Ten Below Zero

by Whitney Barbetti

  Bridget leaned across the table. “I haven’t told you anything in confidence. You’re free to discuss this with Everett if you’d like.” She looked to the arcade before looking back at me again. “I’ve never met any of Everett’s girlfriends before.”

  My eyes widened. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

  “I know.” She licked her lips. “But you’re the closest thing he’s ever had to one.”

  Before I could reply, Everett had joined us at the booth again. Bridget and I lapsed into silence while Everett looked between us both. “Did you have a nice chat?” he asked, seeming unconcerned. He had to have known we talked about him.

  “Sure did,” Bridget said, winking at me. “We talked about what an idiot you are.”

  “Parker doesn’t think I’m an idiot,” he said, pointing a thumb at me.

  “No. You’re just an asshole.”

  “A rude asshole,” Everett clarified, angling his head towards his sister.

  “Well you are that,” she agreed with a straight face.

  The waiter delivered our food, but Clark was still in the arcade. “His dad fed him lunch before we came, so he’ll likely spend the entire lunch in the arcade,” Bridget apologized.

  “He’s a kid,” I said, shrugging. “He’s got his priorities.”

  “He does.” Bridget smiled softly. “Where are you two headed next?” She seemed genuinely interested.

  I was still conflicted in my feelings towards Everett, so I stayed quiet while he spoke up. “We’re headed to New Orleans next.”

  My head popped up at that. New Orleans was like a gold mine for people like me, people who loved to watch other people. But I kept my eyes away from looking at Everett.

  “What are you going to do there?” Bridget asked between bites.

  I felt Everett’s shoulders shrug next to me. “Stuff,” he replied, before taking a bite of his slice of pizza.

  “Stuff?” Bridget asked, an eyebrow raised. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

  “I’ll take pictures. I’ll send them to you,” he said, waving his hand to brush the conversation aside. That reminded me of the photo we took in the Picketwire Canyon.

  “We’ve already taken one photo,” I said, staring at my plate, “of us under an arch.” Everett stiffened, halting in taking another bite. He knew what I thought of, what I would think of, every time I looked at that photo. But it felt personal, too personal to say aloud.

  “Oh?” Bridget asked, apparently unaware of the thoughts that were sucking up space in mine and Everett’s memory. “I want to see.” She leaned over the table. “The arch in the canyon?”

  “Here,” Everett said, handing her the camera from under the table. I didn’t know he’d brought it with him.

  Bridget set her fork down and wiped her hands on her napkin before grabbing the camera greedily. I watched her start to scroll through the photos. She stopped and looked up at Everett for a second before focusing again on the camera. I hadn’t realized Everett had taken more than one photo.

  “Ah,” she said. She looked up at us both. She seemed to want to say something, but stubbornly set her lips in a line before handing the camera back to Everett.

  “I want to see,” I said, reaching an arm out to intercept the camera. Everett tried to take it from me but I yanked it away. I stared down at the screen on the back of the camera. I saw the arch, and I saw Everett leaning towards me, an arm wrapped around me. His face was facing mine, his lips at my ear. The expression on my face could have been described as serene. I couldn’t help but close my eyes, remembering.

  “Everyone who sees this photo will see us under the arch. But when you see this photo, you’ll see the canyon and the water and all the beauty in front of us. Remember that, Parker. When you look at this photo, remember looking at purgatory with me. While everyone else was looking at the arch, we were looking at that.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at Everett for the first time since he’d left the table. He was staring at me with feeling. I wasn’t sure what the feeling was, but I knew it was likely the same thing I felt. I licked my lips, unable to look away.

  “I already took care of the check. Clark has soccer practice, so I have to get going.” Bridget’s voice interrupted the haze I was in while staring at Everett.

  “We’ll walk you out,” Everett said, reaching a hand to pull me out. There he was again, tugging me. I followed.

  When we got to the parking lot, I let go of Everett’s hand, lagging back so he could visit with his sister a bit. Clark ran ahead to the car while Everett and his sister talked.

  “I wish you’d come to dinner with us tonight,” Everett said, putting an arm around her shoulders. I watched her look at him wistfully. “It’s my shift tonight, and I can’t get anyone to cover. And besides, you know how dad is. I’d rather not watch him embarrass himself or attempt to embarrass me.”

  Everett nodded, sighed, and then ran a hand through his hair. They both turned to look back at me and I turned away, trying to pretend I hadn’t heard.

  “She’s good, you know?” Bridget said, still looking at me.

  My skin itched.

  “Yeah, I know she is,” Everett replied.

  My stomach burned. Everett reached down, hugged her. I turned my body completely away from him.

  “What’s this?” Bridget said. I kept my back to them, feeling uncomfortable witnessing their exchange. There was silence, and then I heard her say. “They say that’s bad luck.”

  Curiosity was whispering in my head to look, to see what they were talking about. But I was stubborn, and kept my back to them.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Everett replied, laughing. I turned around and Everett was hugging Bridget again. I watched her face go from happy to sad the moment she had her arms around him. Her arms were so tight that she shook. I turned my face away again, not wanting to see this moment between Everett and his sister. Too much.

  “Parker,” she said. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She had her arms out for me. Reluctantly, I walked the few feet towards her and let her wrap her arms around me. My own arms felt awkward, like sludge, so I lifted them up and self-consciously patted her back. I looked at Everett while she hugged me, curious by the way he was staring at us.

  “I hope to see you again,” she said, pulling away and looking me in the eyes. It was a loaded goodbye. I didn’t know how to answer so I just watched her walk away towards her car.

  “Have you been hugged often?”

  I shook my head and looked at Everett. “What?”

  “It’s a simple question. Has anyone hugged you? Growing up, did your foster parents hug you? Did your teachers? Boyfriends?”

  I didn’t need to think about it. “No.”

  Everett nodded as if he expected that answer. “Not even your boyfriends?”

  I thought of my boyfriends. I’d never had an emotional connection with any of them. It was never about that. So we didn’t hold hands, hug, or be affectionate unless it was a prequel to the main event.

  “No.”

  “That’s a damn shame.”

  “No it’s not.”

  He stepped closer to me. I took a step back. “Don’t run,” he whispered, his eyes engaged with mine.

  “I’m not.”

  “You want to.”

  He wasn’t wrong. He reached his hand for mine and I placed mine in his with a little apprehension. “Let’s go,” he said, breaking the spell he’d had me under.

  I let him lead me towards the Jeep. He walked me to the passenger door but before he opened the door, he pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me.

  My heart fell, landing in the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes, felt his lips at my ear. “You haven’t be hugged enough, my precious.” His joking nickname for me didn’t feel like a joke this time. He squeezed his arms tighter, so tight I couldn’t move. But it was comforting. And warm. I wanted to live, really live, in this moment. So with my eyes closed, I committed this moment to my me
mory. His cool water scent. The muscles of his back under my fingertips. His breath at my ear. When he pushed his lips to my hair, my heart was volleyed from my stomach to my throat.

  We checked into a hotel before dinner with Everett’s parents. I thought it was a little odd to go to dinner with both of them, considering they were divorced, but Everett seemed like it wasn’t a big deal. But it made me curious of Everett’s father, about what Bridget had said.

  I dressed in the pink dress I’d borrowed/stolen from Jasmine, the one I’d worn the night I met Everett. When I exited the bathroom, Everett was sitting in the chair by the bed, rubbing his head. I watched him from the doorway a minute, worrying about him. The range of emotions Everett brought out of me ranged from good things to things that hurt. The worrying hurt. I never wanted this, this pull of responsibility, to make another human happy.

  His head lifted up and he stared at me, blinking. “You’re not Sarah.”

  “No.” A smile ached to spread my lips.

  He stood up and walked towards me. “You’re beautiful, you know. I’ve told you before, but you like to shake your head.” He put a hand on the side of my neck. “Stop shaking your head. Let me give you a compliment.”

  His hand was warm around my neck and a second later, his other hand went to my waist. My eyes opened when his fingers rubbed there, right over the bandage.

  “This is where your tattoo is,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.

  I nodded. “Where’s yours?”

  “You’ll see it later.”

  I frowned, a little annoyed. His finger came to the space between my eyebrows and he rubbed. “Don’t frown. I’d rather see you smile.”

  “You said I’d look weird with one,” I reminded him.

  “Doesn’t mean I still don’t want to see it. Or be the reason for it.” He dropped a kiss on my lips. “Let’s go.”

  When we arrived at the restaurant, Everett’s parents were already waiting. I watched them with interest before the hostess led us to them. His father had his arm over the back of his mom’s seat and was watching her as if she was the only thing in the world he could focus on. His hair was black, like Everett’s, speckled with black and white. Everett’s mom looked soft, youthful. She had pale blonde hair, curled softly around her face. Her eyes were the same blue as her children. When she saw Everett, it was as if something awakened in her. Her smile filled her face and she stood up to hug him. I watched her hold him tightly, as Bridget had, before I turned my attention to Everett’s father.

  Where Everett’s mom was warm, Everett’s father was cold unless he was looking at his ex-wife. He didn’t glare daggers at me, but he seemed very impersonal, reaching a hand to me with a little reluctance. His eyes roamed my face without a smile. It was the first time in my life I was self-conscious about my scar.

  Everett’s mother hugged me next. The hugging was weird. A comforting kind of weird. While she hugged me, I watched Everett and his father exchange handshakes. It seemed odd again. But I remembered Everett saying his father was distant.

  After introductions, I sat down with Everett to my left, putting me directly across from Everett’s mom, Patricia.

  Patricia propped her elbows on the table and set her chin on top of her hands while she gazed at her son. There was no doubt of her love for him. And by the way he’d hugged her, there was no doubt of his for her. It made me a little breathless, to be a part of this, to so closely witness a mother and a son who loved each other. Parental love was foreign to me. And this was my first experience, witnessing it so closely.

  Everett’s father, who Everett had called by his first name, Robert, had yet to warm up. He drank whiskey in a short glass and when the waiter came by the table, I noticed he asked for another. “Everett will have one too, and-”

  “No, actually water is fine,” Everett interrupted.

  Robert looked over at him. “I’m buying,” he said, as if that would be the only reason Everett would turn down a drink.

  “I’m not drinking,” Everett said, his voice firm. He looked over at me. “Water? With limes?”

  I licked my lips and nodded. Maybe the acid from the limes burning my throat would keep my mouth shut from the acid that would want to spill out during this dinner. Judging by the way Robert looked at Everett, it was going to be a long dinner.

  When the waiter left, Patricia looked between us. “Everett tells me you’ve been to the Grand Canyon,” she said, looking at me with excitement, her eyes sparkling.

  Before I could open my mouth, Everett said, “Yeah, but it was just a big hole in the ground.”

  “Oh bummer,” Patricia answered, her forehead creasing in disappointment. I kicked Everett as discreetly as possible from under the table. “We never made it there on our trip. Everett got too sick.”

  “When you went to the Four Corners?” I asked, remembering what Bridget had said about visiting there with Everett once before.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling wistfully. “It was his wish trip.”

  “Waste of a trip too,” Robert butt in. I tried to suppress my shock, but Patricia merely tsked him.

  “It was not a waste,” she admonished him.

  “It kind of was,” Everett said. I turned to look at him. I wasn’t following the conversation and knew I’d missed out on something.

  Patricia sighed but before she could say anything, I blurted out, “Why was it a waste?”

  “Because he can’t remember it,” Robert said, gesturing towards Everett with his whiskey. “We spent a week touring the southwestern states and after the surgery, poof!” He gestured an explosion with his hands. “It was wiped from his memory.”

  I let that sink in. And then I turned to Everett. “That six months you lost?”

  He turned his head, nodded. Everything was starting to make sense. Everett had lost the memories from that trip. And he was experiencing it again, anew, with me. His eyes were concentrating on mine. My hand that was on my lap moved to his thigh and I squeezed and nodded my head once, indicating I understood.

  Before I could move my hand from his lap, his hand laid on top of it. And then he squeezed, three times. Like he had outside the tattoo shop.

  I turned my attention back to his parents. Robert was focused on his drink, but Patricia had clearly watched our exchange. “Tell me about yourself, Parker,” she said kindly.

  “There’s not much,” I answered. And I bothered by that. Bothered by knowing there wasn’t much. I’d seen more of living in the last week since meeting Everett than I had in the last three years. I cleared my throat. “I’m a waitress. Or,” I frowned, “I was a waitress. I’m going to school for anthropology.” And that was it. That was all that I was.

  Everett squeezed my hand under the table again. “She’s funny,” he said to his mother, but looking at me. “She’s really stubborn and smart.” He lifted his free hand to brush my hair from my face. I couldn’t breathe. His blue eyes penetrated mine. “She’s clumsy, but she’s strong.” His hand on mine squeezed again. My chest was tight, aching. “She’ll tell you she doesn’t care, but she does. It’s just deeper than the surface.” The hand that had brushed away my hair was resting on my shoulder. “That’s what’s so great about her. She’s not artificial. When she feels, it’s real. She’s real, down to the bone.” His eyes were soft, warm, and it hurt to keep looking into them. He squeezed my hand a third time. “She’s the warmest person I know.” Under his gaze, I was transparent.

  Everett smiled, but it was a sad smile. I blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the liquid that had formed in my tear glands. And I looked away, over my right shoulder, inhaling a deep breath. When I turned back to the table, Patricia was staring at me with what I could only describe as elation. It felt like another obligation to me, however. Once you made someone happy, you were obligated to keep them that way. It was a responsibility I didn’t want. I didn’t want to own a piece of anyone’s happiness.

  Nothing would come of me and Everett. He said I was stubborn,
but he was more so. He’d rather die than live. And that realization caused me to excuse myself from the table.

  I first went to the restroom, thrust my hand in the cool water from the sink, trying to cool any part of my body. But then I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt, my head hurt. The dress was too tight, the air was too recycled. I was breathing in air that had been inhaled and exhaled repeatedly. I needed real, honest air.

  I stumbled outside, into the dark parking lot. My ankle was still a little swollen from the fall at the canyon the day before, and walking on gravel that needed repair in heels was not exactly smooth sailing.

  I walked all the way into the parking lot, out to Everett’s Jeep. It was parked near the back, so I hobbled my way to it, intending to change into the flip flops I’d left in the backseat. I peered in the windows of the Jeep, unable to see my flip flops through the darkness.

  It was at that moment that I felt something, something in my brain that warned me to pay attention. I turned around, looking over my shoulder. There was a man watching me from about twenty feet away. I couldn’t make out his features because he was standing between two vehicles, shadowed, watching me. I braced a hand on the Jeep, feeling the warmth of it under my hand. And then a memory came through.

  I was looking in my car windows while unlocking the door when he came up behind me. I couldn’t see his face. Only the reflection of his hooded head facing the window I was looking into. I spun around, hitting him with my purse. He moved away for a second and my eyes scanned the parking lot, looking for help anywhere.

  My eyes focused from the nightmare to real life. The man standing between the two vehicles was staring at me. His features blurred. All I could see what a hoodie. I screamed and the memory came back to me in stunning clarity.