Don't Plan to Stay

by Kaje Harper

  He shrugged. “I could eat.”

  “There’s nothing in the fridge except pop. Sorry. It was getting grotty so Nate made me clean everything out last week. But it’s not ten yet, so Giorgio’s will be open.” I was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop. “My treat, because I’ve worked nine hours straight and I’m starved. You still like the meat-lover’s pizza, right?” And a flush hit my face, as I remembered the jokes we’d made about that. “And extra mushrooms and cheese?”

  “Don’t make it fancy for me. Whatever you want.” He still stood by the door.

  “Well, that’s what I like. Hang on.” I pulled out my phone and placed the order, asking them to deliver to the side door. That took long enough for my heart to slow down and my stomach to stop leaping around my insides. When I put my phone away, I could look at Donnie without my thoughts tumbling out of my mouth.

  I sat on the couch and switched on the torchiere behind it. The new light threw shadows under Donnie’s cheekbones, and lit his mussed hair. He’d grown it longer than I’d ever seen it, nothing like the high-and-tight he used to wear. “Come on.” I thumped the seat beside me. “Take a load off.”

  “Been doing that.” But after a moment he came and sat heavily, as far from me as he could get.

  I reminded myself it was early days yet. “So, this place must look familiar, huh? We haven’t really changed much in here.”

  He glanced around and shrugged. “I guess. You look different, though.”

  “Not that different.”

  “Oh yeah. A lot.”

  I ran my hand over my scalp. “It’s just a haircut.” I used to wear mine really long, but when I started working in the business again part time, Nate had asked me to cut it. I’d shaved it, in some kind of perverse impulse, and kept it because it was easy.

  “Not just that. You’re taller. Older. Your voice.”

  “I was sixteen. Now I’m twenty-three. It happens.”

  Donnie caught his lower lip between his teeth, drawing my eyes. I loved his mouth. That upper lip that pushed just ahead of the full lower. I remembered every millimeter. Although his nose had a new bump and a white scar ran through one eyebrow to remind me this was a different guy from all those years ago. That mouth, though…

  “I’m sorry,” he said, deep and raspy.

  “Huh?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to say that for six and a half years. Adam, I am so fucking sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For— Jesus fuck!” He leaped to his feet, staring at me. “What do you mean, for what? For almost killing you! For driving drunk. For crashing the damned car!”

  “We were all drunk. Me the most, you the least, which is how you got stuck driving instead of Nate. Remember?”

  “You think I can fucking forget?”

  “No. But Donnie, you only blew .04. If you’d been over twenty-one instead of eighteen, it totally wouldn’t have counted as drunk driving.”

  He froze. “How’d you know that?”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t want to know all the details?” Once I’d healed enough, Mom had helped me get everything I could from his court records.

  “Fuck!” He walked to the window, pushing aside the venetian blind to look out at the dark night.

  I tried again. “I don’t blame you. We all agreed you should drive. And I’ve seen you drive in way worse shape than that.” He winced, and I rushed on. “I bet you did all you could to avoid an accident. I bet there was extenuating stuff that never made it in the record. I know you, and you were always an awesome driver, even when you’d had more beers than that. You wouldn’t have blown through a red light.”

  He spoke to the window. “Is that what it says I did?”

  “Kind of? It says that—” What was the phrasing? “—that the preponderance of evidence implied you failed to stop for the traffic control signal and were at fault.”

  “Do you believe it?” I could barely hear his words.

  “What part of extenuating stuff did you not hear? No, I don’t believe it.”

  I only realized how he’d drawn his shoulders up around his ears when he straightened. “Ah. Right.”

  “I’ve seen you take Dad’s truck through the Mortons’ side alley like threading a needle with inches to spare.” I’d intended to stop there, but I wasn’t able to keep from asking, “What did happen?”

  “Motherfucking senile geezer in the SUV ran his light. Blind old sonofabitch!”

  I flinched.

  Donnie whirled as if he’d seen me. Maybe he had, in the window. “What? I should only say nice things because the old bastard died?”

  “No.”

  “I hate him. I hate him with the power of a thousand suns. Worse than I hate—” He clenched his jaw.

  “Who?”

  “No one. That old buzzard probably should have had his license pulled a decade ago. He made me almost kill you. He took my life!”

  “Why didn’t you tell them?”

  “You think I didn’t?” He came closer, glaring at me. I stood to meet his eyes, almost on a level now. The gorgeous blue was a thin ring around his wide pupils. “I told the EMTs while I watched them cut you out of the fucking car. I told the cops who showed up. I told my useless lawyer, my Pubic De-friender.”

  “What did he say?”

  Donnie made his voice thin and high. “‘There’s no evidence of it, young man. You were drunk. That’s a fact. You killed an old man. Also a fact. You have to face the facts.’”

  “But if it wasn’t your fault?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You know Sheriff Conyers hated me. He was egging on the judge to throw the book at me.”

  “Surely someone saw it happen?” I wished I had. I didn’t remember much, just lounging in the back seat staring at the back of Donnie’s head and singing, and then screams and pain. Then long stretches in the hospital, afterward. “Another driver maybe?” It’d been late and dark, but surely there’d been other cars on the road.

  “No one came forward. And my public defender had all of one hour to give to my case. No time for hunting down witnesses to keep a drunk punk out of prison, even if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t.”

  I took a painful breath, and decided I wanted to know. “Nate was in the front seat.” Donnie had pled guilty, so there was no court testimony from anyone. Five minutes from plea to sentence. I’d never had the nerve to ask Nate why he didn’t go to bat for him.

  Donnie dropped his gaze, his face icy and still. “He hit his head. He didn’t remember.”

  “Oh.” I remembered my first weeks in the hospital, floating in and out of awareness, with Nate so worried and angry that when I thought about it later, I was afraid he’d refused to help. “That sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  I couldn’t imagine what it’d been like for Donnie back then, locked up, in trouble, knowing he hadn’t done anything really wrong but unable to prove it. Facing prison for one underage beer. No way out. It’d all been over before I was healed up enough to even know about it. “Donnie?”

  “Hm?”

  “Why’d you say sorry, though? Like that? To me, when it really wasn’t your fault?” I’d never held a grudge, even through the long rehab on my arm. Back before I had a license, he’d driven me a couple of times when he was definitely over 0.04. We’d been stupid, but we’d been stupid together.

  “Why? Maybe that beer did make a difference. When I saw he wasn’t stopping—” Donnie reached out and touched my bad arm. I could feel his fingers shaking. “I didn’t think straight. I spun the wheel left. I should’ve steered right. That way, even if we hit, it would’ve been my side, not yours.”

  “How is that better? You might’ve died.” I put my hand over his, pressing it against my shoulder. “I’m here. I’m okay, and you’re okay, and I don’t want a redo that might change that.”

  Donnie closed his eyes. “I’m so tired. Are you really okay? Like, totally healed?”

  “As good as,” I said firml
y. “Some scars, a twinge when it’s cold. That’s it.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  He stood there with his eyes shut, looking older, his hair a mess, still wearing that ratty jacket. I kept my palm pressed over his knuckles, my heart racing like a snare drum. I wanted to kiss him, or hug him. But not with his eyes closed, when he couldn’t see me coming. There was something about him that felt like a castle with the drawbridge up, and I wanted our first kiss to be a welcome, not an assault. “Donnie?”

  He flinched, then looked at me, but before I could say anything more, we heard a thumping at the side door, and a yell. “Hey, anyone here? Pizza!”

  Donnie jumped back and shook his head, as if clearing it. “You should get that.”

  “Okay.”

  By the time I’d paid for the food, locked the door, and brought it back to the break room, Donnie had found plates and cans of pop. He was also sitting on the far side of the little table with his back to the wall, no room for me beside him. I set the box on the table and moved the other chair up across from him. “Get it while it’s hot.”

  At first he ate slowly, taking time to savor each bite. But after a minute, it was like he forgot I was there and just stuffed his face. That was good, though. The lines in his forehead smoothed out and his color got healthier. By the time he was swiping the last melted cheese off the box with his finger, he looked more like my Donnie again. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. That was good stuff. You get enough?”

  “Plenty.”

  “I ate most of it. Still, I deserve it. I’ve got muscle to keep up, not some scrawny thing like you.”

  “Jerk.” I nudged his foot under the table. “I’m almost as big as you now.”

  “I could still wipe the floor with you.”

  “No doubt.” Despite his loose clothes, I could tell he was more bulked up than he’d been back when. and he’d always been a hell of a fighter. “I could probably still make you beg for mercy though.” I licked my upper lip with the tip of my tongue, all campy so he could ignore it, or laugh.

  He didn’t, but he didn’t take me up in it either. Instead he said, “I’m pretty beat.” He closed the box and began crushing it small. “You’re sure it’s okay if I crash on the couch?”

  “Positive. Um, I could stay the night if you like.” I laughed like it didn’t matter. “I’d keep the bedbugs from biting.”

  “Your mom would never let bedbugs in here.” He flushed and looked at me. “Sorry. Never would have. If she was alive.”

  Way to kill a mood. Not that we’d really had a mood. “True.”

  “Where are you living? With your dad?”

  “Yeah. Same old room.” I’d had a place of my own at grad school, but when I moved back home to help out, Nate and I decided it was best for me to live with Dad.

  “You should go home then.” Donnie stuck the plates in the sink and ran some water onto them. “I’m gonna turn in. What time do you want me out of here in the morning?”

  “Out? I don’t want you out.”

  He glanced up. “You can’t want Nate to find me sleeping here.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “First time since I almost killed him and his kid brother.”

  “Nate has no right to blame you for that.” Donnie lifted a skeptical eyebrow, and I hurried on, “You can stay as long as you like.”

  “What time does he come in?”

  “Nine, usually. We open at nine-thirty.”

  “Then I’ll be gone by eight. To be safe.”

  “I don’t want you gone!”

  Donnie shrugged.

  I knew that set of his jaw meant he wasn’t going to argue further. “Do you have a phone? Can I at least get your number?”

  He was silent for a long time, before saying, “Tomorrow. Yeah, sure.”

  Does he not have a phone? Does he not want me to know it? Is he planning to sneak out and disappear? I tried not to show how his avoidance worried me. “Fine.”

  He reached over and gripped my elbow. “Adam. I promise I won’t leave town without saying good-bye. Okay?”

  It wasn’t much reassurance, but I dredged up a nod. “Sure. We’ll talk when you’re less tired. I want to know your plans.” I wanted to know more than that, but I could almost see his drawbridge rising up and portcullis closed.

  He laughed and stepped back. “Plans. Yeah. When I can think straight.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, that blue aimed right at my soul. “Thanks for everything, Adam. And I’m still sorry.”

  We’d reached the movie kiss moment, where the touch of our lips would turn into him ripping off my jeans. But I couldn’t cross the two feet of space between us. “Shut up, you jerk. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and I’ll set the door alarm when I leave. If you need to turn it off for any reason, my code is 0613.”

  “My birthday?”

  “What a coincidence.”

  He smiled then, like he couldn’t help it. Almost like the old Donnie. “Predictable.”

  “Screw you too.”

  “You wish.” His familiar comeback hung between us, until he backed farther away. “Good night, Adam. Stay safe, y’hear me? It’s slippery out there.”

  So I left him in that cold little room with the lumpy couch and went home. Like we were barely friends.

  Chapter 3

  Donnie

  Walking outside in a North Dakota winter sucks donkey balls. But since my only other choice was to jack someone’s car out of their driveway, I was walking.

  My back needed the kinks worked out, anyhow. That couch hadn’t gotten any more comfortable in six years. I flipped my collar higher, and trudged through the half-inch of blowing snow on the side of the road. The Lindbergs’ store and nursery were just outside the town limits. In ten minutes I was hitting the trailer park. Familiar territory. I’d lived here with Mom, that first summer. That’s how I’d first met Adam. I wandered off to explore and found a scrawny kid with dark hair that stuck up in the back, with wide gray eyes and not a hint of fear in him. Being close to the Lindbergs’ house had been the one perk of living in that drafty trailer.

  At the first cross street, a dog ran out from behind a beat-up double-wide, barking like it wanted to eat me. I stopped and looked away, pretending not to care. Most dogs don’t bite if you ignore them. There’s lots of guys like that too. They’ll get you if you run, or if you try to face them down, but if you look away they might decide you’re not worth the trouble. This was some pit-bull mix, red brindle with light-colored eyes. It slowed, barked a few times, and circled me barking some more. Its tail was wagging though, so I relaxed a bit.

  From inside the nearest trailer, a man yelled, “Who’s there?” As soon as the dog heard him, it cowered, belly to the ground. It crept up to me, tail wagging harder now, and whined deep in its throat. I bent and held out my hand, and it sniffed me, then licked my fingers.

  “Oh yeah, big tough dog,” I murmured.

  The dog rolled over, showing a belly with sagging tits, her eyes half-closed. I squatted and rubbed her chest and she made a funny groan.

  “You damn stupid bitch!” A man in a ratty sweatshirt strode out of the trailer, his feet shoved into flopping boots. “What kind of fucking guard dog are you!” He stomped over. I stood hastily and jumped back, not wanting to be caught off balance. He ignored me and aimed a kick at the dog. His boot caught her in the side. She wriggled over but cowered instead of running. “Bitch!” He kicked her again.

  “Hey! Stop that!” I jumped forward and gave the bastard a hard shove.

  “Get your fucking hands off me.” He shoved back, looking up at me, then narrowed his eyes. “Well, if it ain’t fuckin’ Donatello Kagan. Done getting your ass fucked in the pen?”

  Mr. Shenman had changed a hell of a lot in six years. His skin sagged like he was eighty, instead of maybe fifty, his lips sank in like he had no teeth, and his hair had gone gray and thin. But his dark eyes were still mean. “Fuck you,” I said.


  “I bet they loved you in there. Fresh meat.”

  I cocked a hip and slapped my ass. “Wishin’ you had a piece of the action? You been dreaming about gettin’ some dick, huh? I bet you’re a bottom.”

  “Fuck you. I ain’t queer! Hey, does the sheriff know you’re back in town?”

  “None of your fucking business.” He didn’t need to know how my stomach still dropped, thinking about facing Conyers again. With luck, I’d be gone before he ever heard I’d come back.

  “Maybe I should make a call. As a concerned citizen.”

  I drew myself up as tall as I could and squared my shoulders. I was bigger now, harder after those six long years. And he’d shrunk. “You still beating up your wife?”

  “Get the fuck off my property.”

  “Public right of way.” I turned my back on him and started walking, despite my instincts screaming not to take my eyes off the bastard. I wasn’t there to get into a fight with an old man, no matter how much he deserved a beat down. He’d been the mean neighbor, the one who yelled at the little kids. He tossed his junk in people’s yards, and yeah, beat his poor wife. I used to prank him right back until I realized the madder he got, the more he’d turn around and hurt her. Then I just kept my distance, but he already hated my punk ass.

  He yelled something behind me, but I couldn’t make out the words. Didn’t care enough to try.

  I was about a block farther along when I heard someone coming up behind me. I whirled. Adam’s knife wasn’t a switch, but I closed my hand on it in my pocket anyway. It wasn’t Shenman, though. Not sure why I thought he’d bother to chase me in below-fucking-zero in a sweatshirt. It was the dog.

  She stopped when I turned, and lowered her head, ears flattened. Her tail twitched in little arcs. After a moment, as neither of us moved, she opened her jaw to pant. Or smile. I don’t know why pits look like they’re grinning all the time. Especially when half of the ones I know want to take your arm off.

  “If I turn around, are you gonna jump me?”