EDGES

by C. G. Carroll

  “Any calls?” Teddy barked as he tossed the cup in the trash.

  Patrick gave him a serious face. “Some girl name Mammory or Mollery or something just called for you. I told her you weren’t here.”

  “Funny, smart ass.”

  Patrick didn’t reply. He just sat there with his arms crossed and his eyes dead set.

  “What did she want?”

  “A divorce. But she wants half your money first, so the wedding’s still on.”

  “You better watch your mouth.”

  Teddy approached the desk. Patrick didn’t move.

  “We’re running away together, Ted. She wanted to tell you herself, but I thought it would be better to keep you guessing where she went off to. It wouldn’t take you long to figure it out though, would it?”

  In that instant, Teddy lunged over the desk, and ripped down on Patrick’s tie.

  Patrick yelled, and grabbed hold of Teddy’s wrists and began to drag Teddy over the table toward him. The cup of pens went flying. A stack of papers for filing toppled. The computer screen got knocked and skidded sideways on the desk.

  Teddy dug his fingers into Patrick’s hair and yanked. Patrick shuffled sideways into the opening of the desk. They were in the open now, and Patrick scooped his right hand across the left side of Teddy’s neck and used his other hand to latch onto Teddy’s belt. He pulled Teddy in close until he felt like he had a good hold and then used his leverage to toss the larger man against the wall.

  The littler man was winning. This only enraged Teddy more.

  Coworkers came running from the back of the office and struggled to split them apart. One taller man named Ross dived right between the two of them. They were pried apart, but not before the neck of Teddy’s t-shirt was stretched beyond repair and Patrick’s dress shirt was completely yanked from his trousers and a few buttons popped free.

  “You’re fuckin’ fired, you little shit!” Teddy shouted, and took a full swing that hit nothing but air as Patrick ducked beneath it.

  Patrick pushed back his dark hair with both hands, trying to save what was left of his dignity. Teddy and the owner were good friends. When Teddy threatened his job, it was real.

  Ross got between the two of them again and ordered Patrick to go home. Patrick straightened his tie without ever breaking his stare and then turned to the door, but not before snatching his phone off the desk.

  “And don’t come back!” Teddy shouted at him even as he walked out the door. Patrick wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel, sprint back and lay a fist right between his eyes.

  It was a short walk to his car. Patrick took deep breaths. Very deep breaths. Mallory would be at his house in just under an hour, and he would need a miracle if he was going to make a lasting impression, especially if she got a call from Teddy first.

  Patrick got in his car, turned up the music, and drove. The anger left him after a few minutes. He rolled down the window, plugged his phone in, and slapped the steering wheel.

  Fuck the job. Fuck Teddy.

  The pulsing throb in his head didn’t come back.

  ***

  Josh’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Patrick arrived home. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in many days. Since everything had gone down, Josh never left his room and sometimes Patrick wondered whether or not he was actually in there.

  Patrick immediately went to slip into a change of clothes. He decided there was enough time to steal a quick shower and fix his hair into something presentable. After toweling off, he stood before the mirror and examined some small bruises that had formed across his chest and stomach. He replayed the fight in his head and couldn’t help but smile a bit.

  As he got his clothes on and was putting on some shoes, there was a knock at the door. Patrick felt his heart beat a touch faster, and he made one quick run through his hair with his fingers before answering the door.

  Mallory stood in the doorway, both hands on her small purse, red leather pulled tight against the center of her belly.

  “Hi,” she said, and came in.

  They stopped between living room and kitchen, and Patrick noticed her eyes taking a lay of the land, probably curious as to how a twenty-one year old lived these days. Patrick wasn’t lazy and did chores every few days. He registered a guess that his place was cleaner than her house.

  “Not exactly a frat house,” she said, bobbing her head.

  “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

  “Where is the roommate?” she asked. “Josh? Jason?”

  “Josh,” he confirmed. Patrick gently clasped his hands together. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  “Still mad at you?”

  He remembered that at the hospital he’d mentioned what had happened between him and Josh. “We’re not speaking. I’m sure you can relate to that.”

  Mallory scowled, but Patrick also noticed that in doing so she ran her eyes over him real fast.

  “When are you going to cut your hair?” she asked.

  “Just as soon as you leave Teddy.”

  She glanced around again as if the words passed right through her. “He told me what happened. How you attacked him.”

  “Attacked him?” Patrick replied with a laugh. “So when do I get to see your place?”

  She smiled. “Never.”

  “Well you can’t live with me when you leave Teddy,” he said. “That would be moving too fast.”

  Mallory shook her head. “Not even a minute and you’re already starting that.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “You only agreed to five minutes, so there’s really no time to waste.”

  “You’ve got four left.” She leaned her weight back and crossed her arms as if to say show me what you got.

  Patrick rubbed his hands, warming them up, and bowed his head to gather what he wanted to say. There were dozens of thoughts and feelings in his head, but only one that mattered. He felt like there was no room left for some grand speech. “Take a chance on me, Mallory. That’s all I want from you. One chance. I refuse to sell myself to you anymore. I want you to look at me the same way I look at you, but if you can tell me with a straight face that Teddy really is the man you want to spend your life with then, well, leave now. Go to him, but just know that I won’t look back.”

  Mallory turned away suddenly and paced into the kitchen area. Patrick watched as she lifted a hand to her mouth.

  After what felt like the longest moment of his life, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Didn’t even need all five. So what’s it gonna be?”

  She kept her back turned. She didn’t respond to his question let alone bring her eyes to his.

  Another ten to fifteen seconds grinded by and Patrick marched over to her, grabbed hold of the hand that hung down to her side, and spun her to face him. He wrapped his hand around her back and pulled her into him so there was nowhere else her eyes could go. He gazed down at her.

  “What’s it going to be?” he asked once more.

  He took her fingers in his hand and moved them up to his lips to gently kiss the tips of them.

  “No,” she blurted. “I can’t.” She tried to run past him, but he held onto her wrist.

  “You’re scared, I know. I get it.”

  “I have to go,” she said again and her wrist tugged twice and then slipped out from his hand. “I have to go now. I’m sorry.”

  Before Patrick could blink, the door slammed, not out of anger on her part, just in her haste. It made the few glasses left out on the kitchen countertop ring out in unison. Without thinking, Patrick reeled, yelled out something incoherent, and swept them all onto the tile with one giant scoop of his arm. Each glass broke into pieces and slid away. Patrick went to the sink where he steadied himself and stretched his neck, now aching with tension, side to side. He craned his head back and dragged his hands down over his face.

  Sunlight was glancing in the window just above the sink, its warmness hitting his flustered skin and his still damp head
of hair. Fuck you, God. This is why I never tried.

  He stood over the sink for a long time, until his legs began to go numb. Eventually he lifted himself up to sit on the counter and remained staring out the window. The trees were so green. He hadn’t noticed it until then. Everything was alive.

  Patrick pictured Reagan on the river again. He recalled the burst of joy he felt when she texted him that last night, telling him that she was sober and proud of herself. Then he thought about Simone, and the way her sweat had smelled when they slept together. He thought about the way her hair felt when he held it, like it was the softest thing in the world, strands of a rope that carried him down into the underworld of secrets. He thought about the secret that had been only theirs for so many months and how that kept them close. And then Mallory and what it felt like to press her bare body against his in the back of the makeup boutique. How her red hair had fallen into his face for a brief moment during sex and how he breathed in the smell he wouldn’t forget of vanilla. He even smiled at thinking of when he’d first tried to kiss her and she’d slapped him for it.

  He’d lost them all, lost everything and everyone he thought he never needed or wanted.

  ***

  The last large, thick shard of glass lay on the tile glinting light. He pinned it down with his finger and slid it toward himself.

  It looked to be half of a once-sturdy pint glass. Patrick dropped it in a brown paper bag with the rest of the large pieces. He crawled over to the carpet in search of any smaller ones he’d missed. He picked out a handful and then finished the job with a vacuum. As he crossed the living room to the pantry for a broom, the front door creaked open.

  Patrick walked back into the living room with a dustpan and a broom clasped by the neck. Josh was there, padding softly alongside the coffee table and was jolted when Patrick came around the corner.

  “You planning on robbing us?” Patrick asked.

  “What?” replied Josh. “No.”

  “Why are you sneaking around like that?” Patrick didn’t really expect an answer and he didn’t get one. They both knew why he was doing it. Patrick continued across the room and began sweeping.

  “What happened?” Josh’s tone wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t as cold or angry as Patrick would’ve assumed.

  “I dropped a beer.”

  Josh nodded, believing him. “I kind of need to talk to you.”

  Patrick was hunched over, cleaning, but straightened upright and looked at his friend of three years. They regarded each other like strangers. Like they knew nothing of each other, and had very little interest in knowing anything.

  Patrick set down the pan and leaned the broom against the counter. He went to the dinner table, sat down, and beckoned Josh to do the same by stretching out his arm toward the seat across from him.

  “Sit down,” Patrick finally said, more sternly.

  Josh sat.

  “Sorry,” Patrick said. “It’s been a shitty day.”

  “Yeah, it has.” Josh eased into the chair.

  He had all of Patrick’s attention. As he looked into Josh’s eyes, he could see a storm forming.

  Josh laid out both forearms on the table and interlocked his fingers. “At the end of the month I’m moving out.”

  He waited for Patrick to reply, but Patrick had no reply for that. He understood why.

  “It’s better for me and—”

  Patrick waved his hand. “You don’t need to explain.”

  Josh’s shoulders eased down, relieved.

  “Where will you go?” Patrick asked.

  “I haven’t decided whether to stay in town or go back to Denver for the summer. Just crash with my parents. I know the lease is up after July, and you’ll get rent for the next two months, so don’t worry about that.”

  Patrick nodded.

  An uneasy silence came between them, and Josh kept fidgeting in his seat. Patrick’s eyes were set on him like he was scrutinizing a convoluted painting, trying to discern its true meaning. What was there left to be uncomfortable about? Patrick tapped all five fingertips against the table at once. “Speak, dude.”

  “George killed himself yesterday,” Josh said, the skin at the edges of his eyes wrinkling as a grimace overtook his youthful face.

  The words sunk in slowly, and once they had, a violent shudder ran up Patrick’s spine. “What? How?”

  Josh shook his head. “Hung himself in his bedroom. Tiffany found him. She’s been blowing me up, crying and shit. She’s a total mess. Apparently”—he hesitated— “they were hooking up lately.”

  Patrick was in shock. The images of his and Tiffany’s encounter in the school parking lot yesterday were still very fresh.

  “She told me after everything went down, they hooked up a few times.” Josh corrected himself.

  Patrick’s mind began to race, frantically almost. Why hadn’t Tiffany texted him to tell him about this? After meeting her yesterday. Patrick pulled his phone out and checked his messages. Yep, only the one.

  Patrick should’ve felt something more poignant, but it was like a dense fog had enveloped him and wouldn’t let anything past the wall of shock. He thought about Reagan, and then Lindsey on life support, and the news about Simone that Tiffany had dropped on him that he couldn’t determine was true or not, and now George. Patrick was cold all the way down to his toes.

  His attention came back to Josh. “Do they know why he did it?”

  Josh’s voice came out dry. “No.”

  Patrick ruminated on that. Tiffany had given him a kiss, however briefly, and now he was finding out that George had secretly been fucking her.

  “It had to be something Tiffany told him or something she did.”

  Josh’s shady eyes lowered. “You think so?”

  “Of course,” Patrick said.

  Josh bit hard into his bottom lip. “I dunno. I’ve been thinking maybe…”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe the blow to the head did something. You know, when I hit him. Maybe it fucked up his brain chemistry. Or maybe he got depressed about how it looked. I’ve heard of that kind of thing happening.” Josh was rubbing his hand, specifically the knuckles, as if they still ached from that night months ago.

  Patrick squinted. “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it?”

  “Listen,” Patrick said, “whatever it was that made him do it, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You don’t kill yourself because you got beat up in a fight.”

  Josh leaned forward on the table and sighed. He glanced up from his hands. “I’m sorry to hear about Lindsey and that young girl. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

  Patrick’s eyes jumped away. He didn’t want to discuss it.

  “I found out on the news,” Josh added. “It must be hard for you right now.”

  Patrick wanted to retreat, but he couldn’t exactly run from the table into his room. “It was my fault.”

  Patrick couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he would come to find that George was his fault as well. He felt emotions bubbling up. It was difficult to speak. “I’ll get past it. Life goes on, I guess.”

  Josh looked at him with an obvious sympathy.

  For a moment, the wrong Patrick had inflicted on him didn’t seem to be hanging between them like a wall. Maybe cast in death’s shadow, all other things seemed forgivable.

  “Have you talked to Simone?” Josh asked.

  “No,” Patrick answered. “She won’t return my calls. My texts either.”

  “You’ve been calling her?” Josh asked with a hint of defensiveness.

  “Yeah. To apologize.”

  Josh nodded.

  “And I should’ve done the same with you.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  Patrick saw Josh was only pretending to be strong.

  “Actually, it is,” Patrick said.

  There was the smallest upturn at the edge of Josh’s lips.

  “I ask about Simone,” Josh said, not letting
the pleasant moment linger, “because I’m about to go see her.”

  “Because of George?”

  He nodded. “She and Tiffany are setting up a small vigil outside his door. It sounds hokey, but Tiffany asked if I wanted to come and I couldn’t say no.”

  “I manipulated her,” Patrick blurted, meaning Simone. He needed to get it out. “I can see that now. If you can forgive either of us, it should be her.”

  “She knew what she was doing.” Josh said it coldly.

  Patrick said no more. What he didn’t tell Josh was that he’d called and texted Simone a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours because of what Tiffany had told him. He wanted to ask her about the pregnancy, if it was true, and she wouldn’t even respond to him. Normally, he would’ve prayed it wasn’t his and would’ve schemed up ways to pressure her to get rid of it, but instead he was calm about it, for reasons he couldn’t explain. He just wanted to talk. He wanted to know if it was true—and if she thought it was his.

  “Give her another chance,” Patrick said. “I know you still care.”

  Josh’s eyes filled up with hate. “Do I?”

  “I’ve been cheated on,” Patrick said.

  The hate gave way to a doubting look.

  “It’s true. Once, freshman year. I never told you because I was embarrassed. It hurt man, I’ll be honest. But you know the difference between that girl and Simone?”

  “What?” Josh asked in a grumble.

  Patrick pointed at himself. “That girl didn’t give a shit about me. I can’t say the same about Simone for you.”

  “She might care about me,” Josh said, anger flowing out. “But I can’t be with someone who cares a little about me and a lot about my best friend.”

  Patrick backed off, not wanting to provoke him.

  They were quiet again at the table.

  “When do you have to go over?” Patrick asked, suddenly feeling the sting of not being included in the whole vigil. He was no longer part of their little circle, which in a way, felt like no longer being part of a family.

  “I’m gonna leave in about half an hour.”