Rage: A Love Story

by Julie Anne Peters

  “His what?”

  “Whatever he carries in that case.”

  “He told you it was a cruise missile?”

  “An M16 or something. A motion-detector bomb.”

  A slight smile cricks her lips. “And you believed that?”

  “No. But what is in there?”

  She ignores the question and turns to leave.

  “Look, about what happened at your house—”

  A trio of girls bursts through the door, giggling, shattering the fragile connection we’re establishing. They jam into a stall and light a cigarette. It gets hot and crowded.

  “Where is Robbie’s bomb?” Reeve turns back.

  “In my car.”

  Time passes. Babies are born. Old people die.

  Reeve says, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  She blows out an irritated breath. “Can we go get it?”

  “Oh, sure.” We. She said we. My feet move.

  Reeve floats beside me and I feel huge, monstrous next to her. Uplifted and weighty both. I hold the outside door open for her.

  We don’t speak all the way to my car. All the things I can think of to say are weak. Or crucial.

  Reeve stands aside while I get the case. As I hand it to her, she says, “Thanks,” and our fingers touch. Nerve endings spark.

  She turns away. Then turns back. “What you saw yesterday? You didn’t see it.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  Her gaze drifts down the street.

  “I did, though,” I say.

  She shakes her head.

  I have the strongest urge to reach out and touch her. Just… touch.

  She flinches, as if I had. She says, “No.” I let her get away. For the last time.

  Robbie bounds into the room a few seconds after me. Doesn’t say hi or hello or no or “cooperate with Johanna.” Slides into his desk, pulls out sheets of crumpled paper, and starts to write.

  I want to ask, How’s it going? Though I now know his life sucks on a very serious level.

  He has his case with him, I notice. “Um, let me know if you need help, okay?”

  Scritch-scratch of pen on paper.

  I pull out my checkbook and thumb through the register. Some fool has entered amounts with no notations of where she spent the money. At the end I wrote in a negative number. What is that? My bank balance? Last month I was overdrawn by more than a hundred dollars, and this month my car insurance is due.

  I’m calculating how much I’ll make if I work at Bling’s every night, all weekend, all summer, every day for the rest of my life when I hear, “Aren’t you done yet?”

  My head shoots up. Reeve’s resting a shoulder on the doorframe, her arms crossed.

  “Hi.” God. My voice is three octaves higher than usual. I clear my throat. “What time is it?” I check my watch. It’s flashing 12:00. Cheap Bling’s watch.

  She saunters into the room and glances up at the big clock over the door. “Twenty after.”

  Oh yeah.

  Her eyes shift to me. “What is he writing?”

  “His memoir. Expect a call from Jerry Springer any day.”

  Reeve casts me a death look.

  Shit! “I’m kidding. It’s just the essay. The senior project.”

  Sometime during the day she had finished her makeup. Mood: murderous. “He won’t have any trouble finding a worst moment,” she says. “Choosing one, maybe.”

  “Really,” Robbie mumbles.

  “What’s your best moment, asstard?” Reeve asks him.

  Robbie stops writing and raises his chin. He doesn’t look at Reeve. Or me.

  Reeve says, “I bet I know.”

  Robbie gazes up at her and this powerful emotion passes between them—love or hate or what? It’s a communion.

  Reeve moves her lips. Robbie shakes his head. She motions with her chin and Robbie stands, cramming his papers into his back pocket.

  “Wait.” I almost knock his case out of his hand. Reeve has stopped right outside the door; impaled herself against the brick wall, looking like she’s bracing for an attack. “What were you doing?” she asks.

  “What?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You ask that a lot. What? When? Who? You should develop better listening skills.”

  “Better what?” I smile.

  She smirks. “While rat boy was working, what were you doing?”

  “You mean, balancing my checkbook?”

  “You have money?”

  “No. That’s the problem.”

  She holds my eyes. “You have a job?”

  “Yeah. At Bling’s. In the mall?”

  “Career minded.” She nods. “I like that in a girl.”

  “You do?”

  Reeve opens her mouth like she wants to say something, like she’s aching to say it. I know the feeling.

  Robbie emerges and she grabs him, tugging him along after her. At the hall intersection, she slows and twists her head around. Robbie keeps going. Reeve reaches in her pocket and tosses me something, which I snag one-handed.

  It’s a pack of Orbit.

  Chapter 8

  I’m feeling energized, euphoric. After an evening at the hospice. After making contact with Reeve. I take the stairs to the apartment two at a time and see there’s a note pushpinned to my door: “We need to talk. Come see me if you get home by 9.”

  Tessa’s handwriting is tiny and cramped. My watch face is blank now. Inside, the clock on the cable box reads 9:48. Oops, too late.

  I strip and climb into bed.

  Sleep eludes me. I taste peppermint from the gum, all of which I chewed. Reeve. How she actually remembered and got me gum. The meaning in her eyes, the understanding between us, her gravitational pull toward me. She wore that short stretchy vest that ties under her breasts, over a skimpy tank. She doesn’t own a lot of outfits, but she can wear that one every day for me. Her hair is black on top with that blond underlayer. How does she achieve the two-tone effect? Does someone do it for her? Britt maybe. Britt’s hair is always highlighted or streaked.

  No. I won’t associate Reeve with Britt. Or anyone. Only peppermint. I can chew on that all night.

  Heaven forbid Tessa should go to bed one minute after nine. She couldn’t say, Come talk to me. Anytime.

  I roll over and curl into myself. That letter, the one I never should’ve sent, it changed things between Tessa and me. I don’t think … she loves me … anymore.

  She used to call and say, “Do you want me to move back? Because I will. Just say the word.” I’d always tell her, “No, everything’s fine. Mom can still get around.” Even when Mom couldn’t, I didn’t want Tessa to have to quit college. Tessa would say, “You’re so strong. I don’t know if I could handle it day after day.” She meant watching Mom die.

  I’m not strong, Tessa. It’s just, some things in life, you have no choice.

  I throw off my tangled sheet and pad out for a glass of milk or something. When I open the carton, the odor staggers me backward.

  My stomach heaves as I pour the curdled gunk down the sink.

  I have to get out of here, go somewhere. Back to the hospice. I throw on jeans and a hoodie. The misty air is heavy with the smell of burning wood. Who’s up at this hour building a fire? Reeve and I would, if we lived together. We’d lie in front of the fireplace and make love all night.

  Halfway to my car, I stop in the dewy grass. I’m barefoot.

  Can you be wide awake and unconscious?

  Martin and Tessa are both home, their cars parked side by side in the driveway. I slide open the patio door as quietly as possible. The lights are out, and dark shapes moving in the living room freeze me in my tracks. Martin steps behind Tessa, their silhouettes converging. He holds her around the middle, his hands spread across her tummy. Tessa’s hands come to rest over his.

  Martin says, “Hmm. Yes, I’m definitely seeing blue. Blue dots. Blue measles. We should name him Spot.”

  Tessa bops her head off Martin’s chest
. “Do you really hate the name Martin? We could go with Marty. Or Martina.”

  Martin says, “Let’s stick with Spot.” He asks, “When are you going in for your next ultrasound?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “We’re twelve weeks now.” Martin smoothes her bangs back from her forehead. “Right?”

  The quiet wraps around them. Their last baby died at twelve weeks.

  This is my cue to leave. I step back—on a squeaky floorboard. Their heads swivel in unison.

  “Mojo?”

  “Hey, guys.” I wave weakly.

  Martin lets go of Tessa but slides his hand into hers and raises it to his lips. “Word up, homie?” he says to me as he kisses her knuckles.

  “I got your note,” I say to Tessa.

  “Oh, right. Don’t let your car insurance expire.”

  “That’s it? Gee, thanks for the sisterly advice.” I head for the refrigerator.

  Tessa follows me. “I mean it, Johanna. I won’t let you drive without insurance.”

  Their milk is fresh. I drink right out of the carton because I know it galls her.

  Tessa’s cell phone rings in her bag. She fishes it out as Martin sneaks up behind me. He goes to tip up the carton in my face and I twist away. He did that once and I got a milk bath. I chased him out the front door into the street and pounded him good. Martin asks, “What are you doing up at the witching hour, Mojo?”

  “Casting a spell on my evil bro-in-law.” I wiggle voodoo fingers at him.

  Martin smacks his cheeks and ovals his mouth in horror. It cracks me up. He’s wearing this t-shirt that says: INTERNET ATE MY BRAIN.

  “Geek,” I say as I pass him.

  “Gangsta.” He yanks on my hoodie.

  Tessa rushes out of the dining room into the living room. “I just put in a twelve-hour shift,” she says into her cell. “Can’t you find someone else?”

  I say to Martin, “Spot, huh?”

  His whole face crinkles in a grin.

  I add, “For a middle name, how about Ted?”

  Martin bursts into laughter.

  My future niece or nephew: Spot Ted Däg. Yeah, I’m good.

  I’m about to leave when Tessa sweeps back in. She lifts her carryall off the counter and tells Martin, “I have to go back.”

  “You just got off,” he says.

  “We’re short-staffed. One of the new interns fell and broke her ankle and Cody has strep. People are lined up around the building.”

  Martin cocks his head.

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Tessa says.

  “No, it’s okay.”

  God, he’s understanding. I’d probably say, How about some me time? Some home time? Tessa works in a free clinic downtown as a nurse-practitioner.

  Martin says, “Your jacket’s pretty bloody.”

  Tessa scans the front of her lab coat. “Shit. We had a bleeder today.” She drops her carryall and charges through the living room to the bedroom.

  Martin expels a long breath. He turns to me. “Spotted Däg goes, ‘Woof.’”

  “Arf,” I say.

  We race across the granite path, tossing off our shoes and shirts. I’m chasing Reeve to Fallon Falls. She’s agile and her small, angular body fits between the crevices as she slithers through the rocks to the river.

  I’m laughing, my hair whipped by the stiff wind, and I’m breathless from chasing her and being this close to catching her.

  “Reeve!” I call. “Wait up.”

  “Hurry. The show is starting.”

  Firecrackers from nowhere dazzle the sky. It’s night and the falls reflect the blue and red and gold, streaks of rainbow water cascading over the edge.

  Reeve ducks behind the falls, then splits the water, lifting her arms to take the power of the river. She cries out, “Ahweeeeeeeeee. Johanna, come and get me.”

  I’m close, a hand touch away.

  Then the water sucks her up and she vanishes.

  • • •

  By Thursday all seniors are supposed to have reconciled their student fees and fines and cleaned out their lockers. We were advised a month ago to pick up our graduation announcements. The list of graduating seniors is posted on the wall at the guidance center and we have to check the spelling of our names for our diplomas.

  I stay home and think off to Reeve.

  The ringing phone jolts me aware. Still tingling all over, I straggle out of bed, but I don’t get there in time. Novak leaves a message: “Johanna, where are you? I thought we were going to the senior picnic.”

  That was today? I squint at the clock on the TV. 4:38, p.m.?

  “Hey, lesbo. I miss you. Call me as soon as you get this. And, Dante and I are still planning to use your place tonight, right? Okay? Call me. You didn’t miss anything at the picnic. You had to bring your own meat, so I took Dante. Caw.”

  Did Reeve go to the picnic?

  I’m starving. If I go grocery shopping, I’ll have to write a bad check. I’m not scheduled to work until Saturday, but I call Bling’s on a whim. Shondri says, “I got tonight covered.”

  Figures.

  She adds, “That new girl just quit on me, though, so I’ll need someone tomorrow night. Maybe all weekend.”

  “Put me down,” I tell her. Yay. I get to eat.

  Shondri says, “Is that more than thirty hours? I can’t pay you overtime.”

  “I don’t care. I need the work.”

  “We have to keep it under thirty hours, but plan to be here by four tomorrow and stay till closing.”

  “You got it.”

  She hangs on. What?

  “You’re the most reliable kid I’ve ever known.” Shondri disconnects.

  Wow. First of all, I’m not a kid. Second, what’s wrong with me that I stay and no one else does?

  Novak falls into my arms at the door. “So wasted,” she slurs. Her breath exceeds the legal limit. Behind her, Dante smirks.

  Detaching from Novak, I grab my bag off the chair and mumble, “Have fun.” I want to add, Don’t foul my sheets.

  Dante says, “You don’t have to leave.”

  “What?”

  Novak teeters a moment, then flops onto the divan.

  Dante raises an eyebrow.

  What is he suggesting?

  My eyes fix on Novak. She didn’t. She wouldn’t tell him. Dante doesn’t know I’m a lesbian. But that smirk on his face …

  Ew. Ickiness crawls under my skin.

  I stomp out the door and down the stairs. Novak, how could you? I trusted you. And how could you sink so low? This one service project we did as juniors was going around to sixth- and seventh-grade girls, talking to them about the pressures they’ll face in high school, the perils of dating. Our group would do role-plays to show girls how to get out of risky situations. Novak was better at it than me, since she’d had experience. Her closing line was always, “No means no. Respect yourself. Protect yourself. Just. Say. No.”

  In real life, how many times has Novak actually said no to guys, about anything?

  All the way to Rainbow Alley, I think about it—her. Novak’s been dating since she was twelve; hard dating by middle school. I don’t know how many times she’s asked me to buy her pregnancy kits.

  I’m still shuddering and feeling sort of tainted when I turn into the alley. Does he want, like, a three-way?

  Do people actually do that?

  Maybe they do.

  I’m only looking for a one-way—a one-on-one way.

  Fewer cars are parked in the lot, and no kissers or smokers occupy the fire escape. I take the metal stairs two at a time and hit the landing. Posters collage the door—an ad for an indie-band fest, a poetry slam. Music and voices seep into the night from inside. I pull the door open and step in. A bunch of people are sprawled on rugs and pillows in front of the TV—movie night? Robbie’s there, sitting on his case on the floor. If he’s here …

  My heart pounds.

  She’s lounging on a long couch, flipping through a zine. She d
oesn’t see me come in—or does she? She drops the zine on the floor and scoots to curl up against the armrest, hugging her knees.

  Nameless girl sits down beside her. She says something to Reeve, smiles and laughs, and nudges Reeve a little on the shoulder. Reeve lashes out an arm, clubbing the girl in the face.

  Geez. What’d the girl say to her? Because Reeve definitely said NO.

  The girl staggers to her feet and starts to cry. Reeve unfolds herself, springs upright, and embraces the girl. She places her hands on either side of the girl’s face and kisses her.

  I don’t see that. It’s not real.

  Reeve’s mine. She’s saving herself, her best self, for me.

  I exit the way I came in, clomping down the stairs, tracing the route to my car. A roar in my ears drowns the static and I take off.

  My head hurts. My heart hurts. She’s everything, everyone I want and need.

  Why do I continue to allow myself to believe we’re a possibility?

  Blindly, I drive into the school parking lot. I don’t hear the other car drive in, or the door open, or the footsteps. I don’t see it coming. My passenger door swings open and a guy climbs in beside me.

  I have the presence of mind to scream.

  Chapter 9

  The night swallows me whole as I fling my door open and am submerged in darkness. An SUV swerves into the lot and almost hits me. Brakes squeal. Or is that me, screaming? Headlights flood the interior of my Tercel and the guy gets out. He limps away.

  Reeve springs from the SUV. “Who was that?”

  I crush her in a hug. “God, if you hadn’t come …” My arms tighten around her.

  She goes stiff and I loosen my grip.

  “Who was it?” she says again.

  “I don’t know. Some guy. He just got in my car.”

  She searches my face. “I didn’t do anything with her,” she says.

  “What?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  I’m shaken, confused. “I’m sorry.” I reach for her. “I mean, I’m glad.”

  Her lips part and a shallow breath escapes. I’m still hyperventilating, so I draw in a deep breath and exhale hard.

  Reeve is here. Close like this, she seems fragile, like a dragonfly.