by Cora Brent
“How’s house hunting?” I asked Cord.
“There’s one we’re pretty sure about. Two miles from here. Nice neighborhood, rent’s decent. Even has a small backyard.”
“That’s uh, shit, that’s great,” I said, hoping I sounded enthusiastic.
Cord said nothing. We listened to Creedence idly plucking away at his guitar in the living room.
“Do you guys ever fight?” I asked. “You and Saylor?”
He leaned over the edge of the patio wall and stared down at the dark concrete. “Sure we do,” he said. “Just today we fought over who was responsible for squeezing the last drop of toothpaste from the tube.”
“Quit being obtuse, man. I’m serious.”
“What are you fighting about with Stephanie?”
“Something heavier than toothpaste consumption.”
Cord grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. “You can let it out, you know,” he said gently.
So I did. I told Cord all of it because I knew he would listen and refrain from judging me, or judging her. Well, at least he would be sensitive enough not to tell me about it if he was.
When I was finished I swallowed thickly and gripped the stucco edges of the patio wall. “She looked at me like she didn’t know me. Like she didn’t want to. Christ, I’m kicking myself. Any seeming betrayal would be a pretty big fucking deal to her. I knew that.”
Cord shifted and sighed. “How much of a problem is it, Chase? The gambling?”
“It’s a problem. It’s something I kept from the girl I love because I knew it would remind her of a life she wanted to leave behind. It’s a problem because I liked the money a little too much. I liked having the means to take Stephanie places where super sizing isn’t an option.”
He chuckled. “Don’t take this as an insult to your girl, but Steph doesn’t look like she cares much about the finer things in life.”
I didn’t have it in me to joke anymore tonight. I had to admit something that was even more worrisome than keeping the truth from Stephanie. “It was a rush, Cord. Winning. It’s awful seductive.”
“Maybe it’s time to go back to meetings,” he said carefully.
I nodded. “Maybe it is.” My chest was tight. “Cordero, I can’t even bear to think about losing that girl.”
“You haven’t lost her. I’ve seen you two together. She ain’t walking away on a whim.”
He was confident because he was thinking in terms of Saylor, who thought he was perfect and would never waver in her choice. Saylor was, and always would be, completely sure about him. Stephanie, on the other hand, struggled through things she couldn’t even acknowledge to herself. I didn’t know if she was sure about anything.
Creed suddenly pushed open the screen door and joined us out on the patio.
“Lonely night,” he muttered, laying down on the weight bench in a full-blown sulk.
“Not for me,” Cord bragged and headed indoors to go sleep with Saylor.
“Insufferable,” I grumbled. “Boy knows he’s got it made.”
“Yeah,” Creed agreed and started lifting. “Spot me, would you?”
“Don’t be an idiot. I can’t even fucking see out here.”
“Turn on the light.”
“Bulb burned out.”
“Get another bulb.”
“Fuck you.”
Creed grunted in the darkness, lifting up and down while I tried to figure out where I needed to grab if he lost his grip on the bar.
“You and Truly aren’t far behind that, are you?”
He hissed and set the bar down. “We’re not in any hurry to be changing diapers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It wasn’t.”
My brother sighed and sat upright. “Look, I need to say one more thing and then I’ll shut the fuck up. Maybe Stephanie isn’t exactly the wicked witch. But Chasyn, can’t you see that trouble is going to follow that girl everywhere she goes?”
I breathed deeply. The November air was pleasantly cool and still. “You know what, Creedence? A few people might say the same thing about me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Stephanie
When I was five years old my mother took a week-long trip upstate to her hometown. I don’t remember exactly why - something to do with an old friend who needed her - but she left the three of us children at home with our father. While she was gone my father invited another woman into their bed.
I knew her as Mrs. Weiss. She lived down the street and had one son in my brother Robbie’s class. She had beautiful tulips in her front yard and it was tough to walk by there every day on my way to the kindergarten bus stop without picking some.
It was late on the second night my mother was away. I woke up and padded excitedly out of my bedroom because I heard a female voice in the hallway and assumed it was her. It wasn’t, though it was not surprising to see my father talking to another woman. He talked to women all the time. They liked my father. They smiled at him and no matter what shape or age they were they pressed their legs together and moved close to him, touching his chest and smiling up into his handsome face. No, what was surprising was the fact that this particular woman was naked from the waist up and my father was groaning as he ran his hands down her body.
“Daddy?” I whispered, fearful and hesitant. They had their faces pressed together now, this woman and my father. They didn’t hear me. “Daddy!” I shouted.
The woman gasped. Her hands flew to cover her pendulous breasts and she turned her head enough so I could see her profile. She was Mrs. Weiss from down the street. She was my mother’s friend.
“Steffie.” My father smoothly picked me up and returned me to my room, quickly tucking me beneath the frilly covers.
“Daddy, why is Mrs. Weiss here so late?”
My father’s voice was shocked. “What are you talking about? Oh honey, you were just dreaming.”
I sat up, indignant, clutching the stuffed bunny rabbit who was my best friend. “I wasn’t dreaming, Daddy. I was awake.” Although even as the words left my mouth I was no longer sure. Only my father was sure. And he would know.
“Trust me, Steffie,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “You were dreaming.” Then he closed my bedroom door behind him.
The Weiss family moved away long before my father’s business became salacious gossip, and I hadn’t thought of that night in years. Now when I remembered it there was a peculiar dream-like quality about it all, even as I knew Nick Bransky was nothing but a fraud who tucked his small child into her bed and told her not to believe her own eyes. I didn’t know if my mother was ever wise to the affair, but it might not have mattered. It was only one betrayal in a long line of them.
Truly kept trying to interest me in television, in ice cream, in anything to take my mind off Chase Gentry. But even though my mind was a whirlwind, I’d said little since we’d arrived home.
Instead I sat on the couch and listened to Truly chattering away as I gratefully accepted the company of her cat in my lap. I knew that to most women this gambling shit would not have been a big deal. Perhaps it would have been a minor irritation, a brief argument. To me it was so much more. Chase hadn’t told me something important. And there were important things I hadn’t told Chase. It was an entrance into a permanent state of deception and I knew how far down the rabbit hole it was possible to fall.
“What do you think, Truly?” I suddenly blurted. “What would you do if you were me?”
My beleaguered roommate sighed and tucked her legs underneath her. “I can’t hand out those kinds of instructions.”
“I didn’t ask you to instruct me. I asked what you think.” I turned to her beseechingly. “Tell me. Please.”
“You and Chase,” she sighed, leaning over as if she was trying to choose her words carefully. “I think maybe you two need one another.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “That might have been the problem from the beginning. We needed each other too fucking much.”
“That’s
not what I meant, Stephanie.”
“Doesn’t make it untrue.” I pushed Dolly into Truly’s lap and rose from the couch. “I’m going to bed.”
My bed was too big. It had never occurred to me before Chase started occupying it regularly. Now that he wasn’t in it there was far too much room for my body alone.
“Feel that, Steph? That’s yours. And this is mine.”
Since he’d spoken those fervent, passionate words to me we’d spent nearly every night together. I missed him fiercely.
My pillow was a poor substitute for Chase’s body, but I curled my arms around it and rested my cheek on the cool surface. When I thought about the possibility of never falling asleep in his arms again every working part of my body contracted painfully. The feeling was terrifying so I tried to get rid of it by thinking about something even more horrible.
In the weeks leading up to my mother’s death I was exhausted. On one particular afternoon I gave up on school by sixth period and sped home in the black Mustang that had been my sixteenth birthday present. The car would be repossessed in a few short months when my father’s assets were seized but by then I wouldn’t care because so many worse things had happened.
Death approaches with a sickeningly sweet smell that hangs heavily in the air and clings to you. Our house had smelled that way for months. I could escape it, but only for a little while. I would leave for school once the nurse had arrived and I wouldn’t appreciate the absence of that awful odor until I walked through the front door in the afternoon. There, it would find me again. No amount of candles or plug-ins could wholly dispel it. It had gotten inside of me, the smell of death, and I could no longer escape it. I wondered if other people, strangers, the kids at school, could smell it on me and I took to keeping the half empty bottle of my mother’s Coach perfume in my pocket.
Robbie was sitting in the kitchen when I walked through the front door. He was smoking a cigarette and smiled when he saw me.
“Baby sister,” he said, standing and wrapping me in a hug whether I wanted one or not. I was notorious for disliking hugs but just then I was grateful for the warm, secure presence of my big brother. If I had known that it would be the last time I would ever hug him then I wouldn’t have let go.
“Where’s Mike?” he asked, squinting past me.
I rolled my eyes. “Who knows. Probably holed with something cheap and creating the next generation of Branskys.”
Robbie chuckled. “Well, someone’s gotta.” The he grew serious. “Hospice just left but Mom doesn’t seem to be aware of much today. Dad’s in there with her.”
I gave my older brother a brief, critical appraisal. He’d lost weight. He looked grim. But then, we all were these days.
“I’m just gonna go check on them,” I said, dropping my backpack on the floor.
Robbie nodded. “Yeah, I’m taking the train back into the city in a little while.” He smiled again. My brothers both had my father’s looks and the world became a brilliant place when they smiled. “We’ll catch up soon, kid. I want to hear all about the White Hills High School bullshit.”
“Take me out for a bagel with cream cheese, Rob, and I’ll tell you anything.”
“Cheap date. It’s a deal. I’ll be back for sure on Friday and I’m staying all weekend.” He gave a little wave and then returned to his cigarette.
Our house was beautiful, although I never appreciated it growing up. Maybe I assumed everyone enjoyed majestic ceilings with exposed beams, marble floors, and a spiral staircase that led to a maze of upstairs bedrooms.
My mother had been moved to a guest suite on the first floor. I remembered watching her select the cherry red and cream-colored room accents. Of course at the time it wouldn’t have occurred to her that she’d be dying there.
The door was open a tiny bit. All I saw was my father’s back. He appeared to be bent over the bed where his wife was losing her most important battle. I was angry at him in those days, so much so that we scarcely spoke. Nick Bransky couldn’t deal with the supreme messiness of dying. He no longer bothered to hide the fact that he was getting a sick kind of comfort from other women. I wanted to beat on his chest and call him all the foul names that he deserved. But I lost that urge as I stood there and listened to him cry.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
He was sorry that she was dying, that after twenty two years of marriage the one person who’d been loyal to him was leaving. He was sorry that he would be alone in a way that couldn’t be filled with shallow affairs. I have to also believe that he was sorry for everything he’d done, for his patterns of cheating and deceit, for the thousand and one ways he’d hurt her. But what good did it do to be sorry after everything was already broken beyond repair?
The tears pooled on my pillow as I fell asleep. I slept for a long time.
I opened my eyes because there was a knock at the door. It was morning and apparently had been for quite some time.
“Steph?” Truly called.
I grumbled and rolled out of bed, grumpily flinging open the door. Truly was on the other side. So was Chase.
“Hey bedhead,” he called, nervously making a small joke.
“Hey yourself,” I answered, leaning against the door and trying not to notice how good he looked, freshly showered and shaven. I wanted him to hold me, and he would have, if only I could uncross my arms and stop standing stiffly against the wall. I pushed my hair out of my face.
“Give me five minutes,” I muttered and headed to the bathroom. I needed to pee and I wasn’t quite awake yet. I needed to be awake when I dealt with Chase this morning. After washing my face and taking an eternity to brush my teeth I cleaned up the sink and opened the door.
Truly and Chase were in the living room, sitting uneasily on the couch. Truly was already dressed and holding her purse. She nudged Chase when I emerged.
“Gonna go pay that brother of yours a visit before I have to get to work.”
Chase nodded. “He’d like that,” he said, looking at me.
Truly glanced in my direction once and then took off.
“Sit down,” Chase said, but I didn’t. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling cold.
“So,” he continued, “last night sucked. The end, I mean. Stephanie, I’m sorry. I swear to god baby, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I muttered.
“Is it?” I could hear the eagerness in his question. I could read it in his face. He was asking if I loved him as much today as I did yesterday. I did. Of course I did.
“Chase, do you ever think that maybe we’re both losing too much of who we are when we’re together?”
“That’s ridiculous,” he sneered immediately. “What the hell do you even mean by that?”
“Nothing. I don’t mean anything.”
“Bullshit. You’re not the type to throw around empty words. If you say it, Steph, then it means something.”
“Maybe,” I whispered.
Chase stood up straight. He exhaled loudly and swallowed, grimacing as if the act hurt him. “So you think we’re a mistake?”
“No! I didn’t say that.”
“The please articulate, honey. And as you talk keep in mind that you’re holding my fucking heart in your palm and squeezing the whole time.”
I wished I’d never opened this door. I wanted to forget my doubts because no terror was greater than losing him. But I’d already been too honest and I needed to explain. “Chase, we got together at a time when we were both vulnerable in different ways, looking for something to cling to. We both needed…somebody.”
Chase didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “What the hell is wrong with that?”
“I don’t know.” I sat down on the floor miserably. I really didn’t know, but it seemed like there should be something very wrong with it.
“Well,” said Chase icily, “you let me know if you figure it the fuck out, Stephanie.”
He started to leave.
“Chase!�
�
Don’t go.
He turned around. He crossed his arms with a stone-faced expression and I couldn’t read the look in his eyes. In that moment he was a stranger to me. Maybe I was one to him as well.
Chase stared at me pitilessly as I struggled to find something to say. If I rushed to him like I wanted to, I had no idea what would happen. He might have already decided that enough is enough. He might be finished with me. In any case, he only endured another moment of silent agony before he left.
I felt awful. After an hour of pacing around, cursing myself for the inadequate things I’d said, I just sat on the floor outside my bedroom. If Truly was home I would have talked to her. She was always able to talk about important things in a way that made sense. It was a skill I didn’t have. I’d made Chase think that I doubted everything about us.
He’s not like Dad. He’s not. He wouldn’t break my heart the way Dad broke Mom’s every day.
They were similar in some ways; both dashingly handsome, charming, with a hint of volatility. When I first met Chase I had dismissed him as a chronic player, a guy who would feel little remorse over his lies if they got him what he wanted. That’s the kind of man I’d grown up watching and I figured I could recognize the signs. Chase Gentry proved to be far more intricate and I still hadn’t figured him out completely. But I knew he loved me. I should never have let him leave without reminding him that I loved him too.
When my phone buzzed I grabbed for it. I would meet him anywhere. I would tell him everything, so long as he didn’t give up on me yet.
“Steffie,” said a voice that used to belong to a friend. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”
I was instantly cold. Completely cold.
“Why are you calling, Alonzo? We don’t have anything to talk about.”
My dead brother’s best friend sniffed on the other end of the line. “That O’Shea son of a bitch,” he swore. Then his voice lowered to a grieved whisper. “It’s out, Steffie.”