“You won’t.”
“I’ll just lie here.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“...naked.”
I pause. “You’re not naked.”
“And if I am?”
I exhale, holding the phone away. If she is? Then I’m the biggest moron ever. But what if she isn’t? What if it’s a ploy? That would be typical. It would be just like her. It would be just like my ex-wife too. Heather pulled that shit and got another 15%.
“I need to go,” I say. “Dinner’s here.”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Dominos.”
“Dominos? You flew halfway across the country, and you’re having fast food at a Days Inn?”
“I’m an unoriginal bastard.”
Long pause. “Want company?”
My choices are to wallow in self-pity or get laid, and I haven’t been laid in nearly a year. I think the last time was with Stephanie, not that I remember what Stephanie looked like or if that was even her name. Regardless, the experience wasn’t all that memorable. Neither was she.
“I’d love company,” I answer. “But not tonight. Like I said, I’ve got a lot to process.”
“Guys don’t—”
“Or ruminate over,” I snap, looking toward the window where lightning flashes, lighting up the curtains. “I just need to be alone for awhile.”
She’s quiet.
Commercial. The TV stops laughing.
“I gotta go,” I murmur. “Pick me up at ten.”
Thunder.
“Sure,” and she hangs up without saying goodbye. She’s probably mad, and if not mad, she’s at least disappointed. She’s processing. I’m ruminating. We’re connected, yet we couldn’t be further apart.
I dig into my dinner and enjoy burning the roof of my mouth. I’m sitting Indian style on my frumpy hotel bed, watching bad TV and realizing that I’ve not only been lying to her, but I’ve also been lying to myself. I’ve been lying because I do remember what happened twenty years ago. I remember what happened with Joanne and Kristie and even Ritchie.
Thunder.
I remember.
I sit there, an idiot sitting in the middle of a stained bed, a steaming pizza in my lap, fingers greasy, a terrible comedy reminding me why real life is so much better than what we spend our time watching. It almost feels like a vacation. After all, this is what people do when they run away. Though it doesn’t feel like I ran away. It feels like I ran home. Not that I feel at home either. I feel like an idiot eating a pizza from the middle of frumpy bed tucked inside a shitty hotel room.
Sixteen
Yesterday
“Anywhere,” she answers dreamily while staring up at the sky. “Anywhere in the world.” Kristie waves her hands as though floating in a dream. “Anywhere at all.”
I frown as I think. It’s another one of her questions that would sound lame had it been anyone else asking, but since it’s her, then by default, it’s not lame. We’re lying on our backs on a soft bedding of pine needles beneath our favorite tree, head-to-head with our arms and legs splayed outward. We’re a Hallmark card, and it’s a perfect afternoon. I’ve almost even forgotten how the party ended two days ago. Almost.
I saw it, and I saw you seeing me see it…
I’ve avoided bringing up the conversation between me and Ritchie with Kristie. There’s no reason to tell her. Besides, Kristie doesn’t like him any more than Joanne does, so she’d likely be in favor of a fight that leaves me and him at odds.
“Bermuda,” I say aloud.
“Why Bermuda?”
“Why not Bermuda?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not that it’s a bad choice. It’s just seems so…it seems like an easy answer.”
“Would Iraq be more romantic?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
“Implied sarcasm noted.”
“I’m not implying anything.” She giggles. “I’m inferring.”
“Is this your fantasy or mine? You asked me, and I’m answering.”
She’s quiet for a second. “You okay?”
“I’ve heard really good things about Bermuda.”
“I’m not talking about Bermuda. I’m asking you. You seem on edge.”
So much for the Hallmark moment. Now it’s Psych 101. She seems innocent enough as she lures me along with a sweet smile and pretty eyes, but at that perfect moment when I start to relax, that’s when she strikes, digging her talons in just like a woman does.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Kristie whispers.
“You didn’t do anything,” I lie. Frustrated, I peel a blade of grass into pieces and flick them away.
“Then what’s going on?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I scooch into a sitting position and lean back against the old tree.
She rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin on the backs of her folded hands. “I know when something’s bothering you. Is it that you’re moving to Atlanta?”
“I’m just in one of those moods.”
“Are you scared to go?”
“No, I’m not scared.”
“Do you want to go?”
I don’t answer.
“Then what?”
“I’m just in one of those moods.”
“Is it Ritchie?”
“What about him?”
She shrugs. “You tell me. You were both acting weird last night.”
“You always watch our moves this closely?”
“Again, I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying.”
She’s not wrong. Ritchie’s a loose cannon, probably off somewhere stabbing a Voodoo doll with my likeness. He’s my best friend in the whole world, but that doesn’t mean I’m somehow exempt. “We had an argument.”
“Over Joanne?”
“What is this, the third degree?”
“You like her?”
“Yes, I like her. But not like that, and that’s not it. Ritchie’s my friend, and Joanne’s my friend. Ritchie likes Joanne, but Joanne doesn’t like him back.”
“I’m not…” She shakes her head. “I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Of course not.” I shake my head and draw my knees, blocking my view of her, or rather blocking her view of me. “You’re just inferring.”
“I wish he’d leave her alone,” she says softly. “I don’t like the way he looks at her.”
“You like the way I look at you.”
“I think Joanne has a crush on you.”
I frown.
“The way she talks about you.”
“I thought this was about Ritchie.”
“It’s about both of them. I don’t know. I just…” She sits up and wipes off a few pine needles still sticking to her shirt. “Something’s happening.”
“Nothing’s happening.”
She drops her eyes. “Can you feel it? It’s in the air. Like electricity.”
I can’t say that I don’t know what she means. I felt it the other day when we were lying together in her hammock, and I feel it again now. Apparently, she does too. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Like out of this town?”
“Actually, I meant out of the park.”
She smiles, considers and finally shakes her head. “Nah. I’m happy just to be here with you.”
Two kids in love. It’s shouldn’t be anymore complicated than that. The problem is Ritchie. He’s ruining everything, and I take my frustration out on another unwilling blade of grass.
Kristie pushes herself up and crawls my way on her hands and knees, a curious little smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye. She stops with her face inches from mine before closing her perfect eyes and tilting her perfect head as she leans in. Her lips brush mine.
“My parents won’t be home until late,” Kristie whispers, her breath smelling like peppermint. I smile back, and in a moment we’re on our feet, hand in hand, heading out of the park. It’s a long walk back to the Beaver, and it�
��s a bit of a trek back home from there. All the while she’s rattling on about things that have little relevance in the grand scheme of things, and I’m doing my best to listen while trying not to notice how her hair cascades over her shoulders, or how her hand feels in mine. She’s adorable, so by default, her meandering questions are adorable too, and when she asks me again where I’d like to travel if I could pick anywhere—anywhere in the world, well as far as I’m concerned, anywhere with her is just fine with me.
Part II
Monday night. Two days from graduation. Five days from leaving. It’s been a long week already with finals and Ritchie’s shit and stuff at work. The week’s only getting started, but I’ve got about a billion loose ends to tie up before taking off, yet all I want to do is say fuck it and relax down by the Beaver. Originally, it was only supposed to be a few of us, but word spread, and now there’s a whole group of us hanging out under the shade of the tall oak. Greg has brought a few of his friends from last Friday’s party, and they’ve brought their girlfriends. Then there’s this guy no one seems to know, and he’s brought his own entourage, though they seem to be doing their own thing and talking mostly amongst themselves.
Kristie is late.
I talked to her on the phone just this morning, and she said she’d be here by seven, but here it is already after eight. Everyone else seems to have made it, so I put on a good show of appearing relaxed. In truth, I’m a bit worried. Kristie is never late. She’s the ‘always reliable, always dependable’ one while her sister’s the exact opposite. Jo’s the brains of the two, but clocks and calendars are as foreign to her as another language.
Everyone’s laughing, having a good time, kicking back in the comfort of a summer breeze. I keep an eye out for my girlfriend as I sit up slightly at the sight of someone approaching from the other side of the creek. Almost immediately I know it’s not her. The form is too big. Way too big. And I recognize the swagger even before I see his face. Ritchie’s carrying a twelve-pack of cheap beer and smoking a cigar even though he doesn’t smoke. The stogie is fat, and it’s been smoked down to the nub. He’s been chewing on the butt for some time so that it sits comfortably pinched between yellow teeth. He’s wearing shades and a cutoff T-shirt, and he looks intimidating as hell.
“Ladies and lug nuts,” he says as he grins through the cigar smoke, “the party can now begin.”
“Ritchie!” several voices cheer.
He looks my way, and I nod his as he pulls one of the cans from the plastic ring and pops the top—all with one hand. He doesn’t smile, at least not with his mouth, and I can’t see his eyes behind the shades. Ritchie makes his rounds, stepping over legs or clumsily slithering between folding chairs. He pats his friends on the back and taps beverages with the girls until he reaches my side where he sits down in the chair I’ve saved for Kristie, kicks back, crosses his ankles and exhales a plum of gray smoke in three consecutive O’s.
“How are ya?” I ask with feigned enthusiasm.
“Where you been?”
I shrug. “Right here. Where you been?”
“Want a stogie?”
“New habit?”
“My cousin Joey had a baby boy last night. It’s tradition.”
“Joey who?”
“My cousin.”
“By blood?”
“More than you.”
I bite my tongue.
Ritchie burps, takes a hit from the cigar and raises his beer in a toast. I hesitate then clink cans.
“What are you drinking?” He asks. “Pepsi?”
“What’s wrong with Pepsi?”
“Kristie got your balls in her purse too?”
“Jesus, Rich.”
He clams up and glares at me, his lips pinched tightly.
“Don’t give me that look,” I murmur. “I really don’t care if you approve of my choice of profane words or not.”
“Big man.”
“And I’m tired of worrying about what offends you and what doesn’t.”
He drags on his cigar, the tip brightening to an orange tip. He blows smoke-rings in three perfect circles before winking at me. “Missed ya.”
I nod toward the group. “I prefer blondes.”
He chuckles. “Speaking of which…”
“Don’t start.” I knew he’d get right to the point. He didn’t come here to hang out with me. He came here to see Joanne. I’m just the conduit.
You think you got what it takes, small time…
I look around. Everyone’s congregating in small groups of two and three. Ritchie strikes a conversation with a girl I don’t know. I suspect she came with the guy on her right, but she’s being friendly and acting interested even though it’s obvious that she isn’t. The sad reality is I know Ritchie and the way he thinks. He doesn’t want her. He wants Joanne. He’d hit on someone else’s girl just to get Joanne’s attention, and Joanne’s not even here.
Yet there are two figures approaching from along the game trail. Same height, same build, same hair, same walk. Twins. If Joanne’s never on time, then the fact that they came together explains why they’re late. Right away I feel defensive, unconsciously crossing my arms and glaring as them as they step around the fire and stop directly in front of me. They’re dressed the same. Exactly the same even though they never dress the same. Kristie likes the attention, while Joanne is conservative. Tonight they’re both dolled up. Same eye-shadow, hair free-flowing, sharp dresses—great legs. They look exactly the same. Like it’s some kind of a game. Until one of them speaks, I’d never know the difference.
“So, who’s who?” Greg asks.
Both offer a smile, but neither speak, which only confirms my suspicion that this is a game. They’re not speaking because speaking would give away who’s who. Kristie and her sweet voice. Joanne and her slurred accent. It’s a game. A game that has nothing to do with either the party or Ritchie. It’s a game intended for me, and I have to play.
Now I’m pissed.
They stand there unmoving, eyeing me, waiting for me to somehow magically determine who’s who just because I ‘love’ one more than the other. The guys are whistling, the girls frowning with jealousy. The twins have their hands on hips, eyes on me, waiting for me to choose. Instead, I stand up. Taking a long swallow, I finish my Pepsi, burp and toss the empty can into the fire. Ritchie is silent. I think even he knows when to shut up. And I think the twins suddenly know it too.
“Good one,” I snap at the both of them, walking away.
“Tony?” Kristie calls.
I ignore her. The hell with her. And her sister. I keep going.
“Tony!”
I don’t want to, but I stop. Then I turn. Neither of them say anything, so I still can’t tell which is which. Real funny.
“Don’t be mad,” Kristie says. Apparently, she’s the one on the left.
I want to say something, but I’m afraid of how it’ll come off, pain in my chest and my eyes, which are stinging with tears I swore would never fall.
“It was a stupid trick,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“You think I love you just because of how you look?” I ask.
“Please don’t be angry.”
“Believe me, you’ve already crossed that line, princess.”
Now she’s crying, and I hate it when girls cry. The eyes of the group are all trained on me. Everyone’s looking. No one’s talking.
“Don’t do this,” I mutter. “Don’t guilt-trip me into apologizing.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Tony…” Joanne says in that awkward accent of hers.
“Yo, Triple A,” Ritchie says. “Don’t be a dick. It was a joke. Lighten up.”
As if I needed Ritchie’s input. But I finally step forward anyway and wrap my arms around Kristie. She clings to me.
“You two good?” Ritchie asks.
I have no idea if we’re good or not. It feels weird. Me and her. We’re standing in a circle with everyone staring. She’s my gi
rlfriend, but she hurt me. And I didn’t do anything to deserve it.
Ritchie watches quietly from a few feet away. He and I haven’t exactly made up, but apparently this is his way of moving on.
“We’re good,” I say, and the tension around the circle seems to ease. Kristie smiles, sniffs and wipes her eyes. Then she leans on her toes and kisses my cheek. “You owe me about a hundred thousand of those,” I say gruffly.
“That many?”
“Give or take.”
She smiles. “I’ll be in your debt for the rest of my life.”
“And then some.”
“So you’re going to make me your slave?”
“My apology wench.”
She laughs out loud, then covers her mouth, and for a moment we just stand there, holding one another, all alone while surrounded by people. It’s relatively serene, only soft voices, quiet laughter and the sounds of nature around us—a bird singing in the tree, the Old Beaver gurgling a few feet away. It’s when I notice how serene it is that I get nervous. After all, Ritchie’s here, and he’s not a serene kind of guy. He’s more of an in-your-face kind of guy, and if he’s not in my face, then he’s looking to get in someone else’s.
I look around only to find him staring across the circle. Following his gaze, I find Joanne sitting in the lap of someone I’ve never seen before. She’s swinging her legs, and acting all giggly the way girls do when they’re trying to be cute. Girls only try to be cute when they want the guy they’re with to think they’re cute, which means…
“Who’s that?” I ask Kristie.
“She met him on Saturday. At the party. Travis.”
I wait for more, and when it doesn’t come, I get impatient. “So, who’s Travis?”
She shrugs. “I dunno. He showed right before the party wound down after you and Ritchie had already taken off. I guess they stayed up the whole night talking.”
“Why you didn’t tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
I just shake my head.
“Is this about Ritchie?” She asks. “You worried he’ll do something?”
“Well, he certainly doesn’t look all that thrilled.”
To be more accurate, he looks to be in shock. I can see it in his eyes. He’s just staring, that half empty beer squeezed between white-knuckled fingers. Eventually, he’ll crack. Then he’ll react. Even now I can see the color draining from his face, his mouth hanging slightly open. A gun could go off, and I doubt he’d notice. He’s fixated, and I expect Joanne knows it. I expect she’s doing this on purpose, though her performance is worthy of an Oscar judging by how well she’s ignoring him.
Payton Hidden Away Page 18