by PJ Sharon
Bobby looked my way, smiled and waved. At one time that would have made my heart pound and my skin erupt in goose bumps. Now, I just waved and nodded back. Nothing. Not a flutter. Carter had ruined me for any other guy. I realized then that I was caught in an in-between place. Life experiences could change you in a way that made it impossible to be who you were and yet didn’t allow you to be someone else.
“Hey, s’up?” Tom came out of nowhere and approached our table, grinning as he carried a tray with three hot dogs and a thirty-two ounce beverage.
Katie dropped the fry and looked down at her food, her hands folding into her lap.
“Not much. What’s going on?” I asked, trying for polite indifference. I really didn’t want to invite him to sit with us based on Katie’s reaction to him, but I was dying to ask about Carter.
Tom didn’t wait for an invitation. He set his tray down and slid into the seat across from me next to Katie, who slid an inch further away. “Hey, Katie.” He clearly wasn’t expecting her to respond as he continued, eyes focused on me. “I’m out picking up Carter’s birthday present. I thought he could use a new set of wrenches.” He downed half a hot dog in one bite and picked up the drink.
“Oh, yeah, his birthday is this coming weekend, right?” I knew, that he knew, that I knew, exactly when Carter’s birthday was, but he went along with the game.
“Yeah. We’re having a party for him Saturday night. Do you want to come?” He jammed the other half of the hot dog in his mouth and chewed loudly, wiping mustard off his face with the back of his hand and then licking it off his knuckles.
I cringed and handed him a napkin. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He probably doesn’t want to see me right now.” I waited for him to finish chewing and swallowing convulsively, growing nauseous at the thought of all that food going down at once and glad that I knew the Heimlich maneuver just in case.
“Actually, he’s been miserable without you, but don’t tell him I said so.”
I glanced at Katie who had all but disappeared in her chair, silent and still as a rabbit in a fox den. I bit my lip and glanced at Tom as he inhaled another dog. “Did he tell you what happened?”
“Oh, yeah—everybody knows,” he said through a mouthful.
“He’d probably be upset if I showed up at the party.” Katie caught my eye and sent a frosty glare my way. “I wouldn’t want to ruin his birthday,” I added.
“Sweetness, you’d be the best birthday present any guy could get.” He grinned broadly, flashing teeth filled with food. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come? If he gets bent out about it, we’ll say you came as my guest. At least it’ll give you two a chance to work things out or say a proper good-bye.”
He had a point, and as much of a jerk as Tom could be, he was being pretty thoughtful about the whole thing. At least it would give me a chance to apologize and explain. What was the worst that could happen?
“Thanks, I’ll think about it.” I said.
Chapter 13
“You’re coming to church with me on Sunday, whether you like it or not.” Dad held a hand out, not taking his eyes off the bent mower blade. “Hand me that three-eighths, will ya’?”
I rummaged through the tool box and handed him the wrench. “C’mon, Dad. I’m planning a sleep-over with Sami and Katie. We’ll probably be up all night watching old horror movies. I’d really like to sleep in.”
The mower blade groaned as he loosened the bolt. He’d run over a stump or rock and the old mower lay on its back like a stranded turtle, belly up and useless. “You’re lucky to be seeing your friends at all.” He wiggled and yanked at the blade, grunting and cursing under his breath, sweat dripping from his brow.
Dad had kept his fifteen year old Jeep going and could fix just about anything mechanical, but sometimes it was annoying that he didn’t know when to quit and buy an upgrade. For all the money he would save on repairs and gas, he could afford a car payment, but there was no convincing him. As long as there was a chance of saving something, Dad wouldn’t quit. Whether this was due to his stubbornness or some misguided need to try to fix what was broken with the world, I didn’t know. But I had to admit, his perseverance could be inspiring...or maddening, depending on the day.
“I said I was sorry about what happened. Are you ever going to forgive me?” Groveling worked better on Mom, but I had to give it a shot if I wanted to go to Carter’s birthday party. I had my doubts about the wisdom of my decision, but I couldn’t stay away. I had to see him again.
“It’s not me you need to ask to forgive you.” The blade came free with a screech.
I squelched the urge to roll my eyes. The knot that had formed in my gut at the outset of this conversation grew exponentially. “I’ll go to confession next Saturday, I promise.” I had no intention of admitting my “promiscuous” behavior to Father O’Connell. I didn’t mind the Hail Marys and Our Fathers, but I couldn’t deal with the ugly tone of reproach I would have to hear through the confessional wall.
Dad groaned louder than the mower blade as he dragged himself to his feet. Pieces of shrapnel remained imbedded in his hip as a reminder of his tour in Vietnam—along with the nightmares that still woke him screaming in the night and all but waking the dead. It was another reminder that life could change irrevocably, even at the age of eighteen. One day you’re a kid and the next, your life gets blown to hell. He didn’t talk about the war and I never asked. Living through it once was obviously more than enough, given he wore the hollow-eyed expression of a shell-shocked survivor most of the time. He rubbed his thigh and shook his head. “I want you home here by 10 a.m. on Sunday morning. We’ll go to the late mass.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I kissed his cheek and felt him stiffen. Not only was he a man of few words, he avoided displays of affection like flesh eating bacteria. I tried not to take it personally since he rarely showed affection to anyone, including Mom. It didn’t mean he didn’t love her. He bought her flowers on their anniversary and always brought home an Easter lily the week before Easter because he knew she loved the scent filling the house. He made a hundred small gestures that smoothed the rough edges of an unhappy marriage and kept it held together with the duct tape of faith and commitment, if not love. I think his avoidance of intimacy had something to do with losing his mom when he was twelve and growing up with an abusive, alcoholic father. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for my dad, but I would have thought he, of all people, would understand what I was going through. Emotional shrapnel had to be as painful as the real thing.
∞∞∞
Saturday rolled around fast. The hot August afternoon had me fixing an early dinner of salad and salmon for Mom and Dad, although Mom hadn’t eaten much the last few weeks. I sliced tomatoes and peppers from the garden and tossed them into the bowl, adding some oil and vinegar along with chopped basil and parsley. I scattered fresh dill over the fish and popped it in the oven, set the timer for ten minutes, and washed my hands. I actually didn’t mind cooking. It was the eating that I found troublesome.
My brain had somehow learned to translate chewing and swallowing into numbers of calories and fat grams that immediately made me picture my thighs swelling to mammoth proportions. Every bite I took, no matter how good it tasted, turned sour in my stomach when the numbers popped into my head. I had studied food charts on the Internet for hours, memorizing the fats, carbs and calories in all my favorite foods. If there was such a thing as knowing too much, I’d probably exceeded my quota.
Oddly, when I prepared food for Mom, the opposite happened. I looked at the numbers like they were some life-giving force that might save her from certain death. I imagined a celestial score board. Salmon—190: Cancer—zero. A healthy meal seemed all I had left to offer.
“I’ll take it from here. You go be with your friends.” Dad grabbed the salad and set it on the table. He spread a napkin onto Mom’s lap and flashed a half grin.
“See you in the morning, Sweet Pea. And make sure you eat something.” Mom�
��s hands shook as she took the half-full glass of water from Dad.
Watching them broke my heart. For all their faults, they’d stayed together and raised a family—probably because neither of them wanted a divorce at the same time. They seemed to take turns holding the marriage together. When they would drink and argue, Dad would shout, “I give up,” and Mom would yell back, “You can’t quit, Richard. There is no quitting on a marriage.” In the next fight, Mom would scream, “If it weren’t for these damn kids, I’d be long gone.” To which my Dad would shake his head in disgust and remind her, “You can’t leave me with the responsibility. What am I going to do with three daughters? You had ’em, you’re stuck with ’em.” Sometimes they would argue quietly over things I couldn’t make out, but the hurtful words showed on their faces for days and their silent times could go on for weeks.
For me, their daily squabbles were barely tolerable. The way they nit-picked each other drove me crazy, but at least that felt almost normal. The drinking is what made things hard. Alcohol seemed to make them louder and meaner, so it was good that neither of them was drinking much these days. The last few years they had found some kind of peace and things had been much quieter.
I had sat in the stairway eavesdropping enough times to know far more than I should about their unhappy marriage. I always wondered why Dad left me out of the equation as if it was a given that Mom was stuck with me. Probably because I’d been an afterthought and he felt like his days of being a father were behind him. The truth was, neither of them could have done it alone. Not with Mom being an LPN at Brookside convalescent home and Dad working as a custodian where the town’s benefit package kept him locked into a job that no one should have to do for a lifetime. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, they’d made it “until death do us part.”
∞∞∞
When I got to the dirt road around the corner from Carter’s house, I stepped behind the giant oak where I frequently unloaded my stomach, and instead, pulled my new dress out of my overnight bag and slipped it over my head. I hadn’t eaten much all day and I was feeling queasy but lean. I stuffed my shorts, tee shirt and sneakers into the bag and donned my new flats. I fluffed my curls, swiped a pink lip gloss over my mouth, and headed for what would be my salvation or my doom.
I approached the house, my heart slamming against my ribs to the rhythm of some crazy music from the Sick Puppies or the Gorrillas blasting away into the steamy summer evening, Tom’s picks for music. The sun burned hot and heavy above the trees and the air had been thick and stifling for days.
“Wow, you look smokin’, girl!” Tom greeted me at the door, grabbed my bag, and slung it over his shoulder.
“Thanks.” I didn’t have a chance to be embarrassed by the compliment. He grabbed my hand and led me through the crowd.
“Where’s Katie? I thought she’d be with you.”
“She’s away at camp.” Her parents sent her to some Catholic, all girls Jesus camp for a month every summer. I could expect frequent texts about bad food and mean nuns for the next few weeks.
“Too bad.” Tom dragged me along. The weight of eyes and whispered gossip pressed in around me until we reached the end of the hall and Tom tossed my bag into Carter’s closet. My stuff had found a safe home in that closet more times than I could count, but now I shuddered at the flash of intimate memories that bombarded me like poisoned darts when I looked at the unmade bed, blue sheets in a tangle.
“Penny. What are you doing here?” I spun to face Carter, my heart taking a severe drop to my feet. The corners of his mouth turned down in a frown that sent a stab of pain to my stomach, and the look in his eyes twisted the point in deeper. I looked away, not wanting to see beyond the anger to the betrayal underneath.
“I...Tom invited me,” I said lamely. Tom disappeared down the hallway.
Carter hesitated. “You shouldn’t be here.” His tone had softened to a thin sheet of ice rather than the thick, sharp, icicle I’d heard a second before.
I searched his face, hoping to see some of the warmth I remembered from...what was it—only a couple of weeks ago? I closed my eyes for a moment. Ten days, six hours, and twenty-seven minutes ago. When I opened them again, all I saw was pain and disappointment. The sharp breath I took in did nothing to satisfy my need for air. I suddenly felt like I was drowning—drowning in other people’s disappointment.
“I came to say, I’m...sorry.” Those few words drained the entire breath from my lungs. I looked away again, afraid of his next reaction. My being sorry never seemed to be enough for anyone.
“Penny...” He reached out to touch my cheek and I let my eyes find his. A flash of regret, sadness, longing, rose to the surface of those beautiful hazel eyes.
“Carter—I didn’t mean for things to happen the way they did. I wanted to tell you...
And then the connection was severed.
“Carter...oh, there you are.” Cindy Moran appeared at his side and wrapped her arms around his waist, her blue eyes shining with smug satisfaction when she saw me. “Oh, hi. Penelope, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for me to respond but turned her attention to Carter. “Baby, can you help me with the rum watermelon? I’m having trouble cutting the hole in it, and I need your manly skills with a knife.” She smiled straight white teeth at him and pulled him by the hand out of the room and down the hall. He glanced back over his shoulder and then he was gone.
I stood frozen for a minute, my feet stuck in place, about to throw my heart up onto the floor. Holding a beer in each hand, Tom arrived in time to keep me from an embarrassing display of hysteria or self-induced vomiting. Either would have been the highlight of the party, I’m sure. “I should go,” I said, certain that my staying would be the worst present I could give Carter at this point.
Tom handed me the beer. “Stay. Even if Carter doesn’t want to admit it, he’s happy you’re here.”
“Really? Because it looked to me like he’s already moved on.” The ache in my heart turned to a blazing inferno in my chest. Everything we’d said to each other and done in this room felt like hot coals inside me, burning to get out. I guzzled the beer trying to drown the flames, but alcohol poured on fire.... How could he...? We had barely broken up. I felt like my hair was on fire and I was about to spontaneously combust.
“You look like you could use some air. Follow me.” Tom took my hand and I let him lead me through the crowd, out the kitchen door, and into the back yard. I wanted to run away, hide from the humiliating stares and snickers, and disappear into the bottle of Corona in my hand. I chugged some more, the tangy taste of lime making the bitter drink go down smooth and fast. “Can I get another one of these?”
He grinned and reached into one of the half dozen coolers strategically placed around the house and yard—this one only a few feet away on the picnic table. “Don’t worry; he’ll come to his senses. Cindy is only a distraction. He’s using her to get over you. It won’t last.”
I sat on the table and chugged the second beer, starting to feel that fuzzy, dizzy sensation like I felt when I was a kid spinning on the merry-go-round. The one that makes you queasy but you don’t want it to stop. “That’s what I thought about Bobby Russell, too,” I said, struck by the thought of my childhood sweetheart and his princess girlfriend, who would probably be Mrs. Russell shortly after graduation.
“I won’t ask.” Tom raised a brow and cocked his head. “Hey, do you want to take a walk?”
The air hung heavy with humidity and vibrated with the words from We Are the Champions by Queen, an old classic rock band that Carter and I both loved. They sang “no time for looosers,” and tears spilled down my cheeks in hot streams.
It was after 7:00, but still light out, the sun low in the sky and turning from yellow to that deep shade of orange that comes at sunset when you know tomorrow is going to be another scorcher. I looked back at the house and then toward the trail that led to the steep hill and off into the woods I knew so well. The familiarity and comfort of nature call
ed out to me and I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in the tree lined pathway that wound down to the river.
“Let’s go.” I said.
Chapter 14
I woke to a buzzing in my ear. When I opened my eyes, they burned and I blinked against the early morning light. I lay still waiting for the buzzing to stop and the fog to lift, but the buzzing became a sting. I slapped at a mosquito and shook my head to clear the fog. Confusion and panic seized my limbs and I started to shake. The air felt warm, but my clothes and skin were damp and the chill that spread through me penetrated bone deep. Everything ached and the world shifted sharply as I pushed myself up into sitting and surveyed my surroundings. The path to my right seemed familiar. I looked up the hill and realized I was on the trail behind Carter’s house.
How did I get here? My hand went to my head, lamely attempting to stop the throbbing. I shuddered again and looked down at my dress. I tried to brush the dirt off but it was ground in. My underwear was missing. I reached down and felt something sticky between my legs. My stomach took a heaving roll and I leaned over and vomited, retching until I dry heaved. I lay there for a few minutes until my skin burned and itched and crawled and I had to move to get away from it. I scratched at the dozen mosquito bites on my arms and legs and face, clawing to escape the torment of being inside myself.
I climbed to my feet, one shoe on and one shoe off, and looked around until I located both my underwear and my other shoe, the whole time praying, God, please, no, not me. Don’t let this happen to me. I stumbled and crawled up the hill, still feeling dizzy and drugged. I couldn’t remember anything. Not how I got there, or who I’d been with, or anything past showing up at Carter’s birthday party so I could tell him how sorry I was that I’d lied.
I reached the top of the hill and headed for the house. I couldn’t go home like this. Crap...church...10:00...what time was it now? My clock was all screwed up. I had to get my bag and change my clothes. My bag was in the house. Tom took it from me. Tom...