A favor for a favor. I felt obligated. Not to mention, she offered to pay. And it was the bar. I was getting bored with Dad’s cheap beer. Not that I drank fancy stuff, but Tracy and I went out from time to time and could get guys to at least buy us a mixed drink or two.
The parking lot was full by the time we pulled into Dark Horse Tap about nine o’clock. The sun had started to sink behind the mountain, laying an odd cast over the rustic bar tucked into the side of the mountain; like fingers of shadow and light through the trees. A small group of people lingered outside the doors, greeting and hugging one another. Cecelia turned toward me in the front seat of her truck and pursed her lips. She looked serious.
“What?” I asked.
“You know; you should be wearing green today.”
“It’s not Saint Patrick’s Day.” At least, I didn’t think it was.
“No, but look at the moon.”
My eyes turned skyward in immediate reaction, but before I found it, she sprang at me with a small black stick aimed at my face.
“Holy shit! What are you doing?” I pushed back against my door, watching her hands move. Mascara.
“Hold still. I don’t expect to get a full face on you, but you fixed your hair so nice — well, you brushed it...it’d be a waste to not do something with your face too.”
I stayed statue-like; my fear of being poked in the eye if I struggled was stronger than my fear of Cecelia making me up like her. She stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. She still smelled like cream and berries even after we dragged scraps of wood and metal off the porch for an hour, sweating like pigs. All she’d done was clean up with a washcloth at the sink, and she looked perfect.
She sat back and smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“Has anyone gotten us mixed up yet?” Her smile widened. She leaned back in her seat and looked over to the building. I followed her gaze. “This town, it’s so funny here. I don’t know the word for it. But these people. They’re all so good on the outside, and don’t get me wrong, some of them are good on the inside too. Sometimes, don’t it seem like there’s a poison going through the river here, seeping into the water system? I see it when they look at me; when they’re thinking I’m you. I know what they got going on in their mind. Time been hard on me. You. Whatever.”
She shrugged and fiddled with the wooden beads at her neck. “I got almost ten years on you. Of course, it’d be a shock, you aging so fast. Hard life. But that ain’t what they’re really thinking ‘bout. They’re really sitting gossiping over is how you got so fat.”
“You’re not fat,” I said, because I might not always be a good friend, but I didn’t fail basic girl statements.
“Maybe I am, and maybe I ain’t. All depends on who I’m standing next to, and next to you?” She made a sucking sound between her teeth and tongue, like a reverse snake’s hiss. “And it stresses them out. I think it makes them feel bad for what they did to you.”
“What they did to me?” How much did she know?
“They remember. They all remember, even if they don’t say nothing. Jordan, he told me about school. ‘Bout what they did to you. That day. How they made the days a living hell for the rest of the years you were here. How you kept trying to fix it in bed with one fella or another.” My face flamed at this. Didn’t matter the years or distance I put between me and Cedar Valley, they’d never forget that teenager who left ten years ago. “They don’t all feel bad. Never think that, but some of them do. Jordan probably worst of all.”
“He didn’t do anything.” A couple opened the door and a flood of blue lighting poured out, then disappeared as the door shut behind them. “Literally.”
“Exactly. He never forgot. But maybe you could?” Cecelia sounded like Aunt Dee just then, like she had in the house. She hasn’t earned that, and I didn’t respond. Instead I climbed out of the car and waited.
“Whatever,” she said, standing by me, “we’ll just drink to following the signs to happiness.”
She laughed, and for the first time that day, I couldn’t help but chuckle, though only halfway meant it. I didn’t know if it was the drunk vibes in the air, classic rock pounding from the open door, or the relief from a half-assed laugh, but I knew if I was going to make it through the next few weeks, I would have to remember that these people didn’t matter. When I left this time, I would never see any of them again.
To get through it all, I would have to let go. Even if just for the night. Not of Jordan, and not of the other kids from school. Could I let go of the suspicion nibbling at me whenever Cecelia was around?
Instead, for one night, I would pretend like Cecelia was Tracy, and we were just going out for ladies night at the bar down the street.
Cecelia’s friends were as promised, not cheerleader-happy like her. One of them, Tina, I don’t think smiled once, at least not while anyone looked. In fact, the only one who seemed nearly as beyond rational happy was a woman named Mary-Beth. She clapped every time the cover band started a new song, “This is my jam!” and when any even moderately taboo topic came up, “God! I am so glad to be discussing something besides Liv and Maddie. You guys have no idea how much I miss adult conversation sometimes. Between the Alzheimer’s wing and my children, I feel like I’m going nuts.”
We did shots and took turns requesting songs from Lynyrd Zeppelin. Most of the other girls worked as CNAs or in the kitchen of the nursing home Cecelia worked at.
I met Cecelia’s boyfriend Gary, a tall man with a bushy brown beard and a quiet demeanor. Cecelia did most of the talking for him. The effects of alcohol and a long day worked over my body, making my shoulders limber and my mind happy. I was telling the one-legged logger joke Dad had taught me, when I noticed someone standing nearby, watching me.
Cecelia’s whole forget and forgive speech in the parking lot left the impression on me that Jordan would be making an appearance that evening. The alcohol had made me foolishly brave, ignoring the gnawing idea that he might appear at any second.
The bravery created a false security, that if presented with Jordan, I’d know the exact way to act. I wouldn’t let him take me off guard. He would be no more than a nuisance, a fly to swat away.
The moment he appeared at the table, I knew I’d been fooling myself. Cecelia had one hand on Jordan’s arm, and one shooing Gary out of his seat.
“You don’t have to—” Jordan said as Gary stood.
“Hush, Gary needs to help me with something real quick.”
Just like that, it was Jordan and I alone at the table. Cecelia’s friends had even disappeared, possibly misreading the reason for awkwardness. His picture showed up on Facebook in the People You Might Know section. I’ve also searched for him myself on many a drunk and pissed off night. It was nothing like having Jordan this up close. I was able to study him too, unlike the other day when I drove away in a panic. He was grown, and we missed all that time being together. All that time he ruined.
“You look like shit,” he said in that voice that couldn’t really be his.
“Fuck you.” I stood, but he grabbed my wrist.
“Sit down.”
I glared down at his hand on my wrist, trying to use his size to intimidate me. “Like father like son.”
He flinched and let go. “What do you weigh? Eighty pounds?”
“I’m healthy.”
“You’re not. Did you quit eating altogether?” he asked.
“I’ve been having bill problems.” I sat down. “There’s not always money for food. It’s not a big deal.”
“Cecelia says you still have enough for cigarettes.” An accusation I didn’t have an answer for.
“Did you just come here to bitch?”
“Ken says you were sleeping outside my house this morning.”
“What are you doing still living in that house? You should have left and did something with your life.”
Ha. He had nothing to add. “Scrawnier than ever, sleeping in your car.�
� His jaw gutted out, and he squinted. “What are you using?”
“Excuse me?” I gulped down half of my bottle of beer. I yanked my purse off the back of my chair. “All these things you’re saying, you have no right. You ran away. You left me.” My voice cracked, and I took a breath, refusing to give into those old feelings of rejection. “You fucking hid.”
“You can’t hate me for the rest of your life for something stupid I did when I was fourteen. I was a kid.”
“I was a kid too. I was scared too.” I stood and hit my knuckles on the table. “And I looked for you.”
I turned too fast and the strap on my discount store flip-flop popped out of the center. I did my most graceful shuffle out the door, while keeping my toes spread and my shoe on.
Miraculously, my hands didn’t shake until I got to the smoking area on the back porch. Unbelievable. After all these years of not talking, he picked a fight with me upon first contact. Technically second, I supposed, but still.
I fumbled my lighter, dropping it twice. I let out a gritty scream and stomped. A group of smoking women looked at me and laughed. I turned away from them to face the mountain.
“Idiot,” I muttered. There was no reason I should be so upset. I didn’t even know Jordan, not the person he was now, anyway. He wasn’t the same kid I grew up with, the same boy I stopped talking to thirteen years ago. He’d been replaced with some man with a five o’clock shadow and a deep voice. My Jordan did not exist anymore.
“Ugh.” I gripped the lighter in my closed hand after failing to light my cigarette for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Here.” An olive toned hand appeared in front of me, presenting the ultimate gift in times of pissed off peril: flame from a yellow lighter.
“Thank you,” I said after a successful lighting, and turned to see who had saved the moment. Memory lane smacked me straight across the face for the second time in the past few minutes. “Bobby.”
I squinted, but he looked the same. Slender, my height, straight black hair past his shoulders. He never changed his style of dress from high school. Jeans were a little too big. Long gold chain around his dark neck. My upper lip curled involuntarily. What had I seen in him? He was who I left for California with, and I had nothing but bad taste to back me up.
Bobby said, “Cecelia said—”
I snorted. Of course. Cecelia. She liked to talk, didn’t she? He smiled, showing the little dimple in his cheek. Well shit. I remembered the dimple.
He started again. “At work this morning, Cecelia said she was throwing a little welcome back thing for you tonight.”
“She didn’t work today.” She would have had to call him. And this was a welcome back thing for me? Who would want to welcome me back?
“She came in this morning for a haircut. Mrs. Gilbert can’t go without her red dye.” He winked and stood a little taller. “I got a good job. I’m indispensable, they move me between the homes.”
Indispensable. Ha. More like cheap labor. “What are you doing here? Like, in Oregon here?”
“Moved back a few years ago,” he said with sad smile. “I didn’t know you stayed in California, after...what happened.”
“After you kicked me out of our apartment and let Shelia move in? And kept all the groceries I bought?” I asked, keeping myself from throwing my cigarette in his face. Though I envisioned it.
“Oh, come on. I was young and dumb.” His hand went to my shoulder. “I didn’t understand what I had.”
Stupid teenage hormones stirred in me. Bobby had been able to get me by a snap of his fingers and a leer since I landed on his radar in the summer after tenth grade.
I looked down at his hand, and that was when I realized it wasn’t just his hand there. He was holding something between his forefinger and thumb. A little baggy with 2 white pills.
“No.” My voice surprised me, and I wasn’t sure if I would follow through with the finality of that two-letter word.
Bobby leaned in and whispered against my ear, “It’s just a little fun.” A tingle hit me below. Tempting. Falling back in old habits. Spending a night. Forgetting the next morning.
His lips brushed against mine. I told myself to not fall into his eyes, but they’re like a path out of the darkness, beckoning me back along the trail. Or was it more like a path into darkness?
“Dude,” I said, “you fucked me over. You talked me into moving to California, and then you moved another girl into our apartment.”
My tone softened as my eye rested on the baggie. A few hours of forgetting after this week, would it be that bad? Jordan memories, and Cecelia’s stupid Mama face.
“You got me back,” he said, his eyes narrowed.
“Huh?” I asked, my eyes still on his lips.
He smiled cruelly. The same evil, yet, sexy smile that got me to do the worst of things. I should have run the other way as soon as I realized it was him. That smile never promised anything good. “The tip jar.”
I smirked. After I found out Shelia had moved into our apartment, I called his boss and told him how Bobby had been skimming off the tip jar. “Hey, payback’s a bitch.”
“So are you. I wasn’t only taking money from the jar.” He stepped closer, and I backed into the side of the bar. The group of giggling girls walked inside, leaving us alone. “They pressed charges, and I had to move back home to get my life back together. It was amazing how fast you screwed up my life.”
A second of guilt come over me, but ripped away before it could settle in. I hadn’t been the one stealing, he had been. “Sounds like—”
He cut me off, pressing his lips against mine. Someone inside me, the rational Meg maybe, told me to push him away. The almost drunk Meg, who needed an hour or two of forgetting, accepted the rough anger in his touch and kissed him back.
“Nice, Meg,” Jordan interrupted, his stupid grown up voice stunning me back into adulthood. I pulled back from Bobby.
“Are you following me?” I turned. Jordan stood in the doorway with a scowl on his face.
“I came out to apologize,” he said, and as affirmation in my disbelief, I saw Cecelia standing behind him in the glass door. She pushed him out there. That had to be it.
“Maybe instead of apologizing, you could just not be an asshole.” I turned away from Jordan, and back to Bobby. My broken flip-flop stuck in the space between the floor slats, and I tripped. Bobby looped his arm under my armpits, keeping me steady.
“Let me take you home,” he said, pulling me against him.
“Not yet,” I said. “This is my welcome home party, right? Well, let’s drink and welcome me home.”
Cecelia stood outside by then and smiled at me. This was in fact what she wanted — me getting drunk and enjoying myself, loosening up. She wanted me to be her sister, companion, and roommate, if I didn’t sell the house. She didn’t want me to sell the house. She thought I could be the Aunt Dee to her Mama and Dad.
Where did that come from?
“Quit smiling at me.” I pushed her, and for a moment the alcohol took over and her face split down the center, then regrew as if she had two heads on her shoulders. One head smiled and looked like Mama’s floating head. The other face looked at me as though I stabbed her puppy. “Stop splitting like that.”
“What?” she asked, putting her hand over her chest after I yelled and looked stunned, but her head turned back into one.
I pushed by her, accepting a drink from Bobby and spending the rest of the night on the dance floor falling back into old feelings of lust for him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The night mushed and muddled together until everyone in the bar began moving towards the door and the lights flickered. I started slamming back waters instead of shots an hour ago, and the room came back into focus.
A big guy in a Slipknot shirt, sporting a rattail, shouted, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” as he walked towards the door. A gaggle of girls laughed as they trailed behind him.
I ac
cepted phone numbers from new friends and in my drunken state promised to call and invite them over for dinner. They were oh so interested in digging through the vintage albums in the attic and antique plates hanging around the living room. I promised them first dibs before the auctioneers came to collect.
Sober Meg whispered in my ear. “You’re never going to call them.” I tossed their scribbled-on scraps of paper to the ground the second I stepped outside.
“C’mon, Greg’s over here,” Bobby said, leading me towards the back of the parking lot where one of his friends waited to be the mostly designated driver. Things with Bobby progressed faster than I meant on the dance floor. Hands and warm breath on my skin, reminded me we had another kind of history besides a bad breakup. A history that if revisited, would lead to a body sensation reunion tour.
“I’m getting a ride home with Bobby,” I told Cecelia as I hugged her goodbye. She kissed me on both cheeks, leaving behind a sticky smear of lipstick, then leaned against Gary and winked. Gary was talking to a man with dark brown hair and a white streak down the center of his head like a Mohawk.
“Did you get a chance to make up with Jordan?” she asked.
Shaking my head and hiding an eye roll, I turned my back to her and waved over my shoulder.
I had only seen Jordan a few times that night since going back inside the bar and had a blurry image of flipping him off at one point. I winced. Way to show I didn’t care what he thought.
I waved to Cecelia, leaving her at her car as Bobby pulled me along. I almost didn’t see Jordan’s brother Nathan when I stumbled by him.
He leaned on the side of a white, rusty two-door pickup smoking and playing on his phone. Blond hair showing signs receding, his forehead wrinkled in a way that said he had spent too much time in the sun. Aged, but just as butterfly inducing as ever, he looked more like their dad than Jordan did.
Bobby talked to a man with the start of a beer belly as I trailed along behind them. His friend played with a wallet chain and looked back at me with a sinister smile. I could practically hear the music intro to the local nightly news.
Going Home (Cedar Valley Hauntings Book 1) Page 10