Janine smiled. It was a very satisfying answer. She couldn’t let him off the hook yet, though. “Aren’t you still living in L.A.?”
“Nah. L.A. sucks, man. They wouldn’t know good filmmaking if it bit ’em in the ass.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah. This one executive said The Boy Who Became a Man was just a rip-off of Big, which is so insulting I don’t even know where to begin.”
Janine couldn’t help but smile again, mainly because she’d thought the same thing more than once as they’d worked on it—that Dennis had made an artsy version of Big except without the funny parts.
“What a dick, right?” Dennis said. The rhythms of their relationship came back to her, and she knew what her line was supposed to be: Yeah, such an asshole. What he said isn’t true at all.
“Well, it’s just one executive, isn’t it?” she said instead.
“Yeah, I guess. But then everyone else stopped returning my calls too. And now I have writer’s block. I’m telling you, those people suck. NYC is where it’s at. We need to start Dennine. For real this time.”
Janine had imagined this scenario so many times she’d lost count, and now it was actually happening. Dennis had tracked her down all the way in Bleak Creek. For a guy who hated doing any kind of tedious legwork, anything he didn’t deem “creatively stimulating,” it wasn’t nothing.
“And,” Dennis continued, “I, you know…I’m sorry about the way I acted. I was an idiot. You’re, like, the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don’t know why I couldn’t recognize that.”
Janine knew what was happening here—Dennis’s charms were once again dismantling her defenses—but she was on the verge of joyful hyperventilation anyway. “Thank you for that,” she said, wishing he was in the room so she could kiss him. She annoyed herself with how easily she was falling for him again. But he really seemed sorry.
“When are you coming back?” Dennis asked. “I need you, babe.”
Maybe, Janine thought, this is a nudge from the universe after all. She’d tried to go it alone, and it hadn’t worked out. She had barely any usable footage, and rather than making the world a better place with her art, she’d succeeded only in becoming a magnet for death stares and Leave Bitch warnings, in making life worse for her Bleak Creek family members.
And Dennis needed her.
“Tomorrow,” Janine said. “I come back tomorrow.”
She’d booked the flight as soon as she got off the phone, and for the first time in days, she had breathed easy. It felt right.
“Gosh,” GamGam said now, as they passed the IT ONLY GETS BLEAKER WHEN YOU LEAVE BLEAK CREEK! sign. “I sure am gonna miss having you around, Neenie.”
“I’m gonna miss you too, GamGam,” Janine said. She meant it. There wasn’t much she would miss about that screwed-up town, but she’d never felt this close to her grandmother, and it was a bummer to think that the next time they spoke, they’d be hundreds of miles apart.
Naturally, Boyz II Men’s “End of the Road” came on the radio right at that moment.
A little on the nose, universe, Janine thought as she teared up, her gaze flitting to the side-view mirror out of habit, where this time she saw genuine cause for concern. Several cars back, a vehicle was moving way faster than the speed limit, wildly weaving in and out of the oncoming traffic lane as it passed a car at a time.
Janine shuddered. It was possible it was just a reckless driver who had nothing to do with her. After all, she’d already left Bleak Creek, just like she’d been told.
But once the red car was almost directly behind GamGam’s Grand Marquis—only one vehicle remaining as a buffer between them—Janine felt confident that whoever was driving it intended to do her harm. To make sure she wouldn’t blab to the world about the Whitewood School. The way Uncle Jim had tried to.
“You might have to drive a little faster, GamGam,” Janine said, her voice shaky.
“Didn’t you say your flight’s at 2:30?” GamGam asked. “We got plenty of time, darlin’.”
“No.” Janine tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. “I think…I think there’s a car following us.”
“Huh?” GamGam looked into the rearview. “Oh my word! It might be that crazy Wendell Brown. Sometimes he steals a car and goes on a joyride.”
“I don’t think so,” Janine said. After learning the truth about Uncle Jim, Janine had quickly determined that this theory had never been shared with GamGam. She’d considered telling her grandmother herself but ultimately thought it wasn’t her place. Now, of course, she wished she had, as it would have made their current predicament much easier to explain. “People weren’t happy about my movie, GamGam.”
“Well, I thought that movie Basic Instincts was a piece of trash, but that don’t mean I’m about to go drivin’ down the highway after Mikey Douglas!”
“Can you just…Can you just speed up a little? Try and lose ’em?”
“For you, Neenie? Anything.” GamGam pressed down on the gas, and Janine’s head was thrust back into her headrest.
GamGam had never been a good driver, and Janine immediately felt like she’d put her life into more danger by asking her to speed, but even with GamGam’s erratic swerving, Janine was relieved to see the car fading into the distance and then turning off the road onto a side street.
“Wow, GamGam,” Janine said. “They’re gone. Nice work.” She exhaled and tried to relax, though she knew she wouldn’t fully feel better until she was taking off in that plane.
“Woohoo!” GamGam shouted into the rearview. “Eat my dust! I wish your Grandpa Chuck was here to see this.”
“Me too, GamGam,” Janine said, picturing her late Grandpa riding along with them, his eyes bugging out in terror as GamGam traveled well above the speed limit. Janine then had the morbid thought that even if Grandpa Chuck had somehow survived his heart attack in 1981, being here for GamGam’s wild driving might have finally killed him.
“I tell ya, I think I owe my drivin’ skills to Burt,” GamGam said. “You know he did all his own stunts in Smokey and the Ban— Aaaahhhhhh!”
Janine joined her grandmother in screaming as the red car shot out ahead of them from another side street, screeching to a halt and blocking their lane. GamGam slammed on the brakes and desperately cut the wheel to the right as she brought the Grand Marquis to its own, far less skillful screeching halt.
Janine’s first impulse was to grab her things and make a run for it, but she didn’t want to abandon GamGam. So instead she would stay. She would fight.
“Good Lord,” GamGam said, trying to keep a sense of humor even though she was obviously as shaken up as Janine. “All this over a movie. Some people are too sensitive.”
Janine couldn’t even speak. Horns blared behind them, as both their Grand Marquis and this strangely familiar Corolla were completely blocking the road. Her mind raced. She was about to be murdered in the middle of a country road, all for thinking it would be cool to make a movie about kidney stones. What a legacy.
She watched the door of the red car open, ready to duck in case the driver had some kind of weapon. When she saw who had been behind the wheel, though, her brain short-circuited.
The person who had been chasing Janine was…her cousin?
Donna, in one of her trademark flannel shirts, quickly reached back into the car and then held up a piece of white posterboard—styled just like the Gnome Girls title cards she used to make—with two words written on it:
Stay Bitch
Janine slowly opened her door and stepped out of the car.
“You…can’t leave,” Donna said.
“I don’t…What…” Janine was trying to make sense of what she was witnessing. Her painfully reserved cousin had stopped her from leaving town with some sort of stunt-driving move, and now she was holding up an ironically hilariou
s sign.
“Donna, that was very dangerous,” GamGam said, joining them on the street. “Are you drunk?”
“No, GamGam,” Donna said. “Janine, that girl was killed. Alicia. She died in a fire at the school.”
“Oh my god,” Janine said. Another dead Whitewood student. Who conveniently happened to be the one kid who had personally injured Whitewood. That girl had barely been there a week.
“How awful,” GamGam said.
“Quit blockin’ the damn road!” a woman shouted from behind them.
“But…I don’t think that’s the full story,” Donna said.
“No, of course not,” Janine said. She was almost as shocked by Donna putting together complete sentences as she was about Alicia Boykins’s death.
“This ain’t book club—move your daggone cars!” a man shouted.
“So, uh, why are you…leaving?” Donna asked. Janine could see that her cousin was growing more comfortable speaking with every word. It was like watching someone beginning to walk after an accident.
“It’s complicated,” Janine said. “I wasn’t getting anywhere with my movie. And, well, Dennis…”
“That asshole?”
Janine stared at Donna in wonder and confusion.
“GamGam told me the deal,” she said.
Janine looked to GamGam, who shrugged.
“He sounds like a piece of crap who doesn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as you,” Donna continued. “Let alone date you.”
“Oh.” Having Donna, of all people, say that to her was not unlike being splashed with a bucket of ice water.
“I know I haven’t been myself for…a while now. But I’m tired of being afraid. It’s hard to…It’s hard to talk about what…happened to me.” For a moment, Janine saw the distance enter Donna’s eyes, that same disconnectedness she’d seen for years. But then she looked right at Janine, and the detachment was suddenly replaced with resolve. Janine felt as if she was looking at fifteen-year-old Donna. “But watching you with your movie, and remembering my dad…and now hearing what happened to this girl…You can’t leave. Because you might actually be able to do something about this. And I want to help.”
Janine understood then that she was running away from Bleak Creek, just as her mother had done so many years before. She saw herself becoming yet another person who sees a problem and then leaves town to let somebody else deal with it.
“Okay,” Janine said, wiping tears away. “I’ll stay.”
Donna rushed over and hugged Janine for the first time since they were teenagers.
“Aw, geez, you girls are making me cry now,” GamGam said.
“If I’d wanted to watch my soaps, I would have stayed at home!” a woman shouted.
Janine held tight to Donna. “Nice touch with the sign,” she said through tears.
“Thanks, bitch,” Donna said as dozens of cars continued to honk.
17
“I HATE IT here,” Rex said. “Alicia would hate it too.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Leif said.
Crammed next to each other in the next to last pew of the Shackelford Funeral Home, they were lucky to have a seat at all. The room was packed, a crowd three rows deep already standing behind them. Rex had never set foot inside what his family referred to only as the Competition, and while the olive green carpet and stained-glass windows of its chapel were probably purchased from the same wholesaler that the McClendon-McClemmons Funeral Home used, he couldn’t help but think it felt cheaper.
“These pews suck,” Rex said. “Probably fake wood.”
“Seems pretty real to me,” Leif said.
Rex glared at him. “Whatever.”
Leif was wearing a tight blue suit he hadn’t tried on since his Uncle Terry’s wedding two years earlier, and Rex was in the black suit he wore whenever he helped his parents out at funerals. It was wrinkled and slightly smelly, as he’d accidentally left it lying on his closet floor with other dirty clothes for a few weeks.
“It doesn’t even make sense,” Rex said, getting more fired up, his scooter leg jittering nonstop. “This should be happening at the church. You only do it at the funeral home when it’s small. Like for old people who have no friends because they’re all dead.”
“Shhh,” Leif said. He didn’t disagree, but it still felt disrespectful to talk that way as they publicly mourned their best friend. Especially when a lot of people were likely already judging them for getting Alicia into this situation in the first place.
“You want to know what I think?” Rex whispered.
“I already kno—”
“This couldn’t happen at First Baptist or even at my parents’ funeral home. Because then Whitewood would lose control of the situation. Here, he can do whatever he wants; he and Shackelford are like best friends. And so maybe there was actually a fire—or they made it look like there was one—but that doesn’t mean we’re not still right about everything else.”
“Yeah, definitely,” Leif said as he patted his right pants pocket, making sure Alicia’s button was still there. He’d been the one to take it home after Travis had given it to them, and Rex hadn’t seemed to mind. The little blackened piece of metal had been a source of immense comfort, making Leif feel like he was carrying Alicia around with him everywhere he went.
“And,” Rex continued, “the fact that it’s a closed casket only further pro—”
“I’m so sorry, homies.” Leif and Rex both winced. The last thing they needed right now was Mark Hornhat. But here he was, standing in the aisle hovering over them. In a tux, no less.
“Thanks, Mark,” Leif said.
“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”
“Uh-huh,” Rex said, barely making eye contact. He’d been hoping that sitting down for the service would temporarily put a stop to the awkward condolences from classmates.
“Boykins is gone. Wow. It’s like, please don’t go girl.”
“What?” Leif asked.
“That’s one of my favorite New Kids songs,” Hornhat said. Leif looked away, unable to hide his disgust. “But really, I wish she didn’t go. I remember one time I was telling Boykins about my family’s three-story beach house, and she said the most hilarious thing. She was like—”
“Mark,” Leif said, somehow finding the fortitude to cut him off, “maybe we could talk about this some other time?”
“Oh.” Mark blinked at him in that Hornhat way of his. “Yeah, for sure. Hey, is there any room in this row for me to squish in?”
“Absolutely not,” Rex said.
“Okay. Cool, cool. Either of you dudes want an Airhead? I have blue raspberry or mystery.”
“No,” Leif said, desperate for Hornhat to walk away. “We’re good.”
“I’ll take one, actually,” Rex said, reaching a hand past Leif. He had an involuntary reflex for accepting free food, regardless of the circumstances. “Mystery sounds good.”
“You got it, dude,” Hornhat said, nodding and smiling as he passed over the long white package, almost as if he’d forgotten that he was at his dead friend’s funeral. His face went somber, though, as the mournful sound of an organ began. He turned and walked quickly up the aisle.
As Rex ripped open the Airhead, he looked to the front of the room, and sitting there playing the opening progression of “Blessed Assurance” was none other than Wayne Whitewood himself.
“No,” Rex whispered. “No way does this guy get to play the organ at Alicia’s funeral!” Whitewood was wearing a black suit and his white gloves, and looking very sad. Fake sad. “We should be at First Baptist right now, with Tanya playing the organ, like Alicia would have wanted. Man, I hate everything about this.”
“Me too,” Leif whispered back. “At least Pastor Mitchell is here.”
Seeing the genuinely distraught
look on their pastor’s face as he stood up front, singing his way through the hymn, was sobering for Rex. Once the opening song was over, he could hear the sound of sniffling all around them. The loudest came from the front row, where Jean and Melissa Boykins were sobbing, Bill holding an arm around each of them, his mouth pursed stoically.
Pastor Mitchell walked to the podium, his George Michael beard looking especially well trimmed. “We are gathered here today to honor and celebrate the life of Alicia Michelle Boykins,” he said. “A vibrant soul who we’ve lost too soon. Far too soon.”
That was it for Leif. He quickly joined the rank of the criers, barely able to pay attention to a thing Pastor Mitchell was saying. Or what Bill Boykins was saying after him. (“All we wanted was to protect our Alicia. Keep her safe. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter…”) Or Melissa Boykins next. (“She was my hero. She’ll always be my hero.”) Or Alicia’s New Agey aunt from Oregon after her. (“Do you feel Alicia’s energy in the room right now? Because I sure do!”) He didn’t even realize that Pastor Mitchell had asked if anyone else would like to share a few words until Rex was standing and gently nudging him, saying, “Hey, we’re still doing this, right?”
They’d decided beforehand that they would go up and say some meaningful things about Alicia, but now Leif worried he’d be crying too hard to speak. He had to get up there with Rex, though. It was the least he could do.
When they arrived at the podium, Rex made eye contact with Whitewood, who returned a kind smile. Rex didn’t smile back.
Leif stared out at all the people crowded into the room, devastated that Alicia had exited this world being so misunderstood by so many in Bleak Creek. She would forever be remembered as a troublemaker whose bad decisions had resulted in her own death, all because of something that he knew was largely his and Rex’s fault. It hit him that he should say something to change their minds. To help them remember the real Alicia.
Leif looked to Rex as if to say I’ll go first, but Rex either misinterpreted or ignored the cue, as he leaned in to the microphone and said, “Hi, everyone.”
The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek Page 18