Don't Plan to Stay

by Kaje Harper

  I had some damn fond memories of that room, both the couch and the old concrete floor. I’d sometimes slept in there when my mom was boozed up and I didn’t want to go home. It was a cold little space, meant as an employee break room, musty, sparsely furnished, not a place people usually want to linger. But there was a bathroom next to it, and a little window onto the open space of the tree nursery, and the couch was long.

  I didn’t want to admit how good it sounded. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “No commitment. You call the shots. Just give me a little time to spend with you.”

  “All right.”

  He leaned closer and I felt the brush of his stubble alongside my cheek. Maybe a touch of lips, but soft enough I didn’t have to notice. So I pretended I didn’t. But I couldn’t help leaning back against him, even though I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t touch him. In that crazy-bright, sparkly shop with the carols playing non-stop and voices all around us, for a second it was just him and me. His solid strength at my back, his face against mine, his arm around my ribs where it hadn’t been safe to have anyone for so long. I leaned, and breathed, but I didn’t close my eyes.

  “I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he repeated softly. “Whatever happens next, having this, right now, is the best Christmas present I could ever want.”

  I took a breath and manned up for once in my sorry life. “Mine, too.” I didn’t know what might push me to go, or when. My head was in a crazy place and I had no doubt something would drive me away, but for an hour, a day with Adam, I’d try. “I guess I could hang around. For a bit.”

  “That’s a promise?” For a moment he sounded much younger, like we were back in fourth grade.

  “Promise,” I said, same as I did that day when I hauled little-kid him up out of the dirt and sent Bobby Tyler running. From then on, Adam saw a hero where everyone else saw trouble. “I’ll try my best to stay.” Then I shrugged his arm off me, because I couldn’t handle any more. He’d gotten all I had to give right then. “Can I use the john?”

  “Of course. You know where it is.”

  I did. I knew every inch of this place. I bent, snagged the strap of my pack, and wove my way between the display trees without looking back. He didn’t follow me. I glanced around when I reached the door to the staff area, and he was already out of sight somewhere. Working. The guy’s busy. Not like I want him hovering anyway.

  I let myself in down the hall to the john. Once the bathroom door was locked behind me, I sat on the lid of the toilet and put my head in my hands.

  Beyond the hallway, the muted sound of voices and Christmas carols mingled in a garbled hum, distant enough to ignore. It was just me and silence in this cold little room, with the damaged tiles and rust-stained sink, behind a door that locked from the inside. For the last six months, this had been my idea of heaven. I let the quiet seep into me as the knots in my shoulders unkinked.

  Down at my feet, I saw a web of cracks in the tile sealed with white caulk. It was a crap job, sloppy. I’d done that, eight years ago. Me and Adam, made to work off some prank I no longer remembered by fixing up the bathroom. Him and me and soap, paint, and caulk through five long days.

  I traced the uneven lines of caulk with the duct-taped toe of my sneaker. I remembered Adam bending over to scrub gunk off the baseboards, and how the sight of him, the line of his back and ass, made it so hard to breathe. How I’d known, in that moment, what I wanted. And how sick I’d felt, not knowing if he might possibly want me too.

  God, we were babies then. Him with his sunny view of the whole world. Me thinking I could be smart enough and tough enough to bend it to my will.

  I kissed him that last day we worked in here.

  I didn’t raise my head to look at the spot on the wall where he’d been leaning and laughing. Where I finally snapped and put a hand on his chest, stepped in close, and smooshed his lips with mine. I’d have freaked and run away but he shoved his hand into my hair and held me. Gentled the kiss. Said, “I was beginning to think you’d never do that.”

  I was sixteen, he was fourteen and a half. We were so damned young, even with all I’d already been through. In the same grade, thanks to Mom’s screw-ups, and inseparable, with a future in front of us.

  Now I was twenty-four, and this was a place to hide. Those memories needed to be locked away. Hidden, suppressed, until I could think straight again. I was so tired.

  I imagined taking those summer days and stuffing them into a big box. I had a lot of boxes in my head. This one could stay closed with just a ribbon around it, something silk and soft. Some boxes in there were nailed shut, strapped with barbed wire and padlocks. This one I might get to open again someday.

  I closed my eyes, rubbing them with the heels of my hands, and made my mind a blank, smooth, clear, empty place.

  My phone rang in my jacket pocket. Fuck! I answered, though, because it was Leon’s ring and I owed him that. “Hey, Lee, whassup?”

  “Where are you? In California yet?”

  “Um. No.”

  “Buses are fucking slow.”

  “I didn’t head for LA. I’m in Tallbridge.”

  “Like, where you grew up? The shithole you said you’d never go back to?”

  I’d said that, more than once. More than twice. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Bullshit. Why’re you there?”

  Because Adam is? I couldn’t say so. I’d let Leon think I was as straight as him. “No fucking clue. Probably won’t stay.”

  “No shit. Better get out before that sheriff knows you’re back, huh?”

  I’d obviously bitched about Sheriff Conyers, too. I’m not careful enough when I’m drunk. “Right. It’s just temporary.”

  “Someone owe you money?”

  “Something like that.” Not much like that, but it was as good an explanation as any. “So why’d you call me?”

  “No reason. Bored.”

  He was probably lonely. Leon was a good kid. Well, not kid. He’d turned twenty-one right before we got out. But he’d probably been a Boy Scout as a kid, and even all the shit he’d gone through inside hadn’t knocked the green off him. He seemed younger. “Why not go out, try to pick up some nice girl for a change?”

  “Nice girls don’t date cons. Anyway, I never know what to say to girls.”

  “Tell ’em you’re innocent. You were framed.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Thing was, I believed him when he said it. I shouldn’t have made a joke. His public defender had been worse than incompetent. “Sorry, dude. Listen, you’re a good-looking guy, you’ve got a job and an apartment. You know some girls wanna tap that, if you get yourself out there. You’ve done it before.”

  “Maybe it’s no fun without watching you get shot down.”

  How many nights had I spent in a bar with Leon, pretending I was there to hook up too, while making myself obnoxious enough that women would say no? Too many, for damned sure. No matter what I owed the kid. “You’ll manage. Look, I’m low on minutes for this phone. Anything you really needed?”

  “Guess not.” He sounded grumpy.

  “Well, watch your back, man. Later.” I hung up on him and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. I closed my eyes and made a Leon-shaped box in my head for all his bullshit and all his good points. I couldn’t think about Leon tonight. I could barely take care of myself.

  I stood, my knees stiff for a twenty-four year old, and no, not thinking about why either. The mirror over the sink was speckled in the corners, but the center reflected my silhouette. My hair was a mess, and I turned on the water for a palm-full to damp it down. I hadn’t cut it in six months. I tried to flatten my cowlick at the back, remembering how I used to muss Adam’s dark hair just like that, to annoy him. He’d buzzed his off now, and from the back you’d think we’d swapped places.

  Six fucking years.

  What am I doing here?

  I was too tired for philosophy. I wiped my damp hands over my face, dried on the roller towel, and took
a piss because you should never pass up a clean, private bathroom. Scrubbed my hands again hard, and didn’t meet my own eyes in the mirror.

  Eventually, I gathered the energy to unlock the door and go out. The break room was the next door down the hall. I pushed it open, half expecting Adam to be waiting for me. He wasn’t. Anticlimax. But he’d been there. The battered old couch had two new pillows on it, red and white Christmas themed. They stood out bright against the faded maroon. Two fuzzy blankets were draped over the back. A mug stood on the beat-up end table, contents steaming lightly in the chill, dank air. The heater in here had never worked for shit. Clearly some things didn’t change.

  An unidentifiable flat box sat beside the mug, and curiosity pulled me over there. It was chocolate holiday cookies. A Post-It note on top said, “Best I can do for food. More later.” Unsigned. No signature needed. I’d recognize Adam’s scrawl anywhere. For such a smart guy, he wrote like a third grader.

  I should’ve been hungry, but those pillows were calling my name. I checked the door. Still no lock on it. I tilted the straight chair from the desk up under the handle, and kicked it to set it tight. Wasn’t sure if it would hold, but hearing it knocked over would at least be a warning. I took the six steps I needed to fall onto the couch.

  I should take off my shoes. I just let my feet hang off the edge instead, and dragged the blankets down. It was too much effort to shake them open, but the folds were enough to cover my neck and back. The embroidered pillow scratched my cheek and smelled new, with a hint of the cinnamon and vanilla from the store. Familiar smell. Mrs. Lindberg’s scented oil that she put into diffusers starting the day after Thanksgiving every year.

  I was glad they still did that.

  It still smelled like home, even if I didn’t belong here anymore.

  I closed my eyes and let that scent take me down into the dark.

  Chapter 2

  Adam

  Donnie’s here. I scanned in a sale with a total lack of focus, charging for a potholder twice, then having to delete. I didn’t manage give the nice lady my usual line of patter about how great her choices were. Donnie’s back! When I hit the cash key and took the twenty she was holding out, I stared blankly into the opening drawer. What am I doing?

  “My change?” the customer prompted.

  “Oh, of course.” I counted it carefully. “Have a lovely holiday. I hope you enjoy your—” I couldn’t remember what I’d just bagged for her. “—your things.”

  Behind me, Nate said, “Adam? You okay?”

  I turned, scanning his face for any sign he knew about Donnie, but he was wearing his usual customer-service smile, with just a faint question in his eyes. There wasn’t a hint of anything angry, just a bit of worry.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Got distracted for a minute.” His worry didn’t totally fade, so I added, “First Christmas without Mom.”

  Then I felt like crap, because it was true, and I’d actually forgotten for a little while with Donnie here. Miss you, Mom. Nate’s eyes went dark with the same pain that hit me. He put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a small nod. “You’re doing fine. An hour till close.”

  “I’m okay, really. Temporary lapse. Hey, business is good this year, right?” I’d worked in the store off and on since I was a kid, but Nate had kept the books and gone in with Mom and Dad full time. He was running it now.

  “Looks good so far. Two weeks to go yet, though. It could slow down if the weather gets bad.” That was Nate, always looking gift horses in the mouth, counting their teeth and adding up the dentist bill.

  “All the more reason to sell, sell, sell now, right?” I put on a grin and gestured down the aisle. “If you’ve got the till, I’ll go help that guy with the lawn decor.”

  “Sure. Got it.”

  I slipped out from behind the counter and went over to the guy deliberating between the lighted reindeer and the inflatable Santa. This I could do in my sleep. “Hello, sir, got any questions I might answer for you? Those deer are pretty, huh?”

  I spent the next hour working hard, my mind firmly locked on customer service, then another hour with Nate, cleaning up and doing inventory. This time of year, the showroom looked like it’d been vandalized by the end of the day. Why can’t people put stuff back where they found it, instead of lugging it halfway across the store and then leaving it in a heap? Tonight of all nights, my patience was rubbed thin as I straightened and folded and tidied.

  Finally, Nate looked around. “That’ll do. I almost wish I’d hired someone extra to work evenings. I know we’re losing stuff to shoplifters, not to mention the breakage.”

  I dropped a last ornament in the trash. Tonight’s count had been five cracked ornaments, one half-unrolled and mangled spool of ribbon, and a shorted-out light string on a display tree. “Do you want me to replace those lights tonight?”

  “Nah. You can come in early and do it. You’ll have to take half the ornaments off first.”

  “I guess. Pain in the butt.”

  Nate punched my arm lightly. “I appreciate the help, bro.”

  “Hey, family is family. It’s the least I can do.”

  “I wish Dad—” Nate stopped. He didn’t have to go on, because I wished Dad too, but our father was at home, probably “sorting” through things in the attic, trying not to see Mom in every piece of that old house. Or perhaps trying to see her and failing.

  “Maybe if you told him about the broken stuff and how you could really use the help?”

  “You think I didn’t try? He said, ‘Not today. Maybe tomorrow.’”

  I nodded. It’d been just nine months, and we were all still grieving, but Dad seemed to be getting worse lately.

  Nate sighed. “I think the holidays are too hard for him, y’know? I think once we get into January he’ll do better.”

  “I hope.” I couldn’t help a glance toward the staff door. Is Donnie still back there waiting? Did he split? He’d promised to try. I’d always been able to count on Donnie’s promises, but in those few moments when he’d met my eyes, he’d looked sad and scared like I’d never seen Donatello Kagan look. A guy with those eyes might do anything. “I need the john,” I said. “I’ll do a last look round after, and lock up and set the alarm.”

  “You sure?”

  “Heck, yeah. Get out of here to your family. Get some sleep.”

  “You’re a good guy, Adam.” Nate squeezed my arm and headed out the front door, locking it behind him. My twinge of guilt couldn’t survive the rise of excitement, like bubbles in my bloodstream, as I stood there waiting to hear his truck pull out of the lot.

  I waited a couple minutes more, in case he’d forgotten something. The night was quiet, with just the swish of cars and rumble of trucks on the county road down the drive. The showroom was dim, all the decorative lights turned out and the nighttime security lights casting a glow from the ceiling. The scent of cinnamon was fading, with the diffusers unplugged, and I shivered as the chill crept in. Nate was stingy about the nighttime heat.

  The familiar scene felt insubstantial, like a faded overlay when the real focus was elsewhere, waiting in vibrant colors. Donnie, with his thick, dark hair and strong hands and blue, blue eyes, with his wild fearlessness and infectious laugh and muscled chest and fondness for cheap colognes and fast cars— Donnie was waiting in the break room, just out of sight. The words beat with my pulse. Donnie’s back. Donnie’s back.

  I made myself do the rounds, double check the front door and fire door, check the office window and make sure the safe was locked, and the computer and Internet powered off. Make everything secure. Then I headed for the staff door, not running, but walking pretty fast.

  As usual, the back hallway was even chillier than the store. I hoped the two blankets would be enough for Donnie. The bathroom and the break room doors were closed, although the storage room stood open. For some reason I turned in there first, clicked on the light, made sure everything looked good, flicked off the light again, shut and locked that
door.

  Delaying? Scared? I couldn’t deny that a thread of nerves ran alongside my excitement.

  I knocked on the bathroom door next, then turned the handle. It was dark and empty, but when I touched the towel a lingering dampness told me it’d been used. He was here. I suddenly did need the john, and took care of business, rolling down the towel to dry my hands above where Donnie had touched it.

  That’s pathetic.

  I’d been just sixteen the last time I saw Donnie, and totally, crashingly obsessed with him. Maybe I was regressing.

  I went out and paused in front of the break room door to listen. No sound, no snores or rustling or footsteps. Maybe he’s gone! I grabbed the handle, which turned under my hand, but the door didn’t open. I rattled it. Hell of a time for it to decide to stick. It didn’t have a lock, but maybe the frame had warped out of true at last. “Hey, Donnie,” I called. “The door’s jammed. Will it open from your side?”

  For a second there was no answer, then Donnie’s voice came through, deeper and rougher than I remembered. “I’ll try. Hang on.”

  A thump, a couple of indecipherable sounds as my heart raced, and then he cracked the door open. Donnie filled the doorway even more than he used to. For a second, I almost felt afraid of him, but he stepped back and swung the door wider. “Adam. Come on in. Hah. Come into your own room.”

  “Thanks.” I slipped past him, and he shut the door behind me.

  The couch had been used. The blankets were draped over it in a tangle, with both pillows piled against the far arm. “Did you get some sleep?”

  “Yeah. Some. Thanks.”

  “So.” I looked at him. The room was too dim to see the amazing color of his eyes, and his body was muffled in an oversized jacket. He was still taller than me, but only by an inch or so now. I’d grown and he hadn’t, at least not upward. I suddenly wished I’d worked out, gotten bigger and stronger than him, so I could offer— what? Sanctuary was the word that came to mind. But the Donnie I’d known would never take that anyway. It was a miracle he’d taken blankets and cookies. Well, blankets, since the box of cookies was unopened. “Are you hungry? I could order a pizza?”