HICKEY

by Cora Brent

After Antha ended the call I thought for a long time about what she’d said. I could admit that my heart wasn’t truly hardened against Bran. I just didn’t know whether I could ever risk falling for him again, now matter how easy it would be.

  On Friday morning Keith was waiting at my workstation when I arrived. It actually wasn’t much of a workstation, no cubicle walls, no desk with drawers, more like a narrow table with an IKEA office chair. But Keith stood there smiling at me and commenting on the pumpkin spice latte in my hand before casually asking if I wanted to meet up at the new sushi place on the corner for dinner.

  Because I was still trying to convince myself that I didn’t need Bran and because Keith actually looked kind of cute and earnest as he stood there awaiting my answer, I said yes.

  Between work and school I hadn’t had much time for dating. Sometimes I regretted that and other times I was glad to be spared the messy complications that came with romance.

  Half an hour before I was supposed to leave for my semi-date with Keith there was a soft knock at my door. For a second my heart jumped, thinking it might be Bran. Which made a totally hypocrite I definitely didn’t want the knocker to be Bran.

  It wasn’t Bran after all. It was Maura.

  “Hi,” she said shyly, thumbs hooked into her denim belt loops as she shifted in her turquoise cowboy boots and stared at the floor. There hadn’t been too much trouble with the kids lately as everyone settled into a routine. They still left beer bottles in the hallway and blasted music at all hours but after Saffron’s mishap at least they’d stopped jumping off the balcony. Plus it might have dawned on the majority that they had classes to attend and parents who wouldn’t enjoy seeing a parade of F’s at the end of the semester.

  I smiled. “Hey there, Maura. What’s going on?”

  Her eyes were red. She’d obviously been crying recently. For weeks, whenever I caught a glimpse of Maura she was fastened to Kevin, the cute but goofy young man who coincidentally was also my ex-husband’s freshman roommate. It was a strange world.

  “Nothing,” she shrugged. “I was just passing by your door and I realized I hadn’t stopped by to see you in a while.”

  “Come on in, then.”

  Maura followed me quietly into the room. She checked out my black dress and heels. “You going out?”

  “Nothing fancy, just dinner with a coworker.”

  “A guy?” she asked, smiling a little.

  I smiled back. “Yup, he qualifies.” I opened my makeup compact and applied some lip gloss.

  Maura looked at me curiously. “But I thought you had something going on with that Branson dude,” she said and I froze. She’d been in the room with Kevin the one time I knocked on the door in search of Bran.

  “No,” I said quickly. “Not at all.” I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “So what’s new with you?”

  “I got an A on my psychology exam,” Maura announced as she sunk down into my old beanbag chair.

  “That’s great.”

  She frowned at her turquoise cowboy boots. “And I think Kevin is cheating on me.”

  “Ouch, not great.”

  Maura said that Kevin was suddenly full of excuses. He was tired, he was studying, he was heading out to an event for the engineering fraternity he was considering pledging.

  “Do you think I’m overreacting?” she asked as she struggled to contain her tears.

  In a move that felt distinctly like déjà vu, I handed her a box of tissues. The last time Maura was in my room crying was the night Saffron jumped from the balcony. The night Bran revealed that he’d charged back into my life whether I wanted him here or not.

  I struggled to refocus on Maura and her problems. “I don’t know. Have you tried talking to him?”

  Maura nodded. “He just swears up and down that I’m the only one he wants to be with but then he seems annoyed that I’m asking questions and I start feeling kind of pathetic.”

  I knelt down on the floor beside her, not caring that my dress would get wrinkled. “I don’t think you’re pathetic,” I told her.

  She let out a very miserable sounding groan. “I love him. And sometimes I wish I’d never met him.” She laughed hoarsely. “How’s that for crazy?”

  I gave her a quick hug. “It’s not crazy at all. Believe me, I can relate.” I stood up and my left ankle nearly buckled. I wondered why I was bothering to wear heels. I hated wearing heels.

  Maura brushed the tears from her cheeks and then her eyes wandered to the wall behind me. “Is that a new poster?”

  I glanced behind me. “Not exactly. I’ve had it for years but it’s been rolled up in a cardboard tube because I moved often and never got around to hanging it up. But then someone commented on the depressing nudity of my walls so it occurred to me that I could do something about it.”

  I didn’t mention Bran by name but it was his remark that got me thinking about the bare nature of my surroundings. So I dragged one of my old rolled up prints out of the closet and found a cheap plastic poster frame for it. I had to admit that as soon as I did it I felt more like myself. And this felt more like home.

  “It’s such a weird picture,” Maura said, rising from the beanbag chair and squinting at the wild and whimsical print. “And yet I can’t stop staring at it.”

  I surveyed the image and felt the same kind of wonder that I’d felt the very first time I saw it in a dusty art history book in the Hickeyville library. “That’s exactly how you’re supposed to feel. It’s The Garden of Earthly Delights by Hieronymous Bosch. One of my favorites.”

  “I have a cousin who’s a painter,” Maura said. “Mostly he paints these strange geometric shapes and each one is supposed to represent a biblical sin or something. He goes to school in California. My aunt says he wants to teach someday.”

  While Maura was talking I walked over to the closet and exchanged my heels for comfortable flats. She was still staring at the poster when I returned to her side.

  “I wanted to teach art,” I said softly.

  “You did?” Maura was surprised. “I thought you said you were in the MBA program.”

  “I am.”

  “How come you didn’t stick with your original plan?”

  There was no easy answer to that question. Time and circumstances could alter even the most hopeful of ideas. Once I’d planned to get an art history degree and teach kids.

  “Things change,” I said with finality.

  Maura cocked her head. “Do you sometimes wish things were different?”

  “Sometimes.”

  She played with her hair and a troubled look crossed her face. “What should I do about Kevin?”

  Someone else might have told her that a one semester fling was nothing to get all heartsick over. But I knew better so I spoke gently. “Find out the truth. It may not be what you thought at all or it may hurt like hell. But at least you’ll know. And then you can decide what’s best for you.”

  Before she left, Maura turned and gazed at me rather wistfully. “You know, you would have made a great teacher, Cecily.”

  For some reason her words caused something in my chest to squeeze a little.

  I ended up being fifteen minutes late. Keith was already waiting at the sushi counter with a broad smile on his face. He looked like he’d gotten a haircut since this afternoon.

  “Sorry,” I said as I slid onto the bar stool he held out for me. “One of the girls on my floor was having a hard time and needed a shoulder to cry on.”

  “I forgot you live over at CAU,” Kevin said.

  “Yes, I’m an RA at Yucca Hall.”

  “Yucca Hall,” Keith chuckled. “I lived there my freshman year. Damn, if those walls could talk.”

  “Thank god they can’t,” I muttered, sipping a glass of ice water. I hoped the cold water would cool the flame in my cheeks as I blushed over an irresponsible sexual escapade that had occurred with a certain ridiculously hot ex within those very walls.

  Keith ordered some spicy tuna and C
alifornia rolls to share. When he asked me if I wanted anything else I had to admit I wasn’t much of a sushi fan.

  “If I would have known that I would have suggested somewhere else,” he said.

  “Oh it’s fine,” I replied airily. “I should climb out of my comfort zone once in a while.”

  Keith sipped his drink and then continued to smile. I was starting to worry his face might get stuck in that expression.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to come out, Cecily,” he said and leaned in my direction.

  I was trying to figure out how my chopsticks worked. “Well, thanks for asking me.”

  Keith poured an excessive amount of soy sauce onto his plate. “Try holding them the other way,” he suggested.

  I tried reversing the direction of the wooden utensils. It didn’t feel any more comfortable.

  Another plate was delivered. This one had neat rows of pink and orange objects that didn’t look especially tasty but Keith dove right in with gusto after offering me the plate. Keith was easy to talk to and we had a few things in common. He’d been born in a small town in Michigan so he understood the world of Hickeyville when I briefly described it.

  “So do you ever go back to visit?” I asked as I nibbled a tuna roll. It wasn’t too bad.

  “Nah, no reason to,” Keith said. “When I was twelve my dad got a job out here and my folks felt lucky for the relocation opportunity.”

  When he asked me questions I was honest but vague. I didn’t want to talk about Bran.

  “You enjoying your internship?” Keith prodded when the conversation lagged.

  “Sure. It’s been great.”

  “And are you hoping to get hired full time after you graduate?”

  I answered without thinking. “No.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “No?”

  “Oh, I mean sure, that would be great,” I stammered, wondering where the hell that forceful ‘No’ had come from.

  Didn’t my end game these days include a corporate job with benefits? A job like that was needed to put a dent in those crushing student loans that had been necessary so that I could reach the point of positioning myself for such a coveted corporate job.

  All of a sudden the whole idea seemed futile and a little depressing, like a caged hamster running itself ragged inside a plastic wheel.

  Keith was watching my inner struggle with curiosity. “Quick,” he said. “If you could have any job, what would it be?”

  I swirled the wasabi into a puddle of soy sauce. “I used to think I’d be a teacher someday. An art teacher.”

  “And why didn’t you?”

  “Now you can go to art school, Cess.”

  Why didn’t I? Money was one reason. Practicality was another. But now it seemed to me those weren’t the reasons that mattered. I’d wanted to get away, not just from Hickeyville and from Bran and from hopelessness and heartbreak. I’d wanted to get away from myself.

  “I can’t remember,” I told Keith.

  “It’s okay,” he said and laughed. “When I was a kid it was my dream to be a forest ranger. Then I discovered I was allergic to the outdoors.”

  When Keith walked me to my car he asked what my plans were for the weekend.

  “A paper to write,” I said. “Studying to do.”

  “Think maybe you’d have time to go catch a movie or something?”

  I hesitated. I really did have work to do. But I could carve out a few hours if I wanted to.

  “I’m really swamped,” I said and then felt like a jackass when Keith’s perpetual smile slipped from his face.

  “You have a good weekend, Cecily,” he said politely. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Bye, Keith. Thanks for dinner.”

  As I drove away I didn’t look back. If Keith was standing there in the parking lot looking unhappy and dejected then I didn’t want to see it. It wasn’t his fault I was stuck in the past. It wasn’t even Bran’s fault. Somehow I’d just never completely forgiven the girl who said “I do” and sincerely thought it was going to last forever.

  Yucca Hall was fairly subdued for a Friday night. At least there were no cop cars and no one was screaming. The balcony overlooking the pool was dotted with lounging college students and some of them appeared to be smoking objects of doubtful origin but I didn’t say anything.

  My plan was to immediately close myself in my room and watch Legends of the Fall while bingeing on the snack-sized Dorito bags I’d liberated from the vending machine yesterday.

  Yet before I reached my door I detoured over to the staircase and started climbing. My footfalls on the steep steps seemed to whisper an outraged warning. Turn back turn back turn back. I wasn’t listening. The third floor corridor was empty although a door was open down the hall and someone inside the room was belting out the lyrics to The Joker rather badly.

  I could have easily talked myself out of knocking on Bran’s door. I didn’t even know what I’d say if he was here. But he’d told me he still loved me and despite all the bitterness and confusion that still warred with the more tender side of my heart, I couldn’t stop thinking about that.

  “Bran?” I called and knocked again. There was a thud and a muffled curse.

  When the door finally did open, Bran wasn’t standing on the other side.

  “Oh, hi,” said a shirtless Kevin through the four inch crack in the door. Behind him the room was dark. I thought I heard giggling.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was actually looking for Bran.”

  Kevin ran a hand through the curly mop on his head and glanced behind him. Then he eased his way out of the door and held it open only enough so that he wouldn’t be locked out.

  “Yeah, uh, Bran’s not here,” Kevin said. I could smell alcohol on his breath, which had to be why he was so nervous. I was still an authority figure around here and he was afraid of getting busted for underage drinking.

  “All right,” I said, starting to back away. “Thanks.”

  “He went home,” Kevin called. “His dad’s sick so he took a flight out to Ohio this morning.”

  I stopped walking and turned around. “Bran’s in Hickeyville?”

  “Yup. He said he’d be back in a couple of days.” Kevin paused and cocked his head. “Look, you want his cell number?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Thanks, but no.”

  “Okay.” Kevin shrugged and then opened the door to his room.

  Before he shut it again I heard a high-pitched voice whine, “Close the fucking door, Kev.”

  “Aw, shut up, Dorritt,” Kevin growled in answer to the complaint. I didn’t hear anything else.

  Back in my room, I went right to my closet and pulled out a long cardboard cylinder, one of two where I stowed a variety of old posters and paintings that had traveled with me through years and across states. I carefully unrolled the stack and selected the one I’d been hunting for. Holding the curling corners down with four books, I spread it across my bedroom floor and stared at a watercolor likeness of the Grand Canyon.

  When I painted this picture I had never seen the place. I still hadn’t. I had copied an image in one of Bran’s books, a glossy volume on famous geological formations that his brother had given him years earlier. When I handed the finished watercolor to him he’d smiled and kissed me and immediately hung it directly above our bed. And then when I took it with me months later I’d meant to destroy it but just couldn’t. So instead it had been stored away in darkness, kept as a morbid reminder but never appreciated.

  That day in the diner Bran had gazed at the picture of the Grand Canyon hanging on the wall and asked me if I remembered.

  I pretended I didn’t.

  But of course I did.

  There were too many things I couldn’t forget if I tried.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cecily

  Nobody was particularly bent out of shape when Bran and I got married.

  It was surprising that our parents had no complaints. We were
kids and we’d only been together for a short time so you’d think my mother would have despaired, that his father would have hollered. My mother’s asked me only once if I was sure about Bran and her voice was filled with a strange kind of relief. And Mr. Hickey was perfectly happy to allow us to live in the small apartment above his garage.

  As for Bran and I, we were happy. We were in love. Immediately after we said our vows we checked into an old motel within earshot of the Interstate. I didn’t care about the peeling paint on the walls or the distinct odor of antibacterial cleaner. In my mind I was a fairy tale princess and my prince was ready to claim me.

  Bran was gentle when he took my virginity and he remained gentle until I was ready for more. It didn’t take long. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to do everything with him.

  “I’ll never be sorry I married you.”

  That brief honeymoon was short but blissful. We ate out of the lobby vending machines, slept little and screwed fifteen different ways until we could hardly stand. There were plenty of tender moments too. The way Bran held me close after we wore each other out, the way we breathed as one and idly stroked each other.

  He told me things, like what it felt like carrying the crushing weight of a town’s expectations on your back and then wanting to scream ‘Fuck you!’ in the face of their pity and disappointment.

  I told him things too. I told him I hated my father and I’d hardly picked up a sketchpad since he left and took my future with him.

  “But it doesn’t hurt as much now,” I whispered to Bran as I tightened my arms around him. “You’re my future.”

  “I love you,” Bran said and I closed my eyes as he dipped his head to kiss my breasts.

  “I love you too,” I whispered, trailing off into a soft moan as his kisses grew more impassioned, the rough heat of his mouth greedily sucking one nipple and then the other. Bran had managed to awaken my most primal, basic instincts and I couldn’t get enough of him. I opened my legs eagerly, not caring that I was mildly sore after doing this so often, and not caring that he entered me without a condom on.

  “Oh god, Cess. Fuck, I can’t hold back,” he groaned as he bucked harder and harder, our bodies slick with sweat.