Clouds In My Coffee

by ANDREA SMITH

  But who would?

  She was supposed to be getting help, wasn’t she?

  What could’ve happened?

  “I need to tell Erik,” I say finally, when my mind processes what she’s just told me. “He’s friends with her family, you know?”

  She nods. “Don’t stay long, Cece. I need you home...with me.” And that’s when I realize Mom is trying to imagine how she would’ve felt if it had been me.

  “I won’t, Mom.” I cross the road and head back to his house not at all sure how he’s going to react when I tell him that Angie Linton is dead.

  Suicide.

  I can’t believe it.

  Chapter 15

  December 25, 1973

  Dear Diary,

  Angie Linton is dead. It’s Christmas Day and I can’t stop thinking about her. I told Erik last night and he didn’t believe it. He called a buddy of his and found out that she got home from wherever she was just two days ago. She seemed fine. But last night her parents came back from church services and found her in her car in their garage. She’d left the engine running. No note. No nothing. It makes me wonder about that song Marshall dedicated on the radio last night. Had he heard about it already?

  Mom and I open our gifts first thing. She’s outdone herself with me this year. Clothes, records, boots and a new winter jacket. She loves the new purse, gloves and earrings that I bought for her.

  “I’m going over to Erik’s!” I call out.

  “What about breakfast?”

  “I’m having breakfast with him,” I reply, anxious to get over there to see how he’s doing. I mean, I know he loves me and all but still, it has to be a shock to him.

  Erik’s dad lets me in the house. His face is solemn and I know Erik’s told him. I doubt if Erik even slept last night. He was really tripping about the news.

  “He’s still crashed,” Brett says, shaking his head. “What gets into teenagers these days? Like what in the hell was Angie thinking doing that to herself—to her family?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know Mr.—Brett,” I reply. “It’s a shocker, for sure. Erik mentioned that she had some drug problems though.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, I mean come on? That rehab place should’ve known if she wasn’t ready to come back. What the hell? They’re supposed to be the experts on this shit, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “I mean, that girl spent a lot of time here, I got to know her. I never would’ve guessed…”

  And he stops, realizing what he’s just said. “Hey, sorry, honey. I know you don’t need to hear all of this. I didn’t mean to make you feel...uncomfortable.”

  “No, it’s fine. Erik and I were broken up and it’s not like I didn’t see her coming and going and all. I’m just worried about him.”

  “Yeah, well, you know, I’ve got to get going. Donna’s having us for dinner and it’s a two hour drive. I’ve got presents for the grandkids in my car, so you and Erik join us as soon as his ass is up, okay?”

  “Sure,” I reply, knowing that Erik won’t want to go anywhere today. He may not even want me around. He can be pretty intense at times. Life hits Erik hard, but that’s just who he is. He’s deep and emotional. That’s one of the things I love most about him.

  His dad leaves and I go down the hall towards Erik’s room. I love his room. It’s the bigger of the bedrooms in their mobile home and his dad was cool enough to let him have it a couple of years ago when Erik got really serious about his music.

  The stereo system in his room is huge; the Bose speakers practically go halfway to the ceiling. His Marantz stereo receiver, when cranked halfway up, rattles the windows. He’s got both a turntable for vinyl and reel-to-reel for his custom recordings.

  The ceiling of his room is black and he has painted geometric shapes on it that you can’t see unless his black light is on at which time, they light up like neon signs! The shag carpet is a deep red, his furniture is all black and the walls are stark white. His room simply has a nice groove to it and I’m comfortable being in there with him. He keeps it nice and orderly.

  “Hey,” I say softly, sitting down on the bed where he’s asleep on his stomach, arms wrapped around a pillow, his hair a thick mass of tangles. “Merry Christmas.”

  He’s got no shirt on, just a pair of sweats. I marvel at how well-developed his muscles are for being a non-jock. He claims it’s because of drumming, plus hauling the band’s instruments in and out of clubs that keeps him in shape.

  He opens an eye, looking up at me. “Hey.”

  “Do you want me to go away?” I ask. “We can do Christmas another time.”

  “No,” he replies, pulling himself up. “It’s good. Let me grab a shower. Would you mind making some coffee, babe?”

  “No sweat,” I reply. “Coming right up.”

  Thirty minutes later, Erik and I sip coffee silently. “I see you got your presents wrapped,” I comment, looking over at the lit tree with an array of gifts underneath.

  “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep like, at all. Figured I might as well put my insomnia to good use.”

  He gets up from the table and goes over to the tree. Bending down, he picks up a small wrapped package. “I want you to open this one first,” he says, coming back to the kitchen and handing it to me.

  I tear the paper off, knowing that it’s jewelry in the box and wondering if he’s replaced the silver friendship ring he tossed away several months back. I open the black velvet box and I can feel my eyes widen and my jaw drop.

  “Oh, Erik!” I breathe, pulling the silver ring from the slot. It’s a silver ring alright, but nothing like the friendship ring. This ring has two silver hearts intertwined together and our initials appear on each heart. It’s gorgeous!

  I slip it onto my ring finger. It fits perfectly. “I love it,” I breathe, holding it out in front of me to admire. “Thank you so much.”

  “I love you, Cece,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you ever...you know, did anything like what Angie did.”

  “Oh, Erik,” I say, looking at him closely. “Why would I ever do that?”

  He shrugs, looking down at his fingers that are wrapped around his coffee mug. “I just wonder if she did what she did because of...me,” he continues. “I mean, we never talked of love or anything. It wasn’t that deep but, still, she wasn’t happy when I broke things off. She said she was sick of being the one whose heart got broken.”

  I don’t know what to say to him because I have no clue as to how Angie felt about him. Or how much pain she still felt over what Marshall had done to her; pain that she tried to numb with Quaaludes.

  Erik gets up and puts his coffee mug in the sink. He comes over and holds his hand out for me to take it.

  I do and he pulls me to my feet, staring at me intently. “Come on, Cece. I need to love you. I need for us to feel alive and to forget everything else except each other.”

  “But you haven’t opened your presents…” I start to protest.

  “You’re the only thing I’ll ever want or that I’ll ever need.”

  He leads me to his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind us.

  Erik makes love to me and, it’s different this time. It’s slower, it’s emotional; and it’s deep and soulful. It’s not only the meshing of our bodies; it’s also the meshing of our hearts and minds. I’ve never felt so connected to him.

  Dear Diary,

  I never knew that making love could feel as good as it did today. Erik and I connected in a way that was beyond physical for both of us. He reached into my soul. I even moaned, which I have never ever done before! I swear, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. We didn’t have a rubber though, but Erik said going bareback just one time wouldn’t make me pregnant. Fingers crossed.

  Chapter 16

  It’s been close to four weeks since Christmas and we’re back in school, suffering through winter quarter and especially suffering through winter in Wyoming.

  Everyone is still shell-sho
cked over Angie Linton’s death. Erik and I had gone to the viewing together and then to the funeral the following day. Marshall Rydell didn’t show at either. Everyone at school felt touched by the stark reality of what had happened.

  Except for Marshall.

  He still struts around like God’s gift to the female gender; flirting with any and every girl that doesn’t see him for what really he is—a psycho loser. He doesn’t look my way anymore and I’m relieved.

  I think back to that evening at the funeral home, where a long line of students from school had waited in line to pay their last respects to Angie.

  Her mom had pulled Erik aside once we reached the front to talk to him, wiping the stream of tears from her face with a damp handkerchief. It had been surreal, looking at Angie as she lay in that casket, thinking about how young she was and the waste of it all.

  Later, on the way home, Erik told me that her mother didn’t believe it was a suicide. She said Angie had acted fine. She’d left around ten that morning for the mall, telling her parents she was going to finish her Christmas shopping. She’d been on the phone with a friend right before that. When she hadn’t returned by the time they were getting ready to go to church services at seven-thirty, they hadn’t been all that concerned, figuring she had run into some friends from school and was catching up.

  They had stopped after church at some friends’ home for a Christmas Eve party, leaving at ten-thirty for home. When they hit the garage door opener, they saw Angie’s car inside…running.

  He said that Mrs. Linton was beside herself. She felt guilty about it, like she could’ve prevented it somehow if she hadn’t gone to church or if they’d gotten home sooner.

  “Did she ever ask the friend that Angie was talking to on the phone about it?”

  “I didn’t ask. As far as I know, she didn’t. She didn’t act like she even knew who it was.”

  “So what do you think, Erik?”

  “It doesn’t matter if it was or not, dead is dead,” he replied.

  “So what does Mrs. Linton think, if not suicide?”

  “She thinks maybe Angie got high and then passed out in the car before remembering to turn off the engine. She said the coroner did a tox screen.”

  “What will that prove?”

  “I guess it will show if she had drugs in her system. I think they want to believe it was an accident because it’s easier to accept.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

  At any rate, Mrs. Linton called Erik this evening as we sat at his house, watching The Six Million Dollar Man together. She wanted to let him know that the blood testing had shown Angie had no trace of Quaaludes or any other type of depressant in her system. The cause of death would remain suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning.

  “I guess there’s no getting around it,” he sighs, hanging up the phone in the kitchen and coming back to the sofa where I’m sitting waiting for him.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Angie just wanted to die. Her mom said there were no drugs in her system.”

  I wish he’d let himself off the hook. I’m worried about him - and I’ve now got other things bothering me.

  January 18, 1974

  Dear Diary,

  Life’s a bitch, and then apparently, you die. I want Erik back. He’s so distant these days.

  Me.

  P.S. My period’s late.

  Bummer.

  Chapter 17

  Erik’s been ditching school a couple of days a week. And, quite frankly, it’s getting on my nerves heavy duty. The only people that miss more school than he is are the losers that spend all day blowing the bag.

  I know that’s not what he’s doing, but he’s so closed off with me and has been since Christmas. His dad’s been in his shit about getting a part-time job and I know that he has been spending part of his day doing that, but the rest of it is spent with the older dudes in his band, jamming and getting high.

  And honestly, that’s starting to be an issue with me.

  I pull my VW bug into my parking space, getting ready to get out and head inside when I hear a horn blast behind me. Checking my rearview mirror I see it’s Marshall in his Z28, parked long-side behind me.

  Lovely.

  What the hell does he want?

  Checking again in my mirror, I see that Erik’s car isn’t home either. I doubt Marshall would’ve had enough balls to pull up and block me in if he’d seen Erik’s car.

  I’m determined not to let the S.O.B. intimidate me.

  I get out, heading to my door, when he blasts his horn again. “Hey you,” he calls out. “You just gonna ignore me like that?”

  “I’m trying to,” I call out, not looking back.

  “Oh come on, Cece,” he pleads, “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”

  I finally turn to him. “What is it that you want, Marshall?”

  “I just want to apologize if you’ll give me a second here. I’m long over-do, and I know it.”

  I take a couple of steps closer to his car, not wanting the entire neighborhood to hear the half-ass apology I suspect he’s ready to give.

  “Cece, I am so sorry,” he continues, his face a mask of sincerity. “I was pretty fucked-up and what I did to you was very fucked up. I was out of line, and I didn’t show you the respect that I should have. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  I get closer, looking down at his face that, for all intents and purposes, looks contrite and apologetic. Yet, I don’t believe him.

  “Why now?” I ask.

  He pauses for effect. “Because if nothing else, losing Angie the way we did should teach all of us that life is too short to hold grudges or deny forgiveness.”

  Oh, I see. Suddenly, I’m the bad guy if I don’t forgive the jerk?

  “Let me ask you this, Marshall, did Angie forgive you for what you did to her?”

  A frown crosses his face. “I’m not following you.”

  Maybe I needed to mellow out and not stir the pot.

  Maybe not.

  “I mean, that she told Erik about you raping her.”

  His face darkens noticeably and he’s suddenly morphing from contrite to furious. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I can’t defend a lie. I’m just here to apologize.”

  The wind blows my hair, and it’s colder than shit out and I don’t want to waste any more body heat on this num-nut. I take my fingers and pull my hair from my face and I can tell when his eyes make contact with my Christmas present from Erik.

  “What’s this?” he asks, reaching an arm out and capturing my hand. “Some sort of trailer trash pre-engagement ring?”

  I pull my hand from his grasp and shove it into my pocket. “Fuck off,” I say, getting ready to turn from him.

  “Just tell me this, Cece, have you let him ball you yet?”

  I’m livid as hell. “Just tell me this, Marshall, are you the person Angie was talking to on the phone the day she was murdered?”

  Why in the hell I used the word murdered totally escapes me. It just came out—like out of nowhere. But, it hit a raw nerve with Marshall. I can tell that instantaneously.

  “You better watch your mouth, bitch,” he sneers, his eyes flashing pure hatred. “Talk like that isn’t healthy. I have a reputation and no cunt like you is going to ruin it.”

  I’m not about to act frightened. “Just leave. My boyfriend is due home any minute unless you want to stick around so that he can wipe the ground up with your sorry ass again,” I say with more courage than what I’m feeling because the truth is, I’m scared shitless.

  Luckily, Erik’s rounding the bend in the road just as Marshall peels out, laying rubber once again. He flips Erik off on his way out of the park. Erik immediately pulls his Mustang over, taking possession of the space Marshall just vacated.

  “What the hell was he doing here?” he asks, jumping out of his car.

  He’s high. I can tell.

  “He just stopped by to apologize fo
r what he did and how he’s acted towards me.”

  “And?” Erik asks; his eyes a bit glassy.

  “And I told him to shove it and, as far as I’m concerned, you can shove it too if you’re going to continue with this pattern of behavior. What’s your drug of choice today?”

  “Mr. Natural,” he says, daring me to pick a fight.

  “So, what? You’re dropping acid now?”

  “It actually can clear your mind of funk,” he argues. “Puts things into perspective. I don’t intend to make it a daily routine.”

  “Far out. Party on, Erik, but I’m going in. I’m not freezing my ass off trying to figure your shit out. I’ve got my own shit to figure out.”

  He doesn’t say a word.

  His silence speaks volumes.

  February 1, 1974

  Dear Diary,

  Marshall stopped by today. Said he wanted to apologize. I don’t buy it. He became unglued when I mentioned Angie. I asked if he apologized to her about raping her. He was super pissed. I asked him if he was the person who had talked to her on the phone the day she was murdered. I really thought he was going to go ballistic and jump out of his car and come after me with that look of hate that came over him. I don’t even know why I said it. Erik and I got into it. Fuck all of this. I called Planned Parenthood today. I need to drop off a sealed container with my first urine of the day at their location in the morning. I have to call at lunch time to get my results. I just leave my name in the bag with the specimen, and then call after eight-thirty. I call them and they will assign me a number. I’m scared shitless.

  Chapter 18

  I’m at my locker after fourth period, digging through my purse for the phone number for Planned Parenthood. I’ve decided to drive off campus and find a pay phone to make the second call. Too many nosey people hanging around the pay phones at school during lunch.