Blister

by Jeff Strand

"Everybody's staring at us."

  "Yeah, because they're amused by your zombie impression. They're all on your side."

  "Including the person who burned down your cabin?"

  "That was probably rats chewing through the wiring."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "I think it's irrelevant to what's happening here. Look, we were having a perfectly fine lunch, and some kids made a rotten comment, and you wreaked vengeance upon them. I enjoyed the hell out of it. Sure, I'll reluctantly agree that in the future, your reaction should be more subdued, but you didn't ruin anything. You made it better."

  Rachel blew her nose again. "I'm completely humiliated."

  "You shouldn't be."

  The server returned with the check and a couple of chocolate chip cookies on a plate. "On the house," she said, giving Rachel a sympathetic smile.

  "See?" I asked Rachel. "Nobody ever gives me free cookies."

  Actually, that wasn't true. I'd done various interviews where they had refreshments available, including cookies, but nobody in a restaurant had ever given me free chocolate chip cookies, so I think the point was still valid.

  I left an extra large tip for the server, which I supposed could have been her motivation for the cookies, and then paid our bill at the register up front. I was grateful that Rachel didn't rush out of the restaurant, although she kept her head down, staring at the floor.

  We returned to my car. She picked up her mask from the seat before getting in, then rested it on her lap as she buckled her seat belt.

  Some guy was standing in the parking lot, a few cars away, not even pretending that he wasn't staring at us. He was skinny, with curly brown hair, and looked about twenty-two or twenty-three. Rachel's age.

  I hoped Rachel wouldn't notice him, but she did. She quickly looked away.

  "You know him?" I asked.

  Rachel nodded.

  "Ex-boyfriend?"

  "No, no. Allen. Brandon's best friend."

  "Ah." I peered at him more closely. Allen did kind of look like somebody who'd be friends with a date-raping psychopath. That was an unfair assessment of me to make, so I didn't say it out loud. "I guess he's not somebody who'd be happy to see you again."

  "Nope."

  If I had to make a list of arson suspects, the best friend of the guy who'd savaged Rachel's face was a reasonable candidate. Although I supposed that if I'd burned down somebody's cabin, I wouldn't be standing there staring at them in a restaurant parking lot like a creepy-ass stalker. I'd at least get a pair of binoculars and watch from a distance.

  I wouldn't say anything now, but if I saw him lurking around again, I'd mention it to Sheriff Baker.

  "Where do you want to go now?" I asked, as we drove away from the restaurant.

  "Home."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  "All right."

  I'd promised I'd take her home if she asked, so I guessed I had to stick to it. I was relieved that she didn't put the mask on, but as we drove back to her place, we didn't say much of anything.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As I turned onto her road, Rachel said, "You know what? That was stupid of me."

  "What?"

  "Getting so upset. I should've ignored those idiots."

  "It's no big deal."

  "At the very least, I should've let the waitress give us a to-go box. You were nice and took me out to lunch, and I wasted most of that delicious burger. I'm sorry."

  "Don't apologize."

  "No, I'm really sorry. You were brave enough to be seen in public having lunch with Blister, and I screwed it all up. I acted like a baby."

  "I swear to you, it's okay. No problem at all. I'd be self-conscious too."

  Shit! Was that a horrible thing to say? Had my mouth just outpaced my brain?

  Fortunately, Rachel didn't seem to notice. "Don't pull into my driveway just yet," she said.

  "Okay." I stopped the car.

  "I know I'm unpleasant to look at."

  "You're not—"

  "Please don't deny that. I'm hideous. I have a lot of good qualities, but please don't make things up that you think I want to hear. What I'm saying is that I know I'm unpleasant to look at, and ever since I came home from the hospital it's been easier to hide away than deal with the staring and whispering. Yeah, my dad forbade me to go out in public, but he couldn't have stopped me if I really wanted to leave. I could have done whatever the hell I wanted, and what I wanted to do was to sit in a goddamn shed with a bunch of owl pictures."

  She paused as if waiting for me to comment, but I couldn't think of anything to say except that I liked her owl pictures, which would've been a dumb thing to say, so I remained silent. Finally she turned toward me.

  "I'm not going to keep apologizing for ruining our meal. I just want to say that I really, truly appreciate how nice you've been to me, and I'd very much like to have lunch with you again, this time without me threatening to eat anybody's eyeballs."

  "It's a deal."

  I couldn't quite interpret the look she gave me. Then I realized that she was leaning toward me, and my sudden reaction was, oh, shit, what's she doing?

  I didn't pull away, exactly, but I think she could see in my eyes that I really wasn't expecting this, because she immediately sat up straight again.

  "Okay," she said, "we can go into my driveway now."

  "Rachel, wait—"

  "The driveway is good."

  "I don't think your dad is ready for this to be anything more than friends having lunch. I think his head would explode."

  Rachel nodded. "I understand. He's a scary man."

  "I just...I think you're great. I just think that it was difficult enough to gain his trust up to this point, and we should stick to baby steps."

  "Do you need baby steps, or do you think my dad needs baby steps?"

  I didn't have an immediate response.

  "It's fine," she said. "I one hundred percent get it. Can we move past the awkwardness and pretend this never happened? I slipped. I tipped over a bit in my seat. Very clumsy of me."

  "I just don't want to piss your dad off."

  "I said, I completely understand. His opinion is what's important."

  "Now, Rachel, let's be fair. One hour ago I was trying to talk your dad out of keeping a padlock on your door. I'm an adult and you're an adult, but it's not a stretch to think that he'd go absolutely batshit homicidal insane if he thought I was taking advantage of you. Right?"

  "Yes. You're right. You're completely right." Rachel didn't sound like she was being sarcastic. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm not good at picking up on social cues. I'm sorry."

  "Don't apologize."

  "Can we pretend this never happened?"

  "We don't have to pretend it never happened," I said.

  "I'd like to, though."

  "It's totally fine. This changes nothing. Don't worry about it."

  "You're sweating."

  "So?"

  "Just an observation."

  Yeah, I was sweating. Because I felt like this conversation could easily veer into her asking me if I would have kissed her if her father's intense disapproval weren't an issue. Would I? Or would I have flinched?

  I probably would have flinched.

  Had she looked like a supermodel, I still would have avoided the kiss, because the whole Malcolm issue was a genuinely good reason to take things more slowly. I wasn't using that as an excuse. But hypothetically, in a world where Malcolm was a jovial guy who was trying to marry his daughter off in exchange for a couple of cows, what would I have done?

  I'm not superficial about looks, but I'm also not blind. There's a point where you have to ask, am I cool with the idea of waking up next to that every morning? As much as I liked Rachel, I wasn't attracted to her.

  We all have a type. Maybe disfigured girls just weren't mine.

  "Look, Rachel, you're—"

  "If you say, 'Rachel, you're a very nice girl,' I'll rip your dick off
."

  "That's not what I was going to say."

  "If you say a variation on it, I'll rip your dick off."

  "Please don't."

  "Then don't say it. Don't say anything patronizing."

  "There's a difference between patronizing and reassuring."

  "You lose a dick either way."

  "Okay, well, I don't want that to happen. But it would be easier to move past this if we talk about it."

  "I understand that. I'm not feeling very rational right now. What would help me move past this is if we pulled into my driveway."

  Now it kind of sounded like she was mad at me. That was always tricky territory with women, and it was worse with Rachel because her face didn't convey the subtle expressions that would serve as a cue that I'd entered the danger zone. I decided that my best bet was to drop her off.

  We pulled into her driveway. Malcolm was sitting on his porch, and I was relieved that he didn't have a shotgun in his lap. We couldn't continue our conversation with him sitting there watching us, so I supposed this was the end for now.

  "I really did have a good time," I told her.

  "Me too," said Rachel, unconvincingly.

  "Lunch tomorrow?"

  "I don't think so."

  "We don't have to go anywhere. I'll bring something."

  "I don't know. Probably. We'll see."

  Rachel opened her door. She tried to get out, but hadn't unfastened her seatbelt.

  "You need to—" I started to say.

  "I know." She released the seatbelt and got out. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said.

  "Sounds good."

  I waved to Malcolm, who didn't wave back, then backed out of the driveway and drove away.

  Okay, well, that sucked.

  I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting. It wasn't as if Rachel was going to say, "Goodness, the world is a magical place, full of smiling faces and whimsy! Thank you for unlocking its potential!" I just didn't think it would be a complete disaster.

  I felt bad for leading Rachel on. Usually it was the guys who were surprised to just be friends. I'd probably been a little flirty and that was wrong. She'd been trapped in a frickin' shed for five years; it wasn't okay to mess with her emotions like that.

  Yep, the handsome cartoonist should've made it easier for the young woman to resist his charms. How irresponsible of me.

  Being attracted to her would be insane. I was open-minded, but there were limits. Friends, yes. Lovers, nope. Some things are too weird.

  Which did not explain why, in the absence of a cabin on the lake, I was still here. Why was I staying here instead of just going home? My Chuck-imposed exile had been lifted. There was no reason for me to still be hanging out at Lake Gladys except for Rachel.

  I couldn't name any other friends where I'd be willing to stay in a cheap motel just so I could meet them for burgers. With anybody else, it would've been, "Sorry, arsonist took out the cabin, gotta cancel our lunch plans."

  Sure, there was the whole element of swooping in there like some big hero who rescued the damsel from her overprotective father, but I was thirty-eight years old and had not thus far been predisposed toward putting my personal safety at risk for people I'd just met.

  Why was I still here?

  Pity?

  Moral outrage?

  Deep, depressing loneliness?

  I was usually pretty good about getting into my own head. I'd married Vivian because she was smart and pretty and was nice to me back when I was an inept bumbling doofus who dreamed of drawing comics for a living. I'd dated Melissa because I was angry and bitter after my divorce and she was angry and bitter after her divorce and somehow our anger and bitterness seemed compatible. I'd dated Jennifer because she had a spectacular ass, and by that point I'd reached a level of success where I could attract women with spectacular asses. Pretty much every relationship after that was based on the level of hotness, which probably explained why they were all short-lived.

  I'd never sat around and wondered why I was behaving in such a way. My motives were always pretty transparent. It made absolutely no sense that I didn't just get in the car and drive back home. There was no reason for me to stay in this bizarre situation. Why didn't I return to my normal life?

  I should. I really should. This was ridiculous. The vacation was over as soon as the cabin went inferno.

  I went back to the motel and packed my suitcase. I checked out at the front desk, put Ignatz into the car, and drove away.

  Wait, was I really going to drive away without saying goodbye to Rachel? That was some romantic comedy bullshit. I'd at least have to explain to her that my vacation was over.

  Of course, if I went back there so soon, it would look like I was fleeing. I should wait until this evening before I sped out of Lake Gladys, just so I didn't hurt her feelings.

  So, what, I was going to hang out here for a few more hours to make it seem like our disappointing lunch and my departure weren't related? Who did that sort of thing? What was the matter with me?

  I should just go. I could look up Malcolm's number tomorrow and call to let Rachel know there'd been a cartooning emergency and I had to leave. She'd understand.

  That sounded kind of cowardly.

  But somehow less mean than driving over there and saying, "Seeya!"

  This was a weirdly difficult decision.

  The most appealing option was to just return to the motel, stay another night, and have lunch with Rachel tomorrow, as planned. But that was also the deranged option. "Sorry, Rach, I'm totally not into you, but I'm still here! No, no, it's not creepy at all!"

  What to do...what to do...what to do...

  Okay, I definitely was not going to head back to her place and say goodbye, because it would make her feel terrible, like she'd driven me away.

  I also definitely was not going to bide my time in Lake Gladys all afternoon, just to spare her feelings, because that was lame.

  Which meant that the only option was to leave.

  No, that was a terrible option.

  This was making me nuts. What I needed was a legitimate reason to stay in Lake Gladys for another night. Something that actually made sense. Like, perhaps, a restaurant that served fantastic steaks, the kind that people travelled long distances to enjoy. "What did you do on your vacation, Jason?" "Oh, man, I had this amazing steak dinner!" "Wow, sounds like a great vacation! Wish I'd been there!"

  Yes, somehow I'd reached the point of mental instability where I was making up excuses to justify my actions to my own brain.

  Lake Gladys was not good for me.

  I was leaving.

  I drove for about an hour, feeling at peace with my decision.

  Then I turned around and drove back.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Though the cabin was history, the lake itself had not been consumed in an inferno, so I decided to go out on the paddleboat for a while. When I parked in front of the rubble, Sheriff Baker and a man in a white dress shirt and tie were there. I rolled the windows down so Ignatz could have fresh air, then got out of the car.

  Sheriff Baker smiled and waved at me. "How's it going?"

  "Not bad," I said. "Figured I'd enjoy the lake while I'm still in town."

  "Oh, sure, sure. This gentleman is just checking things out for the insurance company. You know, making sure nobody burned down the place to collect some cash."

  The man nodded politely at me.

  "Does it look like arson?" I asked.

  Sheriff Baker shrugged. "It would've been nice if they left a can of gasoline around or something. There are ways to tell, burn patterns and so on, but that's really more of a big-city thing."

  "We can tell," said the man. He didn't seem like somebody you'd want to invite to a party unless you'd already given up on it.

  "Well, I'll leave you to it," I said. "Let me know if you need anything."

  I went out to the dock, got in the paddleboat, and paddled out to the center of the lake. Then I just floated for a while
, enjoying the sunshine and the silence. After about fifteen minutes, Sheriff Baker and the insurance guy got in their separate cars and drove away.

  Ah, it was so nice out here. So peaceful.

  This is why I was still here. The lake. Nothing else.

  I closed my eyes.

  I nodded off.

  I opened my eyes again when a family in a motorboat sped past me. I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep, but my arms had acquired a delightfully attractive sunburn. You'd think that with Rachel's burnt face and the fate of the cabin, I'd be more aware of the need for sunscreen, but, nope, my bright red skin was proof that I was a moron. Oh well.

  Somebody was standing on Chuck's dock.

  I was too far away to say for certain, but I was pretty sure that it was the guy who'd been watching us in the parking lot. Brandon's buddy. Adam? No, Allen.

  He was using the same modus operandi of just standing there staring like a creepy bastard. Didn't he realize that being all spooky could make him an arson suspect?

  As I paddled back in, he stayed where he was. Even as I paddled right up to the dock, he didn't move. He just kept watching me.

  "Hi there," I said.

  "Hello."

  I paddled until the boat scraped against the bottom of the lake, then got out and dragged it onto the shore. "Can I help you with something?"

  Allen shrugged.

  "Just figured you'd stand there and gaze upon my beauty?" I asked.

  "Something like that."

  I stepped out onto the dock. "I saw you before. Whatever you're doing isn't as endearing as you think it is."

  "Why are you here?" he asked.

  "I'm on vacation."

  "But why here?"

  "Because this is where my agent sent me for some down time after I acted out. You have a fine little town here. Interesting people. Clear water. So now let's circle this conversation back to my original question: can I help you with something?"

  "People are tired of you being here."

  "Are they?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, if you talk to people, tell them I said hi."

  Allen narrowed his eyes. "Are you making fun of me?"

  "No. I'm a professional humorist. When I make fun of you, you'll know it. I'd do it now but I don't work for free."