Blindness

by Ginger Scott

  “What have you heard?” I say. It comes out defensive, which I instantly regret.

  “Ohhhhh, he’s pissed you off, hasn’t he?” Gabe says, laughing again. “Fuckin’ Cody, he always screws this shit up.”

  Gabe walks out of the garage to the driveway where he drops his cigarette and stomps it out. I follow, hoping he’ll keep talking. He stuffs his hands in his jeans’ pockets and turns to me with a little shiver, the night air starting to get to him. Gabe looks rough at first glance, and not at all like anyone I would ever be alone with. But out here at night, in the cold, he seems like a vulnerable little boy, which somehow makes me more comfortable with him.

  “Look, I know it’s hard, but try to give my boy a chance. He’s got a shit life, and he deserves better,” Gabe says. I shrug a little, not fully understanding, and Gabe lets out a heavy sigh, looking up at the sky before shuffling his feet closer to me. “That garage, the shop? It was his dad’s. It’s all he has left, and he’s determined to keep it open. But Jake, his dad? He had a lot of loans out on it. Cody’s been trying to pay them all off. That’s why he takes on these extra jobs, like the Chevelle over there. Anything he can do to make an extra buck.”

  I look back at the old car and see it differently—the potential in it, the artistry of its design. I would hope someone would pay top dollar to have it restored. I’m starting to understand Cody’s bitterness, and my insides are fighting over whether or not I still want to punch him or hug him. Without thinking, I speak my thoughts aloud. “Why doesn’t Jim just give him the money?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Who do you think has the biggest loan on the property?” Gabe says, confirming everything. Suddenly every conversation, every encounter with Cody here at the Appletons’, is starting to make sense. Gabe turns to walk back into the garage, nodding over his shoulder for me to follow. When we’re inside, he slides out a metal folding chair for me to sit in, and I’m immediately reminded of the burn on my forearm, and how gentle Cody was with me. I touch it softly on instinct, and my heart aches.

  “What happened tonight?” I ask, now less interested in the harsh words and cruel accusations Cody spit at me, and more wanting to know the reason behind them.

  Gabe slides up on a worktable, his feet dangling over the side. He reaches over into a cooler, pulls out two beers, and tosses one to me. I smile and set it down beside me. Gabe chuckles softly and looks at his hands as he cracks his open. “Jim’s come to collect, and Cody and him had it out good the other day. He told Cody he had three months before he would sell the place. Cody made a deposit tonight, a pretty good one. He thought maybe it would buy him some more time, but Jim didn’t budge.”

  My heart breaks as I replay it all—the fight I overheard the night I found out Cody and Trevor were brothers, his refusal to take the coffee maker…and tonight. Cody losing his father’s shop would be like someone burning my father’s desk, but about a million times worse. I’m looking down at my lap, my hands holding the crumpled money, and feeling ashamed. No wonder Cody is full of resentment. Here I am, a stranger, and the Appletons have opened their home to me. But Shelly’s own son is relegated to the garage. I don’t understand why she isn’t fighting for his happiness—if this was the only thing he wanted?

  “What about his mom?” I ask, causing Gabe to spit a little of his beer out with a laugh.

  “What, Shelly?” he says, almost shocked that I would suggest it. “Damn, girl. You really don’t know these people well, do you?”

  I just shrug, starting to think that maybe I don’t.

  “Shelly’s a drunk. Like, completely dysfunctional. She was that way before Jake died, but when he passed, she got a whole lot worse,” Gabe says, looking at his beer like he’s ashamed of it now. “Shell ain’t gonna do shit.”

  I suck in a deep breath and reach down for my beer, cracking it open to join Gabe. I don’t drink much, but something about tonight feels like I should. And for some reason, I feel closer to Gabe than maybe anyone else in the entire damn household. “So, how do you know Cody?”

  Gabe smiles at my question, and looks up, like he’s searching through a slideshow of memories. When he drops his head back to look at me, his smile is warm and his eyes are bright. “Cody and me have been friends since kindergarten. Man, I’ve got stories, I tell you what!” he laughs, taking a drink of his beer and then setting it down to lean forward, his elbows on his knees. “That dude, he’s talked me into a lot of crazy shit!”

  “Oh yeah? Something tells me you don’t need a lot of help finding crazy shit to do,” I smile, but then worry instantly that I’ve gotten too comfortable with Gabe. He laughs right away, though, setting me at ease.

  “Maybe now. But back then? Hell no…it was always Cody starting shit up,” he says, closing his eyes a little, and leaning back again on his palms. “Like when we first started racing motorbikes and doing jumps off crap? That was always Cody. My mom could’ve kicked his ass. Especially the first time I came home with a broken arm!”

  “The first time?” I ask, my brow raised.

  “Yeah, I’ve broken it three times. Leg, once. Ribs? Hmmmmm, I don’t know, maybe a dozen?” Gabe says, looking over his own body, taking inventory like he’s trying to remember where all of the scars are. “Damn, it’d be easier to tell you shit I ain’t broke.” He laughs and takes another drink before settling his gaze back on me.

  “How about Cody?” I ask, holding my breath, hopeful that I didn’t cross a line. Gabe just looks at me, his expression falling a little while he nods and looks down. “He had some bumps and bruises, sure. But nothing bad before the big one,” he says, sliding back to his feet and walking to the back of the garage. I hear him moving around a few boxes, and finally he comes back to the table with a heavy one that’s covered in dust. Curious, I stand up and join him.

  Gabe bends back the lid and starts pulling out a few old cards, posters, and magazines. He flips one of them open to a page that’s dog-eared, and then slides it over to me. It’s a picture of Cody leaning on a dirt bike, his arm around a cute girl with long black hair and bright blue eyes. They look right together, like they match. I recognize my own jealousy immediately, and I feel my ears starting to burn from my blood pressure, but I swallow hard and keep it hidden.

  “That was right after Cody won gold in Austin, about a week before Jake died. He pulled this sick-ass trick, flipping the bike one way on its side, and his body the other, letting go with his hands,” Gabe says, the pride for his friend bleeding through everything he says. He turns the page to show me a picture of the trick, and I lose my breath seeing it—Cody’s body more than fifty feet in the air, hanging onto a 200-pound bike with only his thighs. I look up at Gabe with wide eyes, and then back down at the page.

  “I know, right? He was so fuckin’ good. Still is,” he says, sliding back up to sit on the table.

  “Still is?” I ask, confused at how Cody could ride. I watched him struggle just to climb a set of stairs a day or two ago.

  “Yeah, he still does tricks and stuff for fun. He modified a bike at the shop, moved the clutch, put all the gears and power on his strong side. He hooks his leg in when he rides. He can’t do it long, though. Riding really makes him hurt,” he says, looking down at the page I still have open.

  “How’d it happen?” I ask, boldly. I hear Gabe’s breath stop, and I know the memory is hard.

  “Same trick, but it was a week later,” he says, looking down at his hands, slowly balling them into fists, and then relaxing them again. “Jake had just died, and Cody was a fuckin’ wreck. He didn’t even make the turn, the bike just flew from his hands and came crashing down next to him. But the wheels spun and the metal got all tangled up with his leg,” I can tell Gabe’s having a hard time sharing, so I put my hand on his knee and pat it to let him know I understand. He places his hand on mine and squeezes. It’s strange how close I feel to him, but I do.

  “He lost everything after that—his dad, his girlfriend, and almost the shop
. I think that’s why he’s fighting so hard to keep it open—it’s like the only thing he has left…you know, from before?”

  I smile and lean my head to the side before turning back to the magazines and posters, flipping through a few more before pulling them all together and putting them back in the box. I slide it back over to Gabe and suddenly find myself standing in front of him, reaching out for him to give him a hug. He chuckles once and stands up to embrace me, wrapping me in his giant arms, his body smelling of oil and gasoline—it makes me feel home, more at home than I’ve felt in years.

  “He’s not totally broken, you know?” Gabe says as we back away from each other. “He’s not the punk he was when he was 17 and had the accident. He’s strong. Pulled me out of some dark times—drugs and shit. He’s a good friend. Best one I’ve got.”

  I nod and smile softly, and then reach into my pocket to pull out the marker and the twenty, which feels entirely different than it did when I first stormed over here, ready to lay into Cody. “You mind if I leave him a note?” I ask, when I realize Gabe’s staring at me with his brow pinched and a crooked smile.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever you gotta do,” he says, shaking his head and laughing. He picks up the box and lugs it back to a corner in the garage, and then reaches down for his dirty shirt to grab it from the pile on the floor. “I’m headin’ out. But, Charlie?”

  I wince a little, but let it go, realizing Cody must call me Charlie. And somehow that seems okay. “Yeah?” I ask, looking up.

  Gabe takes in another deep breath, and then kicks his feet before nodding and coming back to me, his lips a hard line working against him. “It’s nothing. Just…just keep an open mind, okay?”

  I can tell he wanted to say more, but I let it go. I’m not so sure I’m ready to hear more. I smile and cross my heart. Gabe nods and heads down the driveway to a motorcycle parked at the end. When I hear him pull away, I lean over the hood of the car and pull the cap from my pen. I smile to myself when it comes to me.

  “Good for one cup of freshly brewed coffee. Offer good for 8 a.m. sharp only.”

  I write my note along the bottom trim of the bill. Tucking it under the windshield wiper of the Chevelle, I bite my lower lip, and squeeze my eyes shut, not sure if I’m ready for what I seem to be starting. I stare at it for a few minutes before I finally resolve to see this thing through. I leave the garage and make my way back into the giant house I live in with my boyfriend—the one I don’t want to sleep next to tonight.

  Chapter 5: Playing Fair

  Trevor left to meet a friend for breakfast at seven, and said he wouldn’t be home for a few hours. I knew about this—it’s why I wrote 8 a.m. on my stupid note to Cody. I have fought against racing outside to remove it for the last hour. My nerves are still a mess, and I know it’s because I’m afraid of being caught.

  I sat by the window in my bedroom until my eyes finally forced themselves shut around four in the morning; I don’t know when Cody came home. I never heard the rumble of his truck, but when I came downstairs with Trevor this morning, it was there. I raced to the window to check, and my heart actually leapt at seeing it.

  It’s a little after eight, and I’m manically stirring my coffee at the table, regretting the entire stupid idea, when I hear the back door slide open slowly behind me. I know it’s him before he says a word. I can smell him—a mixture of oil and metal and the faintest hint of last night’s whiskey.

  “You’re late,” I tease. I hear him take in a deep breath, and the door shutting softly behind him. I don’t hear him move, so finally I turn on my stool to see him standing just inside the door, his head down, and the crumpled bill being stretched between his hands. He finally looks up to me slowly, his eyes full of fear, begging, and regret.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “You’re lucky. It’s buy-one-get-one-free day, plus there’s a 15-minute grace period. First cup’s cold, though,” I say, sliding the mug of coffee I’ve had ready for him in his direction.

  He smiles with half his mouth, like the effort to raise his lips is killing him. I can read the genuine remorse all over his face, and I instantly forgive him. I keep that to myself, though, just in case this turns out to be a bad idea.

  “I believe you owe me $20?” I say, looking at the money in his hands. He laughs once, softly, and finally moves forward and takes the stool next to me, placing the bill flat against the counter and sliding it over. I notice there’s something written on the other side, and I turn it so I can read it.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I run my finger over the words slowly, to show him I see them, and then I clutch the bill in my hand and stuff it in my pocket. “Drink up, cowboy,” I say, tilting my coffee back and finishing it off. I’ve had three cups this morning, and my nerves are teeming from all of the caffeine. I drink coffee when I’m stressed. I realize the contradiction of it all, how I’m working against myself. But it doesn’t seem to stop me.

  Cody wraps his hand around his mug and looks at it a good long while before he lifts it to his lips and takes a loud slurping sip, like a kid with hot cocoa. The sound makes me laugh, and he winks at me, his cheeks wrinkling with his smile—it’s back, and it’s heavenly.

  After another minute of looking at his cup, Cody sets it down and pushes it away. I’m staring at him now, and I know it, but I can’t seem to stop. He’s wearing a clean white T-shirt, but last night’s jeans—I recognize them. His hands, his face, his hair—he’s a mess, every bit of his rough night worn on his body. But it has my guts twisting, my insides aching. And deep down, I know the way I’m looking at him is about being more than friends. But I squeeze my eyes tightly to wring out those thoughts and force myself to remember that that’s all we are. We’re friends.

  “I think you owe me some change,” he says, his voice a little scratchy. He coughs to clear his throat, and I lean forward on my elbow, raising a brow to question him. “The coffee? There’s no way I’m making it to the two-for-one deal. It’s pretty much the worst shit I’ve ever had.”

  He busts out laughing mid-sentence, unable to keep a straight face. I start to laugh, too, knowing I really have no idea how to brew coffee. I only started drinking it in college—and I usually buy my cup at Starbucks. I smile at him and shake my head, instinctively reaching forward to touch him. I push his arm with a tease, and he stops it before I can pull away, grabbing my fingers and wrapping them in his own. Suddenly, he’s holding my hand. He’s holding my hand!

  I let him, and watch as his fingers slowly lock into place with mine, the twists of ink and words along them like black keys on a piano against my pale skin. I steal a glance at him to see his eyes intent on our tangled hands, his gaze soft, but guarded. He’s being so careful. My mind is betraying everything I’m fighting to hold onto with visions of his mouth on mine, my lips tingling at the thought of kissing him, tasting him.

  Reality slams into me hard, though, when I hear Trevor’s booming laugh enter the foyer—along with someone else’s. I jump from my seat and slap my hands to both cheeks to wake myself from the dream I was just indulging in. I shake my head, and briefly lock eyes with Cody, who’s smirking back at me, almost amused at my harried state. Before Trevor makes it to us, I turn to the sink and start rinsing dishes—dishes that, frankly, are already clean.

  He’s telling the man who’s with him a story as he enters the kitchen, and I’m grateful he’s distracted from the redness that’s now taken up residence across my entire body.

  “I can’t believe that asshole told you that!” Trevor says to his friend, leaning over my shoulder to kiss me while he drops his keys and wallet on the counter. It takes him all of three seconds to realize Cody’s here, and I can feel his insult coming before he unleashes it. “What? Still don’t have your own fuckin’ coffeemaker? Freeloader,” Trevor says, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to his friend.

  What days ago only made me uncomfortable, today has me angry and ready to jump to Cody’s defense. I
’m squeezing the knife in my hand while I rinse off the blade then turn to drop it in the dishwasher. I catch Cody’s eyes and mouth to him “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t seem to be bothered. He raises his mug and gets to his feet, tipping his cup to take one more sip before stopping and remembering how terrible it tastes. He spits it back in, and I laugh quietly at him.

  Trevor is watching us. Not wanting to make a big deal out of anything, I just smile, shrug, and turn back to the running water. I’m half-listening to Trevor and his friend talk when I realize he’s trying to get my attention. I turn the water off and dry my hands while his friend is reaching his hand to me. “Charlotte, this is Kevin. He’s Judge Sumner’s nephew,” Trevor says, his tone subtle, but I understand what he’s trying to tell me. Kevin’s important, and I need to make a good impression.

  “Kevin, nice to meet you. Do you live out here? Or are you just visiting?” I ask, my mind only half paying attention to Kevin—the rest of me completely aware of Cody’s presence, every move and every breath. I had thought he’d run the second Trevor showed up, and while I’m glad he stayed, it’s also making me nervous.

  “Just visiting. We have a lot of family out here,” Kevin says. He seems nice and genuine, a refreshing change from a lot of the lawyer-types Trevor usually hangs around. “Hey, Trevor tells me you golf? We just set up a tee time. We need a pair, you two want to join us?”

  Trevor’s eyes look as though they’re about to bulge from his face as he looks from me to Cody and back again. I’m fighting to form words in my mouth, get my tongue unglued, when Cody absolutely stuns me. “Sure, we’d love to,” he says, giving me a wink, and then turning to the back door. “Just give me about ten minutes to get ready.”