“Fuck,” Fred muttered.
“You been here all day?”
“Yeah, sure have,” the kid answered.
“Fuck,” it was my turn to mutter.
“Those two been here all day?” he asked, looking downright triumphant as he pointed to Doc and me. She squeezed my arm.
“Uhhh, yeah, man. It’s been a party up in here,” the kid responded without skipping a beat. He laughed like a stoner in a movie would and lit a cigarette. “I just made a smoke run.”
“Tell me, if they’ve been here all day. What are their names?” the officer asked.
The kid smiled and tapped on his head with his open palm as if he were trying to will out a memory of an introduction that never took place. “Ah man. I didn’t catch the girl’s name. First time I met her was tonight and I’ve had a lot of beers.” He turned to Dre. “Sorry, I’m not real good with names.”
“Alright then. What’s his name?” The officer asked, pointing to me. Fred sat up straight and Meryl was just about to interject as the kid scratched his head and yawned like he was questioned by police on a daily basis and the entire thing was boring him to death.
I think I almost drowned when he said. “Oh, him? That’s Preppy, but don’t fucking ask me what his real name is ‘cause I don’t fucking know. Everyone just calls him Preppy or Prep. Is this some sort of weird test?” He took a seat at the patio table. “Am I on a hidden camera show?” He ducked his head and inspected the inside of the open table umbrella.
By the time he’d pulled his head out the officer was gone.
“Holy fuck!” Fred exclaimed. “That was fucking great!”
“Why was he so scared of you?” Dre asked Meryl.
Meryl smiled and took a deep drag of his cigar blowing smoke rings into the air. “I’m the fucking state attorney!” he said and everyone broke out into a fit of laughter.
Everyone that is except the kid and me.
“Our newest accomplice here is Kevin,” Fred introduced.
“How do you know my name?” I asked Kevin, holding off on joining Fred, Meryl and Dre in the toast they were sharing because of a nagging in the back of my brain that told me that there was something about this kid.
Something…familiar.
Kevin took a drag of his cigarette and shrugged nonchalantly. “I just know it,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He ashed his cigarette directly into the center of the spa. All eyes turned to him and Dre gasped like she was realizing something I hadn’t. “Maybe on the account of you being my brother and all.”
I went stiff. “There’s no fucking way you can be my brother. I don’t even fucking know who my old man is.”
“Neither the fuck do I. But you know that cunt of a mother you got?”
“Unfortunately,”
“Well, it’s the same cunt of a mother I got.”
20
DRE
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” I asked Preppy as I washed my hands in the kitchen sink.
“Probably. Don’t see why anyone would lie about having her as their mother.” He pressed his nose against the back of my neck and inhaled. I broke out in goose bumps. “I think it’s cute that you put the cookies outside on the deck to cool,” Preppy said, coming up behind me and pressing his body into mine.
“That’s the way Mirna always did it and it’s her recipe. Gotta do it right or it’s not worth doing,”
“Another lesson learned in rehab?”
“No, I think that one was from American Ninja Warrior.”
“Really?” Preppy asked excitedly pulling me tighter against him.
I laughed and shook my head. “Nooooo!” I exclaimed, swatting at him with the dishtowel in my hand then giving it one last rinse before laying it over the neck of the faucet.
“Look at you being all domestic. You’re like the lady on that old show. What was it called? Leave it to my Beaver?”
“That would be Leave it to Beaver,” I corrected.
“Shit, you’re right, Leave it to my Beaver must have been the porn parody.” Preppy brushed the hair off my shoulder and pressed his lips against the curve where my neck and shoulder met, trailing them across my prickled skin to the special place behind my ear that caused me to press my ass back into him and the hardness prodding at my lower back. I tilted my head to give him more access.
Preppy’s beard tickled my skin as he kissed and licked every spot he knew made me greedy for more. I was awash in tingles and flutters.
And HIM.
Always HIM.
My lips, my nipples, my pussy were all ready for their turn with his magical lips. But he was in no hurry. I tried to spin around but he held me in place by my waist. “Nuh-uh, Doc. I’m taking my time with you today.” Preppy grabbed the hem of my pencil skirt, bunching it in his hands before slowly pulling the soft cotton up my legs. His fingers grazed the bare skin on the outside of my thighs, and I shivered.
I was wet, needy, and ready for him to just bend me over the sink and take what was his when I noticed something through the kitchen window.
Not something.
Someone.
Five fingers reached up onto the deck. “Shit! Look! There’s someone out there!” I shouted, pointing to what I’d just seen. Preppy immediately stepped out from behind me and shifted our positions so he was standing protectively in front of me. The thought of an intruder had me in full panic mode until the curious look on Preppy’s face had me thinking that my panic may have been a little premature. He turned me back to the window and pointed at the hand. He smiled. That’s when I took a closer look and noticed that the fingers were tiny and attached to an equally tiny and chubby hand and arm. I couldn’t see the top of our little guest’s head as they blindly patted down the deck, they must have been on their tiptoes as he or she continued to feel around the deck until their hand landed on top of the plate of Mirna’s famous chocolate chip cookies. First one cookie disappeared and then another, the cookies almost bigger than the hand of the thief stealing them. Preppy walked over to the slider and quietly dragged it open. I followed him as he crouched down next to the plate, our guest not even realizing we were there until Preppy spoke.
“Hey little dude, you got good taste in cookies. Those are the best in the world.”
The kid stepped back and it was then I could see what Preppy already had. A little boy. No older than five or six years old. Skinny little thing with a dirty face and even dirtier dark brown hair matted to the side of his head. He was swimming in a torn dress shirt three sizes too large, his sleeves covered his hands and the cookies in them when he dropped his arms and looked to the ground in shame. His jeans stopped just below his calves. The big toe on his left foot stuck out of his sneaker, which by the looks of it, was three sizes too small to begin with.
“You can have as many as you’d like, in fact I put them there just for you,” I said in an attempt to make him feel less guilty than he looked. He remained silent but looked up at me with confusion in his bright blue eyes. “You live around here, right?” I asked, taking a stab in the dark. He nodded.
“Well I’ve seen you around and I thought to myself. I think he would appreciate world famous chocolate chip cookies. Didn’t I say that?” I asked Preppy.
“Uh. Yeah. Of course. As a cookie connoisseur myself I can recognize a fellow man who appreciates amazing baked goods.” Preppy smiled and took a seat on the deck, his legs dangling down over the side. “Go ahead, man. Have at it. They’re all for you. Surprised it took you this long to get here.” The boy reluctantly lifted his arm, his sleeve falling to the crook of his elbow as he lifted the cookie to his mouth and took a small bite. His eyes never left Preppy’s, as if he were asking permission during the entire time he chewed and swallowed that first mouthful.
“See? What I tell ya. Pretty damn good, right?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically and took another bite, this time managing to shove almost the entire cookie in his mouth in one shot, and then another a
nd another until he’d downed at least four more in quick succession.
Preppy picked up one of his own and mimicked the boy, his teeth coated in chocolate when he spoke. “I’m Samuel Clearwater,” Preppy introduced, extending his hand and swallowing hard. “But my friends call me Preppy.” The boy looked at Preppy’s extended hand like he’d just produced a rattlesnake from his pocket. His eyes went wide and he took a step back. Preppy withdrew his arm and casually scratched the back of his head and folded his hands together on his lap. He swung his feet like he was running in place.
“You got a name or am I just supposed to call you the cookie kid?”
The boy shrugged and my heart broke right then and there. I felt gutted. Whoever was supposed to be caring for this child wasn’t doing much caring if ANY and immediately I felt the rage burning in my lungs because when Preppy asked him his name he didn’t shrug like he didn’t know it.
He shrugged like his name didn’t MATTER.
I felt my eyes start to water. “You know what? I forgot to bring out the milk. I’m so sorry. You two boys chat for a second and I’ll be right back,” I said, standing up and running back inside.
When I was back inside and out of view of the boy and Preppy I took a second to lean over the sink and collect myself. Then I made several sandwiches with whatever I could find in the fridge and stacked them on a tray with two large glasses of milk. When I went back outside I set the tray on top of the step and took a seat next to it. “You know, Preppy. It was pretty funny how we made way too many sandwiches for lunch today.”
Preppy immediately caught on and shot me a grateful smile. “Yeah, it’s too bad they have to go to waste. Or hey,” he turned to the boy who’d just polished off the last cookie. “I mean, I don’t know if you’re a sandwich guy too but these are just gonna go to waste so if you want…” the boy was already nodding.
I could see him eying the tray and thought he was going to make a full body lunge for it when he stopped and pointed at himself. He looked around the yard and then pointed to the lawnmower we’d parked next to the hose beside the deck.
Then he did it again, slower this time.
“You’re trying to tell us your name aren’t you?” I asked. He nodded and added a crooked toothed grin.
He again pointed to the lawnmower.
“I mean lawnmower is a strange name, kid. I’m not gonna lie. But we’re in the south and I hate to tell ya, but I’ve heard stranger.” Preppy leaned in and whispered with his hand on the side of his lips. “My third grade class had three Bubba’s and I was in gym class with a kid named Bird Dog and his older brother White Zombie. We’ll just call you Mower, or Mo.”
The kid waved at us, jumping up and down.
“That’s your name isn’t it?” I asked. “Mo?”
He shook his head and positioned his arms so one was outstretched and the other was by his cheek like he was about to shoot an arrow. “Nah, his name is Bo!” Preppy exclaimed like he’d just won Jeopardy. The boy jumped into the air and Preppy held up his hand for a high five but the second he saw the hesitation in his eyes he lowered it but kept the smile on his face.
Bo looked at me and then the tray. “Go right on ahead, Bo. Have as much as you want.”
While he tore up the sandwiches Preppy and I shot each other “What the fuck are we gonna do about this poor kid” looks. I thought maybe he could be lost and we could help him find his way home, or maybe his family was down on their luck and homeless, migrating to towns like Logan’s Beach in order to avoid the harsh weather further north when escaping the elements wasn’t an option. I had a hundred reasons in my head why a little boy who presumably couldn’t speak and who cowered at human touch, wandered into Mirna’s backyard, dirty, starving, and completely alone.
His too big shirt fell off to one side exposing his collarbone and every indentation of his rib cage. My breath caught in my throat. There was no mistaking the mean looking purple and yellow bruise in the shape of a closed fist on his chest.
Preppy’s eyes met mine and his nostrils flared. I saw the anger burning inside him that steam might as well have been coming off the top of his head. “So, where do you live?” I asked and suddenly Bo looked from me to Preppy and something about the expression on his face shifted. He grabbed the last sandwich and darted across the yard, scurrying through a hole in the fence like a scared bunny being chased by a dog.
Preppy stood up and ran back into the house.
“Where are you going? We should go after him!” I shouted.
Preppy emerged a few seconds later with a gun in hand. “Spare, I had buried,” he said, after I gave him a knowing look. He loaded it from the bottom, smacking the cartridge in place with his palm before cocking it to set one in the chamber. “And to answer your question, I am going after him,” he tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans. “And the cocksucker responsible for him.”
21
Dre
Preppy came back looking defeated. He wasn’t able to find Bo but he was able to find something else. Bitterness.
I thought he was in the backyard but when I peeked out the window and noticed he wasn’t there I went looking for him. I found him all right.
Sitting on the train tracks.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” I said, coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist.
“We? That’s fucking funny,” Preppy muttered.
I released him and stood in front of him with my hands on my hips. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Me?” He shook his head. “I don’t have a problem. Oh, unless you mean these.” He flung a stack of papers at my feet. I didn’t need to bend down to pick them up to see that they were divorce papers. The return address was from a law office in New York.
Dad.
“What do you want me to say, Preppy? I didn’t send these but apparently you think I would. They’re from my dad. I told him what was going on. He jumped the gun. He thought he was doing the right thing.”
“Maybe he is,” he spat.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I can’t save him!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “I can’t save Bo. He’s out there somewhere cold and he’s alone or taking a beating and I can’t save him. I can’t take care of him and I can’t take care of you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No, that’s fucking life. And you should go home, Doc. Go back to your dad before you realize there’s nothing for you here.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I don’t give two fucks what happens to me. I don’t even know who I am to care about so how the fuck am I supposed to take care of you?”
“Samuel Clearwater, I might have needed you to take care of me once and you did. You saved my life. But I’m not that girl anymore. I can take care of myself. I can save myself if I need saving and if you need me too then I can save you too.”
“Oh yeah? Just like you saved our baby?” he asked bitterly just as the lights of the train lit up the tracks and the side of Preppy’s face. He looked to the train then back to me. Shaking his head as if I disgusted him.
“Take that back,” I shouted as the train approached and the ground beneath us vibrated. The light grew brighter.
Preppy stood up but didn’t step off the tracks. The train was seconds away. “I can’t save you unless you want to be saved,” I said. “Get off the fucking tracks! I won’t have you die again! I won’t!”
“Go home, Doc,” Preppy repeated. Instead of stepping forward off the tracks he stepped backward onto the other side, the train missing him by inches. By the time it rolled by and I could see to the other side of the tracks, Preppy was gone.
Days went by with no sign of him. I let King and Ray know what happened and that he was missing again. We searched for him everywhere with no luck. My only hope was that he wasn’t hurting himself or playing dodge-a-train again. Little did I know the decision to stay or go was going to be made for me. My phone rang
and Edna was on the other end, sounding panicked.
“Edna, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s your father…he had a heart attack.”
“Is he…” The possibility too painful to even speak the word.
“They took him back a while ago. I have no idea.”
“I’m on my way,” I said, ending the call and grabbing my suitcase. I scribbled a note and left it on the counter just in case Preppy came back to the house.
I came to Logan’s Beach for closure. Instead, I was leaving the same way I left the first time.
With a broken heart.
22
PREPPY
“Ray said you were back,” King said from the doorway of the garage apartment. “She also said you were shit faced.”
“She’s goooooone,” I sang. “Dre left and she’s not coming back.”
“I figured as much.”
“So lemme ask you an important question,” I slurred. “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could…fuck chuck.” I held up my index finger. “Wait, who is Chuck and why is the woodchuck fucking him?” I slurred, sloshing amber liquid around in the bottle, missing my mouth entirely as I attempted to raise it to my lips. It dripped down my chin into my already liquor soaked beard. “I mean I’m not hatin’ ‘cause Chuck should be free to fuck who he wants to fuck, and all that jazzzzzz."
King folded his arms over his chest, the buckles on the thick leather belts he wore around his forearms clanked together. “Prep, you’re fucking drunk.”
I clucked my tongue. “That ‘tis not be true, boss-man.” I squinted after another fuzzier version of King appeared beside him looking identically as irritated.
“Bullshit,” he scoffed, raising a scarred eyebrow down at me. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You’re off your ass wasted. I can smell you from here.”
“Nopers, you are wroooong, sirrrrrr.” I giggled, sounding like fucking chick, spilling more whiskey down my throat. I pointed toward my best friend with the neck of the bottle, it slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. I made an O shape with my mouth and my childish giggling turned into a fit of laughter as I slid down from the recliner and fell ass first onto the carpet. Deciding that the carpet, although now wet, was the softest and plushest thing I'd ever felt, I continued to slide down until I was flat on my back. I don't know how much time had passed, but when I finally looked up I found myself staring into two very angry sets of green eyes spinning around above me, like in one of those old cartoons where Bugs Bunny gets hit on the head and is suddenly being circled by little spinning blue birds.
Preppy, The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater: A King Series Trilogy Page 37