with him. The old lady mumbled a glum hello and let him in before disappearing back inside the house, presumably to get Shawna though she made no mention of this. He’d only been in the house a handful of times and each time he was struck by how un-Indian it seemed. Which was probably racist on some level, and never something he would actually mention to Shawna (which probably meant it was racist), but her home wasn’t all that much different from his own. There was even a TV on too loud and while he couldn’t be sure, he thought it might be Matlock. When Shawna eventually came into the kitchen, she was wearing sweatpants and a tank-top, like maybe she’d been sleeping.
“You here to steal something of mine too?”
“Yeah. That okay?” She rolled her eyes at him and grabbed a hoodie off a hook by the door. This was their normal routine; they never stayed in her house for long. “Seven doing okay after his adventure?”
“No signs of having contracted bigotry yet.” When Douglas just stared at her, she said, “Your mom didn’t tell you?”
“No, but she’s been acting strange lately. Have you--?”
“Peyton Crane had him.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Shawna shook her head. “I hate that expression. Anyway, yeah, she drove me. A friend had spotted him and gave me the address.”
“That must have been hard.”
Shawna gave him a quick look that said You have no fucking idea how hard, and they walked over to his house and down to the dock. Lights from the houses across the lake reflected gold off the water as Shawna kicked off her shoes and dangled her feet from the end of the dock. Douglas offered her some of his drink, but she refused.
“So do you want to talk about it or no? The Peyton Crane thing, I mean.”
Shawna was quiet for a bit, then, “Not much to say. He’s a pig. No, scratch that. I actually kind of like pigs. He’s a human.”
Douglas took a seat on the bench behind her, which was where he usually sat. His dad had built the bench, bolted it to the sinking dock. In another year or so, the entire thing would be submerged if he didn’t take care of it soon. What the point was of salvaging it, though, he wasn’t quite sure. He watched as Shawna dug out a stray bottle cap lodged between the planks and tried skipping it across the water, but it just arced and nosedived into the lake.
“Have you seen that woman from the coffee shop again?”
“Last night, actually. I think I might like her.”
“You do like her, dummy.” Somebody on the other side of the lake screamed, a happy scream, a child being chased by a silly grown-up monster, but the sound of it seemed to jolt Shawna out of something. “So I need to tell you something. And it’s not going to be easy to hear.”
Douglas, trying to find the source of the giggles splintering out across the water, almost hadn’t heard Shawna. When it did finally register, he said, “Okay. Go ahead.”
Shawna was looking at him strangely, almost like she was frightened of something, and then pivoted so that she was facing him straight on, hugging her knees to her chest. There was more squealing from across the lake, more tinned voices. “It’s your mom. She told me something today that I don’t think you know about.”
“Just tell me.”
“She has Alzheimer’s. I’m sorry.”
There was more laughter which now seemed to be racing across the water at him. It was a young girl’s laughter. Maybe a sibling being chased. Douglas could feel the lake evaporating, could feel himself at the bottom of it, in that field he’d been imagining, fresh air all around him but not able to breathe an ounce of it.
He was fairly well lit by the time he knocked on Jenna’s door.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re right.”
“Okay. You’d better come in then, I guess.”
The living room seemed smaller somehow than he remembered it. The dog, Shredder or Shedder, he couldn’t remember which it was now, was sitting on the couch wagging his tail, too lazy, apparently, to get up. Douglas sat down next to the dog, letting him slobber on his hand before Jenna pulled him off. “Easy, Shredder. Save some for Mama.”
The painting of the wheelchair was nowhere to be seen now. In its place on the easel was a large sketch pad, an unfinished pastel drawing of a white-tail deer blooming out of it. “You’ve been infected by Mercer, I see. Next, it’ll be a pike or loon.”
“Um, I’ve already tried a loon.”
“Well, there you go. And?”
“And it needs work. Don’t underestimate the loon, Douglas. There’s a reason people are fascinated by them.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” He was trying to sound cool and indifferent but was quickly realizing he sounded more like a dick than anything else.
“They’re...well, they’re magical.”
“Yeah, you definitely aren’t from here.”
Douglas had brought his sketchbook with him this time but had chickened out at the last minute and left it in the car. He pulled out his father’s flask, the one his mother had taken to using, and took a pull.
“You think that’s a good idea?”
Jenna said this gently, her voice as soft and kind as an
y he’d ever heard. He could listen to her read the Bible or even one of Marty’s fishing mags, and it would still sound like a song to him. He was hooked. Good and deep. “Better get the needle-nose,” he mumbled to himself, “rip out my esophagus.”
“Okay, definitely not a good idea. Why don’t you give me that, and I’ll put on some coffee.”
Douglas took another quick hit off the flask but then handed it over. “I like you, you know. A lot.”
“You’re just drunk. A lot. But thank you. I like you back.”
When Jenna disappeared into the kitchen, Douglas made up his mind to show her the drawings. If he didn’t do it now, he knew he probably never would. He stumbled his way out to the car with an anger and sadness mixing themselves up inside him that made him feel cut wide open. When he got back inside, there was Jenna sitting on the couch with Shredder’s head in her lap, a cup of coffee steaming away on the table. “It’s nothing fancy. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay. Thank you,” he said and sat down, handing her the sketchbook. “I’m going to drink this and pretend you aren’t looking at those, okay?”
Jenna began to slowly turn through the pages, stopping over some longer than others. It took everything Douglas had not to peer over and see which ones had caught her interest.
“If you’re hungry, I have leftovers in the fridge.”
She said this nodding to the fingers he’d begun to chew on. He put his hands at his side, suddenly realizing just how ridiculous a thing it was to show her his drawings. He was about to ask for them back, apologize for coming there drunk, when she closed the book and gently set it on her lap. “Ready for your critique?”
“Yeah,” he said, trying to sound sober. “No.”
“Well, you’re going to get laid tonight even though you smell like the wrong end of a plunger.”
Douglas wondered if his mom was still snoring away on the couch. The image of her there with her mouth hanging open flashed through his mind. “Does that mean they’re good, or do you have a thing for plungers?”