“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I told her. “What were you expecting?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said defensively. “You and your brother have the same eyes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she said. “But your brother’s eyes are even bluer. He’s a really good-looking guy, Leo. If you were just looking at him, you’d think he was normal.”
“Wait a minute, “I began to question her. “Who’s to say what’s normal?”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Leo. Seriously, he looks like he could be the quarterback of our football team.”
I thought about Caleb calling and running plays from scrimmage. “I would pay anything to see that,” I said, and laughed.
“By the way, what was up with that question about poking your eyes out?”
“God knows,” I lied. “Sometimes he says things that make absolutely no sense,” I explained, and quickly shifted the topic. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“I have an older brother at Northwestern,” she told me. “He’s the star child. I’m the average one.”
“You’re not average, Mary. I may not know much, but I know that.” That made her smile.
“I want to go to Riz-Dee,” she told me. She glanced over at me and clearly recognized that I had no idea what she was talking about. “The Rhode Island School of Design,” she explained. “I want to be an artist, maybe work on costumes and sets for movies someday.”
I nodded. “That sounds cool.”
“My parents don’t seem to think so. They’d prefer I do something more conventional.”
That Friday night the Esquire was packed. We circled the lot several times and were about to bail when the parking gods made a spot miraculously appear right in front of the theater. The ticket line stretched from the lobby, out the door, and partly around the building.
“We might miss the previews,” Mary warned me as we awkwardly power walked beside each other, “but we’re still good.”
“I’m all right with that,” I told her, still hoping Corpse Bride might sell out. “But I do find it helpful to know how a story begins.”
“No worries,” she assured me. “I’ll get you up to speed if we miss anything.”
While the ticket line inched along, I watched Mary study the movie posters displayed behind the framed glass, analyzing each one with a careful eye. Her hair lay easy on her shoulders, a little messed and out of place. I wondered how in God’s name I’d scored a date with this girl. When she turned her eyes toward me, I didn’t want her to catch me ogling, so I looked away. That was when I spotted Mom standing inside the theater lobby with some dark-haired guy about Dad’s age in a black leather coat. They were in the same line as us, laughing and holding hands. I stared for a moment. Mom had this huge smile on her face and was giggling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her so happy.
This sick, queasy feeling suddenly washed over me and I began to panic. “What do you say we get out of here? There’s no way we’re going to make it in time,” I said, trying my best to sound both calm and convincing.
Mary looked at me with this confused expression. “Really? It’s only going to be a few more minutes. I’m sure the previews haven’t even started yet.”
When Mom leaned in closer to the guy and whispered something into his ear, my stomach felt like it was about to heave. “I have to get out of here right now,” I said abruptly.
Mary looked at me in an unsure way as I shifted back and forth, ducking and lowering my head behind her like I was suffering from paranoia. Realizing I was clearly rattled about something, she gave in. “All right,” she said, turning toward the parking lot, “I guess we can see it some other time.”
We sat for a few minutes inside her car in awkward silence. She studied me a moment while I tried desperately to pull myself together. “Are you feeling all right?” she finally asked. “Do you want me to take you home?”
I thought of Caleb biting his fist, and Dad in front of the tube with his bottle of red wine.
“No,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to go home just yet.”
I looked back over my shoulder, into the lobby again. My mother and the man had disappeared, and I wondered for a moment if I really had seen her. Then I wondered how long Mom had been sneaking around like this. “I’m sorry, Mary. I just needed to get out of there,” I told her, hoping she’d let it go.
She looked over her shoulder in the same direction, seeking an explanation. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere you want.”
She started the car and drove a couple of miles down Clayton, then took a right onto a road that disappeared into forest, her headlights capturing only the short span of pavement in front of us. I was usually ready to hurl on roads like this, but Mary was driving slowly, and I could focus on tracing the yellow lines in front of us that divided the road, just like Mom taught me when I was little so I wouldn’t get sick.
“Where are we going?”
“You said you didn’t want to go home.” She turned left off the road down an even narrower one that eventually dead-ended at the entrance to a park. A tired-looking chain hung across the entrance with a sign clearly stating CLOSED AT SUNSET.
“Ever been here?” she asked as she parked on the shoulder.
“I have no idea where we are.”
“My father used to bring me here all the time when I was a little kid,” she told me. “It’s been a long time.”
“When did your parents split?”
“Eleven years ago this December, the day after Christmas. My brother and I got an amazing haul of presents. Best day ever. Then Mom and Dad started yelling after Christmas dinner, and”—she snapped her fingers—“Dad moved out the next day.”
“A merry Christmas,” I said, “but not a very happy New Year?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
We stepped over the chain, cut across a small path, and walked into a large, grassy field turned deep purple by the moonlight. “There’s a playground just over there,” she said, pointing. We walked a few more strides, and there it was, a maze of dark metal emerging from a bed of sand. There was a swing set, a single seesaw, and a sad set of monkey bars that looked like it belonged in a prison yard. In terms of playgrounds, it was pretty lame.
Mary sat on a swing. I took the one beside her. We pushed off together and swung gently in synch.
“I guess I owe you an explanation,” I offered.
“Maybe,” she said.
We swung for a moment. “When we were standing in line, I’m pretty sure I saw my mother with another man.”
“Really?” She started giggling. “That’s awesome.”
“I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘awesome’ to describe it.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing.”
“I just know it’s going to be hard to look her in the eye next time I see her.”
“So your father has no idea?” she asked.
“She told him she was heading down to the country to help my grandmother with some health issues.”
We swung together for a few more minutes in silence.
“My father had an affair with his secretary,” Mary finally said. “How original is that?”
“And he told your mom on Christmas day? That blows.”
“Not exactly. Dad gave Mom this necklace with a little card and note. Mom loved the necklace, but she didn’t care for the note that came with it.”
“Because?”
“The note was addressed to the other woman.”
“Awkward.”
“Turns out Dad bought gifts in pairs, but this time he got a little sloppy. My mother told me she figured it had been going on for a long time. It’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, let me ask you a question, Leo,” she said. “Is your home a happy place?”
I didn’t answer, just continued s
winging in silence. I started to think about a conversation I’d had with Mom as we headed home from my grandparents’ two summers ago. She and Dad weren’t getting along at the time, so Mom had driven us down to her parents’ for a few weeks so they could take a break from each other. When I asked Mom if she and Dad were going to get a divorce, she told me not to worry about a thing, that as long as she and my father had Caleb and me, they would stay together. I thought about Caleb, and I thought about Mom and Dad, and I wondered if only one of them could take care of him.
“Let’s change the subject,” I suggested.
Mary hopped off the swing. “No problem,” she said, facing me. “Let me show you the best part of this place.”
She took me to a steep concrete slide built into a hill that bordered the playground. We grabbed a couple of pieces of old cardboard we found on the ground, dashed up the steps, sat down, and pushed off. We flew.
When we walked back to Mary’s car, our shoulders touched and she reached for my hand. It got a little awkward when we reached the car. Neither one of us wanted to separate toward opposite doors. So I made the first move, which was actually not moving. She turned to me and we looked at each other for a moment, and when she tilted her chin up at me I knew what I needed to do. I slowly leaned toward her and closed my eyes, then felt our lips touch. I felt her hands gently moving up to my biceps. In terms of a first kiss, I didn’t see fireworks or feel my skin tingle or anything. I just couldn’t believe how sweet her skin smelled and how soft her lips felt. I’d take it any day over watching Corpse Bride.
We drove home, listening to some more Pink Floyd, my new favorite band, holding hands and not saying a word. I figured she’d want to have a conversation, but Mary was silent. My mind was racing with all kinds of images and memories, some good, some bad. Maybe her mind was racing as well. I always thought the expression “Silence is golden” meant keeping your mouth shut when you didn’t have anything good to say. Now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I had finally stumbled upon somebody who was on my wavelength.
When Mary pulled up in front of my house, I could see Caleb in the kitchen window, sweeping the floor for probably the tenth time that night. He then started shaking the broom with one hand and biting his other. I knew it was going to be a rough night, and I made a mental note to put my running shoes by the back door.
“Maybe next time we can actually go to a movie?” she asked.
“Yeah, that would be nice.” I laughed, but then the image of my mother with that guy popped back in my head and triggered another wave of nausea. We kissed once more. I knew I probably should have kissed her longer, but family problems kind of wrecked the mood.
19.
MOM WAS MAKING PANCAKES for Caleb and my father when I wandered into the kitchen late the next morning.
“So how’s your mother?” Dad asked her, his nose buried in the paper.
Mom busied herself at the stove. “About as well as you’d expect for a woman her age,” she mumbled. “I think we got her med situation sorted.” She turned from the stove and greeted me. “Congratulations, honey. Your father was just telling me all about your race.”
“If he was telling you about the race, I’m not sure why you’re congratulating me,” I said.
Mom looked over at Dad. “My mother said to give you all her best.”
Dad didn’t look up from his paper. “Somehow I find that hard to believe,” he mumbled.
“On more than one level,” I added.
“Pardon?” Mom asked, glancing at me with an unsure expression.
Thankfully, Curtis came to the rescue. He’d texted me the night before and told me we were going running. His car pulled into the driveway promptly at ten thirty. I grabbed my stuff and was in his car within a minute.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Curtis turned right onto the highway entrance ramp, heading south toward the Mississippi River. “You will soon see, my friend.”
As we cruised down the highway toward the mystery location, he ordered me to put some decent music in the CD player, then drilled me about my whereabouts the previous night.
“So, what’s up with you and Mary?” he asked after I told him I went out with her.
“Nothing,” I told him.
“She’s obviously into you.” Curtis turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, what girl shows up at a cross-country race? Our sport only attracts the most devoted fans, except for guilt-ridden parents.”
“That’s just it. What in the hell does a girl like her see in me?”
He nodded. “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself.”
“Seriously?”
“Christ, lighten up, Coughlin. You’re not perfect, but you do have a few redeeming qualities.”
“Like what?” I asked.
He thought for a moment. “Well, for one thing, you’re…” He pounded the steering wheel and burst out laughing. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation!” He looked wistfully out the window. “I wish some girl would show up sometime and watch me run.”
“Yeah, look how much it helped me.”
“Leo, my friend, the female species has no interest in our talents as runners. Trust me,” he said definitively. “Shall we end this conversation?”
“Please,” I begged. Still, it left me wondering what Mary saw in me.
Curtis took the last exit before the river and followed the signs for Macklin Park. “Why Macklin Park?”
Curtis parked the car, turned off the ignition, and opened his door. “Because Macklin Park is the location of our district meet in four weeks. And this is where both of us are going to qualify for the state championship,” he suddenly informed me.
“We?” I asked. “Curtis, our team doesn’t stand a chance in hell of qualifying for the state meet. We’ll be lucky if we don’t come in last at conference.”
“Point taken,” he said, “regarding the team. But allow me to educate you on one of the more beautiful aspects of this fine sport. Even if you run on a team as pathetic as ours,” he explained, “you can still qualify for the state meet as an individual.”
“How?”
“Let’s begin our merry jaunt and I’ll enlighten you.”
Curtis took me to the starting line of the course and we began to jog. “At the district meet, as long as you place in the top ten, you automatically qualify for the state meet no matter how crappy your team performs.”
“Top ten? Do I need to remind you where I placed yesterday?”
He responded instantly. “You’ve already proved you have the talent, Leo. Your last race was a minor blowup. We’ve got four weeks and five races to prepare,” he explained. “I’ve got it all figured out. We’ll both place in the top ten,” he told me. “And you know what?”
“Do tell.”
“This course is designed for you. You’re going to win the district meet. If the two of us can execute the race plan I’ve masterfully crafted based upon our collective talents and my shrewd tactics, we’ll both advance to state.”
We jogged the course, and Curtis explained his strategy. The way Curtis figured it, if we went out hard enough, and he could lure the competition to go with him, he’d eventually wear them down. He had enough confidence in his own strength that he’d be able to hang on to easily place in the top ten.
“How does that help me?”
“Well, if you don’t pull a bonehead move like you did yesterday,” he said, “and you’re patient, you should be able to pick off, one by one, the guys I’ve wasted,” he told me. “This is a flat course, Leo. And you have speed.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Believe me,” he said casually, “I know every guy who will be in this race, and if you let me take it out hard and let me beat the crap out of their legs over the first two-and-a-half miles, you can take them down. And I’ll easily have enough in the tank to finish in the top ten.”
“I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?” I asked.
&nb
sp; “I’m going to need you to return the favor,” he said mysteriously.
As we continued running I processed his plan. “So how much of this hinges on me winning the race?” I asked.
He was quiet for a moment. “I guess it really doesn’t,” he finally admitted. “But it would be cool if you did.”
Curtis pointed out the significant landmarks and subtleties of the Macklin Park course while we ran. I let his idea sink in. When we completed the loop, he asked me, “Are you in?”
I nodded. “We came all this way down here, Curtis. We might as well run the loop again.”
“All right,” he said. “This is my last chance at state, Leo. I’ve thought this all out. I need you there at state to help me.”
“So we get to state,” I said. “Then what?”
“It’s a beast of a course. Monster hills,” he said, smiling. “If we get there, I’ll kick your ass. Yours and everyone else’s.”
We ran the loop again, mostly in silence, a mock rehearsal of the challenge ahead. I wasn’t exactly sure why Curtis was investing his energy in me, or why he believed I could pull this race off. But I liked the idea of winning a race, and I liked the idea of returning a favor.
We stopped at Imo’s on the way back and devoured a couple of sausage-and-onion pizzas and watched a few innings of baseball. The Cardinals tapped the Reds for three runs in the first inning. It was the second-to-last game of the regular season, but the Cards had already clinched a playoff spot, so we lost interest after a few innings.
I smelled pretty ripe by the time Curtis dropped me off, and I was going to make a beeline from the car to the shower, but Mom was standing in the doorway, creating a roadblock.
“Can we talk?” she asked in her tone that meant it wasn’t so much a question as it was a command. She stepped outside on the porch and sat down.
“I’m kind of tired from my run, Mom,” I answered, trying to avoid the confrontation. “And if you haven’t noticed, I need a shower. I stink.”
“Sit down,” she said, patting the space beside her.
I obeyed. The sun was just above the trees, and a slight wind rattled the leaves and chilled me.
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