You betcha.
Last night feels like a dream in the sense that pieces are missing. The last thing I remember is dancing in the street with Blue. I’m sure the walk home was full of adventures that I wish I could remember.
I could definitely get used to Blue sticking around. Our elders have always lectured us youngins’ about the dangers of drinking, but they never really talk about all the good things. For example, how getting drunk is the quickest way to open doors to the mind and soul of a stranger. Before last night, Blue was just a guy I had met at the carnival. Last night, he became a fully realized person. More than a gorgeous face on an incredible body, there’s depth behind those dangerously blue eyes—dreams, fears, and hints of heartbreak.
Somehow, I finagle my way out of bed and onto my feet. My arms rise over my head as I force out an obnoxious yawn that threatens to knock my light-headed ass to the floor. Good thing I’ve decided against visiting my lawyer father, because I’d probably get a DUI on my short, five-minute drive.
I hold onto the stair railing for dear life as I descend the steps into the living room. It’s unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon. So quiet that I wonder if my mom ever made it home.
I find her in the surprisingly pristine kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand and a bright smile on her glowing face.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Her hand swings to the side, almost spilling her Folgers. “Nothing, why?”
I’m not buying it, but I’m too hung over to dig into her issues. “I’m not going to Dad’s today.”
“I already told him. I saw you lying in bed about an hour ago, looking like death, and I knew you wouldn’t be in the mood to put up with his bullshit,” she says with glee. “Mom of the Year right here.”
“Wait a minute, you talked to him? Note the emphasis on you.”
She shrugs. “You know, we can be civil.”
“Seriously, what the hell is up with you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steam rolls off her chin as she takes a drawn out sip of coffee.
“You’re happy, perky, and you’ve cleaned the entire house. You’re not on the couch watching some crappy love story, sobbing your eyes out. And you’re not reprimanding me for not going to college tomorrow.” I lean against the counter for support. “You’re acting like an adult and it’s freaking me out.”
She brushes me off and walks past me, toward the living room. “Why does anything have to be going on?”
“Because people don’t just wake up being happy after spending months on the couch moping.” I give her chase. “I’m really hung over, so please… don’t make me follow you around this entire house.”
She spins around, cradling her cup with both hands. “I just woke up today in a better mood.”
“Whatever,” I groan and fall backward into the cushiest loveseat in the world. Time for a nap. I rest my eyes and fold my hands against my chest.
“You really want to know?”
Now you start talking…
I throw myself up in the chair and push myself back against it. She sits her cup on the table—on a coaster, even. Who is this woman? “I had a business meeting last night.”
“Sounds like a blast. Am I missing something here?”
“Well.” She sits on the edge of the couch. “Business turned to pleasure,” she says with a shrug.
My eyes widen. “Please spare me the details.”
She frowns. “Nothing like that, but I did manage to get a job—”
“Congrats,” I say, deadpan, fully aware my enthusiasm is lacking. It’s there, even if I’m unable to show it.
“And a date.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d be proud of her for moving on, but—“You can’t date your boss before you’ve even started working. You’re going to be one bad date away from a spoiled résumé.”
“Charlie, it’s not like that. I’m not going to be dating my boss,” she says and rubs her palm nervously across the arm of the couch. “I’m going on a date with his son.”
My mouth sinks further and I spring to action, almost vomiting on the freshly steamed carpet. “I’d almost prefer if you’d go back to dating Ryan Gosling, to be quite honest.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t you even want to know what my job is?”
“Other than being a cougar?”
“Charlie,” she laughs. “I’m going to be working in insurance–”
You know nothing about insurance. You’re a high school teacher.
“–training new employees. There’s a lot of travel—”
I really should have gone to college.
“–and his son is very handsome.”
“All right, I’ve heard enough. I’m going back to bed, and I’m hoping I’ll wake up somewhere other than Bizzaro World.” I stroll past her and grab onto the stair railing.
“Don’t stray too far from Bizzaro World, or you might wake up to find your carnie boyfriend doesn’t exist.”
I turn around ominously slow. She’s wearing the wickedest smile this side of Halloween. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.” Then I turn and walk up the stairs, knowing full well that someone has spilled the gossip-flavored jelly beans.
“I’m thinking of painting the house blue,” I hear her say as I ascend the steps. I happen to catch, for the first time since I awoke, Blue’s scribbling’s on my arm.
Good grief. Do I need a drink.
Chapter Ten
September is the first bipolar month in a typical year. Temperatures can rise and fall like a roller coaster hitting the highs of heaven and the lows of hell. Today is one of those days in heaven. There’s a light breeze blowing against Blue’s Jeep as we travel down a dirt road. Dust billows behind us forming clouds. Straight out of a Toy Story movie, the sky is painted in shades of blue beauty.
I don’t have a clue where we’re going. He says it’s a surprise and I’m excited. I’ve had too many curve balls in my life, so I normally hate surprises, but everything is different with Blue.
I’ve been down this road many times before. Just up ahead, to the right, is Pine Ridge Road. Dylan’s road. I’ve spent so much time on that road. In that house. In those woods. From when we were still too young to understand love to a few months ago when we still believed it was enough.
Those days are in the past, and now so is that road. Both are close enough to turn around. I stare into the passenger side mirror, watching Pine Ridge fade into the distance.
“You’re being quiet,” Blue says to me.
I look over with a smile. “I’m being contemplative.”
“Do you ever not think?”
“I don’t think it’s possible to turn your brain off.”
“You’re telling me that you’ve never shut it all down?” he asks, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift. “No dreaming, no thinking. Just nothing.”
I shake my head. That doesn’t make sense to me.
“You should try it sometime. It’s peaceful.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?”
“No,” he says. “I’m driving.” He turns his head and looks at me. I want to tell him to focus on the road, but it’s impossible for me to tell him to turn away.
Then I get an idea. “Pull over.”
The grass is warm against our backs, scratching against cotton and denim. About twenty feet away, the Jeep sits against a guardrail.
“What are we doing?” Blue asks.
“Hypothesizing,” I reply. “Trying to turn it all off.”
“Oh,” he grumbles. “I thought we were gonna do it in the grass.”
I’m not disgusted, but I look it. “Where any Billy Bob or Sally can see? No, I don’t think so.”
“Does anybody even drive down this road?” He rises up slightly, resting his body on his elbows as he takes a survey of our surroundings. “I don’t think anybody’s gonna see us.”
“You’re right, because we’r
e not doing anything.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles again.
I ignore him and close my eyes. The leaves on the trees rustle in the wind. An annoying yacking bird circles the sky. The sun must be coming out from behind the clouds as I begin to see a thick, blinding shade of red. It’s hard to focus on not focusing when I can feel the heat burning against my eyes.
I’m not tired, but I force out a yawn. If I fall asleep, does that count? I think back to our conversation on the porch. According to Blue, and maybe basic science, the answer would be no.
When I first told him to pull over, I thought it would be a cute and quirky side adventure. Maybe even romantic. I was devastatingly wrong. It’s just awkward and pointless. I’ve mucked up our first date.
“Not to ruin the moment—” Blue’s voice punctures through the silence.
“Too late.”
“—but this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had sex in the grass.”
“How could I forget? I was living in the moment.”
“Yes, you were,” he says, his voice slowly trailing off.
“Well, my concentration is effectively shattered, thanks to you.” I’ll just pretend this whole failure is his fault. “Let’s go.”
As I stand up, I see a speeding car in the distance. As it draws closer, I can faintly hear the gears shifting.
“What’s that?” Blue asks.
“That’s the sound of nobody driving down the road.”
He stands up beside me and smirks. “Good thing you didn’t drop your pants then, huh?”
I pay no attention to him as the car speeds past us. It’s Dylan’s car. Of course it is. I’d recognize that Lancer anywhere. He’s been working on it for a while and says he’s going to start drag racing. I’ve always believed he was full of the usual shit, but that thing is flying, leaving bombs of dust behind him. He’s heading south, so he must be racing home.
“Earth to Charlie.” Blue waves his hand in my face.
I snap out of a daze that I didn’t even know I was in. Dylan and his car are long gone, out of sight and out of hearing range. “Sorry. I must have dazed out.” I turn to him. “No thinking, no dreaming. Just nothing.” I finish with a smile.
“Well, it’s a good thing we stopped for a few minutes. Wouldn’t wanna be on the road with that douchebag.”
“Why is he a douchebag?” I ask with a light chuckle.
“Because who drives like that on a dirt road?” He shrugs. “Also, douchiest car ever.”
If he only knew.
If it were one week later, I’d think we were heading to the Founders Carnival. An annual event much like a county fair, but with a purpose and more booze. Our fairs and festivals are dry, as in no alcohol permitted. Ten miles over, across county lines, and their carnivals, festivals, and fairs are medieval exercises in alcohol consumption.
So, yeah, welcome to Ale County. I grow more excited but mostly more anxious. Where is he taking me? What if everything leading up to this point in time has been an act, and he’s actually a madman driving me to my final resting place? For it being such a small town, people have a way of turning up dead.
Blue flashes his blinkers and then turns right. My anxiety grows to confusion. There aren’t too many roads in this five-stoplight town, and Poplar Street dead-ends at the fairgrounds.
Inside the gates, trucks are scattered about. Concession stands line both sides of a paved path that runs horizontally across the entirety of the grounds. Long trailers attached to transport trucks, with unassembled rides on the back of each, are spread out across the grounds. If this is Blue’s idea of a date, then you can go ahead and find me on christianmingle dot com.
“You know the carnival doesn’t start for another week, right?” I turn to him.
He nods. “I know.”
Of course he knows. This was probably one of the last stops on the circuit. I’ve been to this place many times. The same for the fairgrounds back home, but can’t recall seeing Blue before. I’m sure he’s been in the background all these years and I just never noticed.
“I just need to stop here for a few minutes and pick something up.”
“What’s that?”
We come to a stop and he pulls the brake. “Don’t worry about it.” He turns to me. “It’s a surprise.”
“Two surprises in a day? I think I’m going to explode.”
He shakes his head, grinning. “You’re so weird.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s a good thing.” He brushes his hand across my cheek. “Do you wanna wait in the car?”
I peer out the window. Beside us is a parked camper that’s rocking violently. Could be a washing machine for all I know. Most likely, though, it’s the conceiving of next generations Blue. “No. I’ll go with you.”
“All right,” he says and pulls the key from the ignition.
We walk past four men assembling the teacups, and I have an instant flashback to the county fair. The night I met Blue. Two stocky, sweaty men are in the process of bolting down our blue cup. I watch in equal parts wonder and horror, questioning if I’ll ever ride a carnival ride again. I guess it never occurred to me how quickly they put them together. How have I survived all these years?
A middle-aged man yells for Blue, asking for his help in assembling the ride, and I think he’s only half joking. It seems Blue is the most popular kid in the carnival world. If they had a prom, he’d be a shoe-in for king. If I had it my way, I’d be his queen. From another school, of course.
Blue informs the man that he’s under strict doctor’s orders to not lift anything over twenty pounds. Arthritis or something. The man chuckles and begins to scoot a cup onto the platform, fully aware that Blue’s full of shit.
As we approach an old rickety camper that sits on the edge of the grounds against a chain-link fence that wraps around the entire perimeter, Blue turns to me. “Can you wait outside?”
I give him a simple nod.
“All right.” He glances behind him at the camper, then back to me contemplatively. “If I’m not out of there in five minutes, call the police.”
I jerk. “Call the police? What the hell for?”
He flashes a grin. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry—”
He cuts me off with his finger against my mouth. “Don’t freak out. I was mostly kidding.”
“Whatever.” My arms fold against my chest. “Don’t be long.”
“I won’t, but if you get too bored, you can talk to Marvin.”
“Who’s Marvin?”
Blue points to a man sitting on a milk crate outside the camper beside us. He has a familiar, unshaven face. He could definitely use a shower. I lean into Blue and whisper in his ear, “Is he a meth head?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers back. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Absolutely not.”
He whistles and Marvin looks to us. “Take care of my girl, all right?”
Marvin nods and stands up with a lit cigarette hanging on the edge of his mouth. I grab Blue’s arm as he approaches the camper. “It’s fine,” he says with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
I let out a frustrated sigh as the older man approaches me. “Want one?” He grabs at the pack of cigarettes in his flannel pocket.
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” He leans against the camper and shakes his cigarette at me. “Do I know you?”
It takes a moment but it hits me quick. He’s the guy who loaded me into the Zipper. “We met once in Lakeview,” I say, nodding my head.
“That’s right. Can’t forget a pretty face like that, I guess.”
“Thanks.”
He draws his hand to his mouth and takes a hit. “How is he?”
“Good,” I say proudly.
He exhales and the breeze pushes a cloud of smoke toward me. I gently wave the smoke away from my face.
“Sorry about that.” He throws his cigarette on the ground. �
��You know something? I didn’t even know the boy was leaving.” He grinds the butt into the ground with his unlaced boot. “That night he met you,” he says, and I perk up, “he came into the camper and said he was leaving the circuit. Said he was gonna be sticking around.” He looks me directly in the eye. “He didn’t even tell his dad he was leaving. Although it shouldn’t have been that surprising, seeing how they barely talk these days.”
“His dad is here?”
Marvin points with his thumb at the camper behind us. The one Blue walked into.
“He’s here, in the camper?”
“Might have to call the police,” he says.
“Blue mentioned that, but I didn’t think he was serious.”
He lets out an amused sigh. “We don’t know things till they happen.”
I take a pained look at the camper and want to ask so many questions, but it would feel like a betrayal to dig into Blue’s past without his permission. The issue has already been raised, though, and I’m a naturally curious person. “Why don’t they talk? Blue and his dad.”
“They’ve got a hell of a relationship. He was twelve, maybe thirteen, when his mother ran away. I guess it was just never the same after that. I think they reminded each other of the woman they had lost. One lost a wife and the other lost a mother.”
“That’s sad.” I don’t know what else to say. It’s not my place to keep this conversation going and I would be content if it would end.
“I think you’re good for him.” He grabs the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulls one into his mouth. As he’s about to light it, he glances at me. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Sure, they bother me, but I’m on his turf.
The end of the stick burns bright. “I think he deserves someone like you.” He slips the Zippo lighter into his pocket. “God knows the kid’s got his fair share of problems, but maybe you can be the one to help him,” he says, pointing a finger squarely at me.
“Problems?” As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I regret it.
He rubs a thumb across his bottom lip and peeks behind him, as if he’s making sure nobody’s there. He turns back and scoots closer to me. “He’s a good kid. He really is, but a few years ago, I noticed a change in him. We were over in Indiana and he disappeared one night. When he came back the next morning, he was still rolling.”
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7) Page 68