by KT Morrison
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around. I’ll track her down, maybe she’s at Altieri’s …”
He left Jessie sitting on the bed, her hands still between her knees, and went into the hall. He fished his phone from his pocket and texted Maggie:
Max: Hey where are you?
It wasn’t until he made it out to the path again that his phone binged.
Maggie: Hey man, it’s Cole when u back?
Max: I’m home now. I was just in Maggie’s room
Maggie: You better get here. Come to the Twilight Motel. in town - you know it?
He stood in the gray breeze, cold and chilly now, all that early October warmth leached from it and his skin missed the warmth of California. He felt a chill deep inside, too. A motel?
Max: Why what happened?
11
Twilight
Sunday, October 22nd
Max walked briskly through the main street village, passing by Altieri’s, the Masonic Lodge, and the Rapid Lube. Once past the village there was a stretch of wide-lawned homes that were hundreds of years old, and up ahead was where Cole told him to meet. Not the Twilight Motel but more accurately the Twilight Motor Inn. He passed right by it in the Greyhound this afternoon. Had he looked to the right, he would’ve seen Cole’s lifted Jeep parked out front.
He walked up the paved entrance, passing underneath the back-lit sign with scrolled cap that mimicked the shape of a tricorne revolutionary hat. Below it, ‘vacancy’ in the neon-tube ‘no vacancy’ sign flickered. Ahead was the motel, Cole’s Jeep parked there and a few other vehicles on angles below it. It was set on a hill, close to the road, facing toward the Green Mountains. Two stories, colonial style with black slate roof, the trim, balconies, and stairways done in white-painted wood. The second floor balcony was hung with star-spangled bunting.
His pace quickened, worry accelerating him. Cole hadn’t responded with what happened. Max texted: Why is there a hole in the wall? No response. He texted: Is Maggie okay? No response. The only thing Cole said was: We’re in Room 7. And that’s where he headed now, his shoes clapping along the asphalt, jumping the two brick-paved steps onto the wooden first floor balcony. He dashed to Room 7, and the door opened before he got there.
Cole backed out onto the glossy gray-painted wood balcony and closed the motel room door behind him. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans, coming out in his socks.
Max said, “Cole, what the fuck? ...”
Cole said nothing but came and embraced him, enfolded Max in his arms and hugged him tight, he exhaled in Max’s ear: “So fucking glad you’re home, dude.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Max said, patting Cole’s back.
Cole grabbed him by the arms and said, “That fucking guy ... that fucking Jay Carmichael, dude ...”
“What ... what happened?”
“He fucking …”
“Holy shit,” Max gasped, “where’s Maggie?”
“She’s fine, she’s fine, Max, she’s sleeping,” Cole said, holding Max’s forearm as he reached for the door. “Just let her sleep, dude, she had a hard time getting to sleep.”
“She’s okay? Cole, what happened to her?”
“She’s fine. She says she’s fine. That guy came into her dorm room … I wasn’t there… And he ...”
“Jesus, he what? ... Did he hurt her?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Did he fucking hurt her?” he hissed angrily at Cole.
Cole gripped his arms tighter. “She said he didn’t.”
Max wrestled from Cole’s grip and went to the door. Cole grabbed him again, said, “You have to let her sleep …”
But Max pulled from Cole’s grip, disregarded him; there was no way he couldn’t be with her. He opened the door, charged into the hotel room, the shades drawn, the room dim. There was a lone double bed in the room and Maggie lay underneath a paisley comforter, her beautiful shape bumping out its garish pattern.
It hurt him to see that they had slept together, could see where Cole had been laying next to her but he shook it off. He was across the room in a second, and kneeling on the bed. Maggie’s eyes fluttered, and he put a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes opened, blinked, focused.
“Oh, my God, Max! Oh, Max, Max, Max,” she exhaled and scrambled out from under the comforter, embraced him hard. He squeezed her back even harder. She wore sweatpants and socks and a sweatshirt with the hood cowled around her neck. Her hair was unwashed, but he loved its smell, loved the way it tangled under his nose.
“I love you so much. I love you so much, Maggie.”
“I love you, Max,” she cried and crushed him.
Cole came in the room and closed the door, walked to the foot of the bed where there were two wicker chairs and he sat in one, making it creak. Max watched over Maggie’s shoulder as Cole regarded them blankly. He gave Cole a nod, then whispered to Maggie: “Tell me what happened.”
She ignored him, her arms slinking around him, elbows dipping down to his waist and her nails scratching at his back.
“Maggie, what happened?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. “Why are you home? What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday, Maggie. I came home early. I missed you. I told you that—I told you I missed—”
“I missed you too, Max. I missed you so much. How are your parents?”
“My pare—? ... we’ll talk about them later. You swear you’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” she squeaked then buried her face in his neck.
Max took her face in a palm and caressed her cheek with his thumb, gently guided her face away so he could look in her eyes. She did for a moment but then closed them. “Maggie,” he whispered, “did he touch you?”
Her plump lips trembled, parted, and she hesitated, a croak in her throat, but finally she said, “No.”
“What did he do?”
But now he lost her, and he saw her hand over his shoulder waving Cole to join them. Cole eased up off the creaky chair, got on his knees on the bed and walked toward them. Max let him in, let Maggie part from him, but kept a hold of her wrist. Cole got behind her, on the other side, and eased Maggie to lay back in the pillows with him. Max fell to her side as well.
Cole put an arm around her and held her, Max gripped her wrist, wriggled himself as close to her as he could, cupped his hand on her neck and ran his thumb along her jaw. Eventually she fell asleep again.
“A twelve-inch assorted on whole wheat, six-inch grilled chicken breast on whole wheat, and a twelve-inch roast beef and ham on white.”
The guy behind the counter nodded, turned to the stainless steel shelves of the baking unit and retrieved the bread. Max turned and put his rump against the counter, folded his arms and looked out the window of the Subway, across the street and up the grassy expanse that lay below the Twilight Motor Inn. Saw Cole’s Jeep parked up close, and the door, Room 7, and imagined the troubles behind it.
He’d gone all that way to San Diego and left the woman who was to be his wife alone. For what? For nothing. Left her with a friend, left her in the arms of another man. Could never have anticipated what actually transpired. He always knew there was something dark about Jay Carmichael.
He paid for the subs, gathered them in a plastic bag with their drinks, crossed the quiet Main Street in the dark up to the lights of the motel. He stepped up to the first balcony and found Cole leaning over the railing waiting for him. He went to his side, murmured, “Hey.”
Cole’s gaze still traveled up, looking across the street over the Subway and a Main Street plaza to the Green Mountains beyond. His phone vibrated in his hand and he tilted the screen to read it.
Max hoisted the bag with their dinner for Cole to see, nodded toward the motel room door.
Cole said, “I got four guys, we’re driving up to Brattleboro tonight and we’re going to tune this fucker up.”
“What?”
“We have room for one more. You in?”
Max said, “Are you crazy? You can’t do that. You’ll get expelled. Fuck, go to jail.”
“Max, he fucking hurt her. Look at her,” he said, now thrusting his head toward the door. “You going to let him do that?”
“Does Maggie know? Did you tell her?”
“No, she doesn’t know.”
“I guarantee she doesn’t want you to do that.”
“I don’t care, Max. He came in and assaulted her while she was naked. I was just there, Max. I was there, and I went to go get us dinner and that coward piece of shit comes in when I’m gone and he fucking ...” Cole’s eyes went red and he teared up.
Max held his arm.
“... And he fucking ... he fucking hurt her, man.”
Max said, “He didn’t rape her ...”
“So? She says he didn’t. But what if he did?”
Now Max’s eyes welled up like Cole’s. “Cole you can’t do this.”
Cole’s phone buzzed again, and he went back to the railing and his thumbs danced out instructions to some of his other buddies, getting a posse together to do harm.
Max went back in the room. Maggie was sitting upright, bundled up and looking so small in her sweatshirt, her knees hidden underneath the comforter. There was a small LCD TV in the corner on a wood veneer stand and she watched Judge Judy with the sound low.
He said, “You know what he’s thinking?”
“Who’s thinking?” she mumbled. He tossed the subs and the pop cans onto one of the wicker chairs and got on the bed with her. Cole came in and closed the door behind him.
Max said, “He’s going to Brattleboro with a bunch of guys to beat the shit out of Jay.”
“Max, you fucking asshole,” Cole said.
“He can’t do that, Maggie.”
Maggie’s face looked angry but vacant. She said, “You can’t do that, Cole.”
Cole said, “That guy’s fucking dead. He’s fucking dead.”
Maggie said, “Don’t do that.” Her voice was flat and distant.
Cole shook his head angrily, wanting to say so much but biting his tongue. He folded his arms and looked up to the corner of the ceiling.
Max got up and said, “Cole, he’s not worth it. Dude, he’s totally not worth it. He’s a piece of shit.”
Cole said, “Yeah, he is a piece of shit. Ask anybody that knows him. He’s a fucking weirdo. You fucking made her sleep with him.” Now his arms unfolded, his hands balled in fists at his sides.
Max put his hands up, said, “I didn’t.”
“You did. You fucking made her.”
Max turned to Maggie said, “What did you tell him?”
Maggie shrugged, her gaze lost in the nothing between Max and Cole, and Judge Judy. She murmured, “You don’t do anything. Don’t do a thing. I’m going to take care of it.”
Cole said, “Maggie, I’m going to handle it.”
Maggie said, “No. You put me here. All you guys. I did too. I’m going to get myself out of this. I don’t need your help.”
Max said, “Maggie …? You need us. We shouldn’t do anything to Jay. Not physically, but ...”
Cole walked between the wicker chairs and grabbed his keys off the table, threw up his hands and said, “Fuck this.”
As he turned to leave, Max grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Cole, she doesn’t want you to—”
“What the fuck do you know what’s good for her? This is your fault.” He thrust an index finger into Max’s chest.
Max said, “It’s not my fault.”
“You’re so full of shit, Max. You’re so fucking full of shit. You wanted her to sleep with that guy. Didn’t even care who it was. Just wanted to watch your girlfriend get fucked by another dude. Fucking pervert,” and now he abruptly shoved Max, both hands pushing on his shoulders and knocking him back a step.
But Max was unfazed, instead of being hurt by his words and his lack of understanding of what really went on Max stepped forward and launched back: “You just fucking want her for her money. You fucking drooled over all her father’s shit.”
Cole’s face startled. Hurt. But worse, Maggie gasped.
Max turned to her, and when Cole punched him in the stomach and it plunged all the air from his lungs and he fell on the floor, his mind was still frozen with the image of the pained look on Maggie’s face. That look that said Max thought Maggie wasn’t good enough for Cole. That a guy like Cole would only like her because she had rich parents. The single stupidest, most hurtful thing he could ever say. Aimed at Cole but it went off like a hand grenade in that room, hurting everybody, even himself.
When he tried to breathe in he couldn’t, just bellowed the sound of a dying buffalo on the plains. Then Maggie was on his back, putting her arms around him, Cole’s strong hand wrapping around his upper arm and the two of them helping him to the bed.
He collapsed on it, his chest struggling and twisting, desperate for air though none would come in. He was seized. Cole soothed him, ran his hand in a circle between Max’s shoulder blades, saying, “Sorry, dude, I’m so sorry.”
He wanted to say Fuck off, but he couldn’t say a thing; couldn’t breathe in nor out. His mind panicked, thinking this was how he would die. On the bed between a girl who once loved him, now loved another, her new boyfriend killing him accidentally after he said something so hurtful to her.
He gasped and bucked, his mind reeling with endorphins as the first sign of release came, the muscles in his back relaxing just the slightest, cool disinfected motel room air slowly squeaking through his airways like the nipple of a balloon.
He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror at the foot of the bed, saw Maggie worriedly bracing two hands on his shoulders, Cole with one foot on the floor, one knee on the bed, his hand massaging his back. Saw his wild red eyes, his blubbering lips, saw the panic in his expression.
Maggie told Cole, “Get out of here.”
Cole said, “Maggie, I’m sorry …”
“You have to get out of here. I don’t want to even look at you right now.”
Then Cole was up on the bed, on his knees, sitting on his heels. He had both his hands out to Maggie, and he said, “Maggie, don’t say that. I’m sorry. I am really sorry.”
But now Maggie was crying, falling forward and putting her arms around Max, Max witnessing the whole thing playing out through his warbled vision in the mirror.
She sobbed, “Just get out of here. I’m so tired. So tired of everybody. I just want to be alone.”
Max inhaled the word “Maggie,” a rasping croak, desperate to hear her take that back.
She left both of them, crawled up the bed and curled up in the pillows. Cole slowly stepped off the bed and stood at the foot. Max looked at him and they stared into each other’s eyes, no animosity just worry. He stepped back and turned to the door, went outside.
Now he was alone with Maggie, his breath returning, and he crawled to her. He got behind her and caressed her shoulder. Without looking at him she whispered, “Tell him to come back.”
And though he wanted to be alone with her, he knew they shouldn’t let him leave. Just for the sake that it might prevent his best friend from going and doing something crazy. Maybe Cole would end up with his head broken open on the sidewalk, or choked to death in Jay’s headlock. Or him and four guys accidentally killing Jay Carmichael outside a bar in Brattleboro. Going to jail, ruining their lives.
Maybe Max would go to jail. Not for violence, but when an investigation turned up his perversion. Didn’t know what the laws were against that in Vermont, but he knew that he did feel guilty now. All the truths he wanted to tell this beautiful girl had to be bottled up again, zipped up tight and hidden from sunlight. He did trick her into sleeping with Jay. She may never have done it on her own. Though it may have seemed to him that she would, there was no saying she would do it on her own. She was a sweet girl, and he coerced her. It was likely she could have seen through Jay’s strange game alone in her dorm room before it was too late, once he
r hormones had settled. Maybe told Jay not to come back anymore, or maybe went to a proper studio space to draw him. Max was the one who pushed her in front of the train. And therefore he was the one who put her alone in a dorm room yesterday with Jay where he did something to her that she didn’t want to talk about.
So he stood up, now duty-bound to this woman he loved, went to the door to try to stop Cole before he left. There was no fear, Cole was nowhere near his Jeep. He stood at the white wooden railing just outside the door with his elbows on it, hands clasped together watching the bruise colored sky above the mountains. As he walked behind him, Cole said, “Don’t talk to me.”
“Okay,” Max said. “She said she wants you to come back. She doesn’t want you to go.”
He watched Cole as he gave no reaction, his thick blond hair hanging on his neck, bunched up by his broad, hunched shoulders. After a while, Cole said, “You okay?”
“I’ll live,” he said, feeling wet gurgling air in his throat, struggling to get to his lungs more easily. His stomach hurt all over, but it was condensing to a contracted locale the size of a fist right over his breadbasket.
“Okay. I’m coming back in.”
Max waited but Cole didn’t turn. He went back in the room and closed the door and got on the bed with Maggie. She lay with her head in the pillows, her knees drawn up and her hands hidden in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. He set himself down next to her and wriggled close so they were face to face. He said, “He’s coming in,” and went to touch her face but chickened out and let it rest on her upper arm instead.
She said, “Max, you texted asking if I tied Cole up with my pink tights.”
“Yeah?”
“Was that because I tied Jay up with my pink tights?”
“Yeah.”
“How would you know I did that?”
He stared into her amber eyes and they darted back and forth over his. A cold chill worked up his back, condensing to an icy lump in the center of his forehead. He said, “I don’t know.”