Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall)

by Angelisa Denise Stone

  “How can I calm down? One of the richest men … like … ever … just offered me money to go away. That’s … that’s … just crazy. I need … I need … a drink. Can we … can we go somewhere?” I ask hopefully. “I’m a little edgy right now. Can we please?”

  “Anything. Anything you need,” Dre replies, kissing my forehead.

  Everything is just whacko in this state. I don’t think I’m going to be making a return visit anytime soon to New Hampshire. The short time I’ve spent here has been long enough to know that this is not anywhere that I want to be. These people, Dre’s family is just out of control, manipulative, aristocratic, criminal nutjobs. When we leave here, I’m never looking back. Now, I finally understand how easy it must’ve been for Dre to just pack up and bail. I would’ve too if I were him.

  Leaving the hospital, sucking in the fresh air, I finally feel like I can breathe again. I know that Dre’s agonizing over what to do about Tristan’s heinous crime, but I just want to get the heck out of here. I have to come up with a solution, help him through this, so we can leave the second Dre’s ready to go home. Because right now, I’m ready.

  Walking into a small corner tavern, I’m relieved that we’re finally going to be able to sit and drink without all this stress suffocating us. We take a small table in the back, and Dre gets us two draft beers. Normally, I’m a wine or mixed drink kind of girl, but right now, an icy cold beer in a frosty mug is just what I need. For the first time in my life, I wish I had a siphon; I’d just down this thing in two seconds flat, begging for a refill.

  Chugging my beer, I look around the bar, taking in the clientele. The people in this establishment are really well-dressed, perfectly groomed, and carrying designer handbags.

  “Dre, what is this place?” I ask, feeling completely out of my element.

  “Executive Tavern on the Green,” he says, drinking his beer. “It’s kind of like a country club, but with no pool or golf course. It’s members only.”

  “Why’d we come here?” I ask, wondering why he’d choose a place like this. “I thought you were ‘so over’ this lifestyle?”

  “I wanted to see if Tristan was here,” he says, grabbing my hand across the table. “I’m gonna try to convince him to turn himself in.”

  “Uhhh Dre, do you really think that’s gonna work?” I ask, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb, enjoying the feel of his fingers interlocked with mine.

  “Not one bit,” he admits. “I just don’t know what else to do. I just can’t see myself calling the cops and reporting them. I know they fucking deserve every last thing that happens to them … I just can’t be the person who puts all that shit into motion.”

  “Is this your roundabout way of asking me to do it?” I ask, anxiety setting in.

  Chuckling, Dre kisses the back of my hand and says, “Not even close. That’s funny though. Pebbles, I’d never put you in the middle of this. You’re too pure and good to be involved in this shit.”

  Thinking about Dre’s plan gives me an idea. “Dre, have you ever talked to Leah? Gotten her side of the story? Offered your support? Sympathy?”

  Shaking his head, he says, “No. I tried once. Went to her apartment even, but she wasn’t home.” Motioning to the server to bring us two more beers, Dre adds, “After I left, I never really got the guts to try again. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was just thinking—what if we go to her and try to convince her to come forward and … maybe even press charges?” I ask, weighing the pros and cons of this plan in my head. “Wouldn’t that be the best of both worlds, really? Leah gets justice—and it doesn’t have to be you who does it?”

  Dre’s mulling it over, ruminating the probability of my idea actually working. His mind is clearly considering my suggestion. “I don’t know. Seems like a long shot … but it’s a thought.”

  Taking his hand in both of mine, I say, “I know it’s hard—and just sucks—but you know you have to do something.” Dre nods, scraping the frost off his mug with his other hand.

  “But … but … if you decide to do nothing … I’m gonna do nothing with you.” He looks up at me, sadly. “I’m not going anywhere, Dre. You’re pretty amazing. The way you take care of people, help people, and even find ways to try to forgive people is remarkable. My mom’s right. You’re a keeper.”

  “She thinks I’m a keeper?” he asks, sheepishly. I nod, winking at him.

  Then he says, “Just wait until you tell her all this crap—she’ll be changing her tune then.”

  “She already knows Dre. We’re keeping you—as long as you want to be kept,” I joke, feeling the unmistakable flit of butterflies in my stomach.

  “Pebbles, ever since that damn carousel ride, I’ve been sold,” he confesses.

  “Oh riding behind me on that horse did it for you?” I reply, rolling my eyes.

  “Although that was pretty nice being up against your ass like that, riding that horse up and down, it wasn’t that ride that did it. Not even close,” Dre admits.

  “Oh really, what was it then?”

  “It was two things. One was watching you stare at that little girl riding the carousel. When you watched her, you looked so happy, a happiness beyond any I’ve ever experienced,” Dre says, his face grim, remorseful.

  Shaking his head, he adds, “I thought ‘shit if some strange little girl does that to her, what would her face look like if it was … was… Fuck, just forget it.”

  “Dre Donley, are you getting shy on me?” I ask, smacking his hand playfully.

  “Let me make this easier for you … yes … if she were mine, then I’d be that happy every minute of my life. Having kids really is my ultimate fantasy.” Dre looks away, definitely shyly, obviously a trait I didn’t know he possessed. “So what was the second one?”

  “That’s easy. Watching your face on the ride. It just glowed,” Dre recalls. “Lately, I’ve dreamed of meeting someone who didn’t care about money and all that. When I saw how excited you were, how much fun you were having … I just knew … knew I could never let you go.”

  Dre takes my hand and brings it close to his lips, but stops when we hear, “I heard, but I didn’t fucking believe it. I can’t fucking believe you’d come back here, Adrian.” Dre’s eyes widen. Then his head and shoulders fall as he drops my hand quickly back onto the table.

  I turn only to see the most beautiful, well-put together, classy woman I’ve ever seen. I’d never tell Sydney this, but she makes Syd look like—like—me. Her Burberry trench coat is cinched tightly around her tiny waist. Her legs are long and thin, and look like they were made for her leggings and riding boots. Her long blonde hair is tied back in a slick ponytail. This chick’s got the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Dang, if I weren’t straight, I’d take her home with me.

  God, whoever this person is has quite the effect on Dre. He’s staring at her as if he can’t see anything else in the room. I wonder briefly if my skin is turning the dark shade of green that I’m feeling wash over me.

  Dre averts his eyes, shaking his head. “Hi Waverly,” he says, resignedly, “it’s good to see you.”

  “Who’s your friend?” she asks, never glancing my way. Dre was right; he dated some stunning women.

  “Waverly Harrington, this is my … my … friend, Kathryn Howell,” Dre answers wearily.

  Oh no. He just called me his “friend,” the kiss of death. I thought we’d just covered this. Crap, he’s always going to be the unattainable commitment-phobic drifter, no matter how hard he tries. Frankly, I’m getting discouraged with all this.

  “Friend?” Waverly says, snidely. “If that’s all—”

  “Well, it would’ve been more,” Dre offers, “but you showed up and interrupted us. I was about to tell, Pebbles, here how she is the most beautiful, loving, forgiving, and incredible woman I’ve ever known.”

  Dre picks my hand back up, massages my palms, and says, “No one holds a candle to you, Babe. You’re all I ever wanted.”

  Wa
verly’s eyes narrow, glaring at us angrily. Dre continues, “I was going to say all those things to her, but you came over. I guess she’ll never know that I’m completely in love with her—have never loved anyone more.”

  “You’re a fucking prick, Adrian. No wonder your family disowned your ass. I dodged a goddamn bullet when I dumped you and your limp dick,” Waverly seethes, before storming away.

  We watch her walk away, both of us smirking devilishly. Turning to him, I say, “She must not be all that good in bed if she couldn’t get you hard. I think it’s pretty easy.”

  Laughing, he says, “Pebbles, you’re too much.”

  “By the way, Dre,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I fell for you on that carousel too—if we’re being honest.”

  “You liked the feel of my di—”

  “Yes, that was nice. It was more like the added bonus, not the deal-sealer for me though.” I confess.

  “So what was?”

  “That’s easy, when you stood up on the moving horse and started singing while everyone was staring at us, I was smitten,” I admit, taking a long slow drink of my beer, trying to figure out how to explain this to him.

  “I’d spent so much time with Theodore, wishing he was more fun, more spontaneous, but he never was,” I complained. “Just once, I wanted him to shock me, make me laugh … anything, but it never happened. I knew I didn’t want a ‘predictable forever.’ I want surprises, moments of magic.”

  Laughing, Dre says, “Well damn Pebbles, I guess I nailed that surprises part.”

  “You sure did,” I agree. “But, you’ve pretty much got the magic nailed too.”

  “Baby, don’t you worry. I got a few more tricks up my sleeve.”

  The next morning, after finishing our coffee, we exit the café, holding hands. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” I ask, feeling like I’m going to puke.

  “No, I don’t want to … but I’m going to,” Dre confirms, as we walk across the street to the apartment building. “I can’t believe how easily you got her address.”

  “Hey now, Syd and I have some serious stalking skills,” I boast, squeezing his hand tighter as we walk into the building. “I’m not gonna tell you how many nights I ‘Googled’ you and came up with nothing. I can’t wait until I get home, and I can ‘Google’ Adrian O’Donnell.”

  “Remind me to destroy your computer when we get back,” he says, glancing at the numbers on the elevator. “Well here goes nothing.”

  In the elevator up, neither of us speak. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest; I wonder if Dre can hear it. I really wanted him to come here alone, let me stay back at the hotel and catch up on some work. Last night in the hotel room was incredible—and we didn’t even have sex. Dre and I talked all night, revealing secrets, telling stories about our childhoods, connecting on a whole new level, a level I thought I’d never reach with him.

  We hashed out the entire plan—everything. The first step to our game plan was on the other side of the door. As Dre knocks, I swear my heart is trying to compete with who can pound harder. Finally, there’s movement and rustling from inside the apartment. I grip his hand firmly; Dre squeezes encouragingly back.

  The door opens, and Leah Franchetti stares at us. Recognition registers, and she tries to slam the door. Dre puts his foot in the door, “Leah, wait. Please, I just wanna talk to you.”

  Pushing on the door, Leah argues, “Fuck, I swear to God, Adrian, I’ll call the fucking cops.” Dre won’t let her close the door; she’s shoving it pretty hard against his foot. “I always thought you were the ‘good one’ Adrian. Never thought you’d sell out like the rest of those assholes.”

  “Leah, please, you know me. I’m not here for them … I’m here for you.”

  “Nice try, I know your Daddy sent you—just like he sent his lackeys last month.” Leah says, struggling with the door. “I know the deal … I haven’t forgotten. I’m not gonna squeal.”

  “Leah, that’s exactly what I want to talk about,” Dre begs, looking at me with frustration. I nod, encouraging him to go on. “I … I … think you should tell someone Leah.”

  There’s complete silence. The pressure Leah was applying on the door subsides. “Just go home Adrian,” Leah says quietly.

  “Not until you let me in … not until you talk me, Leah.” Dre explains. “We need to talk.”

  Seconds that seemed like hours pass; then Leah lets the door open, as she walks to the couch. She sits down, lights a cigarette, and turns her television off. Leah’s an attractive tall bottle-blonde with a short pixie haircut. Time had hardened her, but it was obvious that she was once a beautiful girl.

  The apartment is cute, quaint, and artsy. “I love that mirror. Did you paint it?” I ask, before realizing that we’re not here for pleasantries.

  “Yeah, I did,” Leah said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “I made most of the shit in here from junk I found on the street—out on curbs.”

  “It’s really beautiful.” I compliment, putting my hand on Dre’s knee. “I’m Kathryn, Dre’s … Dre’s girlfriend.” I say, trying it out for the first time.

  “Are you sure about that?” Leah asks, “You don’t sound so sure.”

  Laughing, I say, “Well, it was just established about seven hours ago. It’s pretty new. I kinda liked saying it though.” Leah looks at me curiously.

  A smile grows on her face, softening her features. “Damn, that was one honest fucking answer.”

  Dre laughs, “Kathryn’s middle name is honesty. It’s fucking crazy, I tell ya. Chick can’t lie.”

  Leah visibly relaxes, finding a small semblance of comfort with us. “Oh I get it O’Donnell. Ya gotta start flying straight now that you met Miss Perfect here.”

  Dre squeezes my leg, “Yeah that’s about right.”

  Dre and Leah talk about some old high school classmates and where each of them ended up. From my vantage point, it almost seems like two old friends catching up, sharing stories and laughter amicably. They chat for nearly half an hour before Dre brings up his brother again.

  Leah dodges the question and offers us some drinks, absconding into the kitchen. As Dre and I sit on the couch, I take in the modesty of the apartment. It’s exactly the type of apartment I’d have if I didn’t have a good job, money to play with.

  After getting us some drinks, Leah suggests we move to the kitchen table. She stirs a shot of something into her soft drink and says, “You’re a good guy, Dre, but I can’t give you what you’re asking for.”

  “Leah, I don’t understand. You’re so badass. You’ve never taken shit from anyone. Why now? Why let Tristan get away with this?” Dre asks, pounding his hand on the table, making Leah and I startle.

  Leah shakes her head and sighs deeply, exasperated. “Because I am badass.”

  Smiling she says, “I don’t know why I’m about to tell you this. Maybe because of that time in tenth grade, I don’t know, I’ve always thought I owed you for—”

  “What happened in tenth grade?” I ask, looking between the two of them.

  “Nothing really, Dre kind of saved … or Hell … maybe ruined my reputation. I don’t know,” she laughs. “What do you think it was O’Donnell?”

  “Ruined, definitely ruined.”

  “Fucking hoity-toity cheerleaders decided that since I’d never blown a guy before that I must be a fucking dyke—”

  I gasp, hating that word. I despise when people get judged for their sexual orientation. It’s downright ludicrous, completely unacceptable.

  “What’s the matter?” Leah asks, staring at me.

  “I’m just not a fan of that word,” I admit.

  “Oh fuck, me either. Especially the way they used it—like it’s a bad thing. Who cares what or who I do? Ya know?” I nod, really warming up to Leah. Actually, she’s the first person in this whole town that I’ve actually liked.

  “I know Adrian here hates that shit too.” Leah says.

  Dre nods, “Remember when I went to that gay
pride parade in college?” Leah laughs, evidently recalling the incident.

  “Oh yeah, it was the talk of the town. I was so frigging proud of you,” Leah compliments.

  Confused and feeling very out of the loop, I ask, “Gay pride?”

  Dre laughs and recounts a story that has Leah and me mesmerized. It will never get old listening to him open up and share his life with me. Although the story was appalling, I enjoyed hearing him talk, learning more about him.

  In college, Dre and Rory went with a few of their homosexual friends to a gay pride parade. The parade was televised on the news; therefore, his parents and their snobby friends saw Dre walking down the street in all his glory, in support of his friends. The O’Donnells were mortified. They ended up refusing to pay his college tuition for the rest of the year and stopped payments on his car and automobile insurance. It didn’t faze Dre at all. He just got a part-time job, washing dishes in the dining commons to pay for his car and insurance. Two scholarships and student loans took care of the rest of his tuition.

  The idea of one of their children washing dishes on campus was too much for his parents to endure, so they caved on the car payments and insurance, deciding that washing dishes was beneath an O’Donnell. It was the first time Dre realized that his parents and their financial status were ridiculous, beginning to believe that it all meant entirely too much to them. Therefore, he secretly kept the dishwashing job, oftentimes just donating the money to his fraternity to help pay for their wild weekend parties.

  “And wow … just wow,” I say, “You never cease to amaze me.”

  Grinning, Dre says, “Thanks Pebbles,” kissing the inside of my wrist.

  “Anyway, back to the tenth grade story? What happened with those girls who were making up crap about you?” I ask.

  “Oh Hell, they spread that rumor all around the school. Everyone treated me like my ‘lesbianism’ was contagious,” she recalls, grimacing and narrowing her eyes. “Man, high school can be brutal. Fucking cuntbags.”

  “So later that month, your boyfriend here, told everyone … like fucking everyone … that I blew him, and it was the best blowjob he’d ever gotten,” Leah laughs. “Mind you, I’d never even talked to him—let alone touched him. Adrian did it all on his own.”