Phoebe Will Destroy You

by Blake Nelson

  “Ryan said the guy’s from back east somewhere,” said Carson. “Got that sound in his voice.”

  “What sound is that?” said Justin.

  “You know. Lots of money. And no frickin’ clue.”

  “Sounds about right,” said Justin.

  Carson continued: “So Ryan says to the guy, ‘So you gonna do the restoring yourself,’ and the guy says he’s gonna pay this other guy to do it. And so Ryan’s like, ‘So you just wanna ride around in it?’ And the guy says no, he only drives German cars, but his wife wants it because her first boyfriend had one.”

  “Yeah,” said Wyatt, from the ground. “She probably got her first piece of ass in it.”

  “And you know that guy wasn’t some computer geek,” said Carson.

  “Money don’t change things,” said Wyatt. “If you’re a dork, you’re a dork.”

  Everyone smiled at that.

  “Kinda makes you wonder, though,” said Carson, “what you’d do if you had that kinda money.”

  “I know what I’d do,” said Justin.

  “What’s that?” asked Carson.

  “I’d buy a restaurant.”

  “A restaurant? What do you know about restaurants?”

  “Or a bar maybe,” said Justin. “Someplace I could hang out. Drink for free.”

  “If you own the bar, then you’re not drinking for free.”

  “You know what I mean,” said Justin. “Why? What would you do?”

  “I’d buy a boat,” said Carson.

  “Like a fishing boat?”

  “No man, like a chick boat. Like to take chicks out in.”

  “I wouldn’t do nothin’ different,” said Wyatt, holding the armrest in place. He was going to try to reattach it with the one screw that still worked.

  “You get yourself a nice boat . . . ,” said Carson. “Get some nice food . . . some fine wine . . . have some dudes in, like, servants’ clothes.”

  “And where you gonna dock it?” asked Justin.

  “California. Where else? That’s where the girls are.”

  “Yeah,” said Justin. “Chicks dig boats.”

  “Women like the finer things in life,” said Carson. “And if you can provide those things . . .”

  “You’d kinda have your pick then, wouldn’t ya?” said Justin.

  “You could have anything you want.”

  “Yeah, but what’s the point?” I said. I hadn’t meant to speak at that moment. The words just came out. “I mean, if all the girl wants is your boat and your money, why be with her?”

  I saw Carson smile a little at that. Wyatt looked annoyed at his broken armrest.

  “So you figure you’re goin’ more for the true love kinda thing . . . ?” Justin asked me.

  I shrugged. “Why not? It’s better than having someone use you.”

  “Yeah, but everybody uses people,” said Justin. “That’s how it works.”

  No one spoke for a moment.

  “Nah, but I feel you,” continued Justin. “A girl who loves you for who you are, like in your soul. I’d take that.”

  “Fuck yeah, I would too,” said Carson.

  “Still, the boat could be useful,” reasoned Justin. “Like if there’s an apocalypse or whatever.”

  “Shit,” said Wyatt from behind his door. “You guys got any superglue in the office?”

  24

  For my dinner with Jace, I dug out my one nice button-down shirt, which I hadn’t worn once in Seaside. I took a shower and put on extra Old Spice and combed my hair. Jace was wearing a yellow summer dress when she picked me up. Her long legs looked silky and smooth, and she smelled good too, like lemons. I felt nervous putting on my seat belt. Though officially this was not a date, it still felt like an “occasion” of some kind.

  It took about ten minutes to get to Gearhart. It turned out Jace’s mom was paying for our dinner as a birthday present, so Jace could keep her library money, so that was good.

  The restaurant was on the main street. We pulled into the gravel parking lot in the back. I could see right away how fancy the Pacific Grill was. Even the gravel was perfectly clean, as if they’d polished every rock. A white picket fence surrounded the parking lot, with ivy growing over the top of it and little purple flowers.

  A small sign and special lights directed you to a back door, which led to a passageway, which led around to the front of the restaurant. Jace had made us a reservation, so the hostess welcomed us with great formality. We followed her through the tables, which had white tablecloths and cloth napkins and multiple forks and spoons at each place. Jace and I were on our best behavior as we were seated at a table beside the window.

  “Look at this silverware,” Jace whispered after the hostess had left. “Is this the soup spoon?”

  I didn’t actually know which spoon was for what. “I think you just go from the outside toward the inside,” I said. “Depending on what they bring.”

  Jace nodded and continued to study the different objects on our table. A man with a white coat and a bow tie appeared and gave us a basket of warm rolls wrapped in a crisp white napkin. Beside it, he presented us with a small bowl of iced butter chunks.

  “Oh my God,” said Jace, pulling the cloth back and breathing in the warm bread. “They just made these!”

  She took a roll and I did too. We carefully tore them in half and took turns smearing butter on them. The light, fluffy dough practically melted in your mouth.

  Our waitress looked like a fashion model, which made it hard to focus. I got tongue-tied. Jace ordered the seared tuna, and I ordered the free-range game hen. Then we sat there and giggled and watched the other dinner guests coming in. They were mostly older people, rich people, people who probably ate there all the time. A man with distinguished gray hair and a sport coat sat with his wife to our left. He looked like he’d never eaten anything except lavish meals at places like the Pacific Grill. It was fascinating to watch him. Jace watched him too. He snapped his napkin in the air before he put it in his lap. So then I tried snapping my napkin, and then Jace snapped hers. It was harder than it looked. Then we ate more of the delicious bread. When we’d used up all the butter, I proved my restaurant sophistication by waving to the water guy that we needed more. He brought it immediately.

  After just the right amount of time, our dinners arrived. They were pretty spectacular. Jace and I compared notes and tasted each other’s dishes. After a while we settled in and ate.

  “So the Fourth of July, in Astoria . . . you got fogged out?” I asked. I had never got the full story.

  “It was okay,” said Jace, pulling her freshly washed hair back behind one ear. “They still shot off the fireworks. It was just so cold, and the grass was wet. We only went up there so Emily could see Oliver. He doesn’t have his license, so we always have to visit him.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s nice. And he’s cute. And he doesn’t mind when Emily bosses him. But he also stands up to her sometimes, which is good too. I wanted to invite you to come with us, but Emily said no, since . . . you know . . .”

  “Since what?”

  “Since things got weird at Kelsey’s birthday.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. I had finished my meal and was dabbing my face with my napkin. “Sorry about that . . .”

  “No, no, it was my fault,” said Jace. “I was being weird. I could tell you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I totally did. I just wasn’t sure—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I told Emily we were just friends anyway. But she was like, ‘Nick didn’t handle that right; he has to see that he made a mistake.’ And I was saying that I made the same mistake you did. I was nervous! She always blames the guy though. . . .”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “She can afford to be like that. Since every boy likes her. But normal girls, people like me, we have to cut people slack. I mean, boys do stupid stuff all the time. That’s practically their job in life. That’s why they call them boys.
”

  I laughed at this. Jace laughed too. We both sipped our sparkling waters. We were having a great time. No wonder the Pacific Grill cost so much. Everything that happened there somehow turned out perfect.

  * * *

  When our main course was gone, we ordered cappuccinos. As we sipped them, I found myself watching Jace. Not in a crushed-out way, just enjoying her intelligent face.

  Afterward, we walked back through the parking lot, with the polished gravel and the tiny purple flowers. We were both feeling happy and full and satisfied. It made you wonder. Like, was the point of life to have the best of everything? The best meals, the best clothes, the best car? It kind of seemed like it was. It did at that moment anyway. But it also made me sad that Jace believed getting out of Seaside would make her life so much better. I mean, it would, in some ways, obviously. But I already had the life she wanted, and it hadn’t worked out that great for me.

  We drove back to Seaside, talking a little and then not. As we passed the WELCOME TO SEASIDE sign, I suddenly got an image of Phoebe in my head. I pictured her walking along the side of the road, by herself, as if she was a homeless person. I thought how if I was driving by, and I saw her like that, I would stop and offer her a ride. Not trying to get with her, but trying to be there for her, trying to show her that someone loved her and cared about her and that she was not alone.

  25

  I still hadn’t tried to find or contact Phoebe. I guess I thought I’d see her somewhere—the car wash, another beach party, the Promenade. And the way she’d disappeared on me at the Fourth of July party, it made me think it would be the better move to not pursue her. Best to play it cool and wait until we ran into each other. This was Seaside; you pretty much saw everyone eventually.

  The problem was: I hadn’t seen her. And a lot of time had passed. I wasn’t going to be here forever. So then one afternoon, after work, I decided to see if I could find her house. Maybe I could accidentally run into her that way.

  I walked into the north-end neighborhood where she lived, which I remembered from driving her home from the beach. Unfortunately, I hadn’t paid close attention that morning. I’d just followed her pointing finger. And I’d been so focused on her, I hadn’t noticed any street signs or landmarks.

  I walked down the first street I came to. I wasn’t sure I would remember what her house looked like. According to my phone there were about ten blocks of these streets, three to four blocks deep, so it would take a while to cover all that ground.

  I began my search. The houses were pretty old. They had that salty, weathered look. Faded paint, drooping roofs, sometimes a wind chime or a dream catcher in the front. It was fun to cover a neighborhood like that, taking your time, checking things out. A lady in her bathrobe was watering her weedy lawn. A guy in a dirty T-shirt lay on his side in his driveway, doing something to his motorcycle. Occasionally I’d see a house that looked like Phoebe’s, and I would get nervous for a second. It seemed possible I might see her on the street. Or maybe she’d ride by on a bike, if she had a bike.

  I walked up one crumbling street and down the next. There were potholes and broken asphalt and puddles. A wet breeze began to blow in off the ocean. Occasionally a scroungy dog would pass by. Or a damp cat.

  I wondered what Kate would think of my recent adventures. Getting in fights. Hanging with the locals. Making out with dangerous, cigarette-smoking Phoebe. Kate would be supportive, as always, since she still loved me (I hoped she did; I still loved her). She’d say something like, If you want to be a writer, I guess you need to experience things. But deep down she’d probably have her doubts. Seaside was such a different world from where she was, up on Orcas Island. She was probably playing tennis and going for swims and reading Jane Austen novels in a hammock. And probably a million interesting, good-looking guys were around, giving her rides on their scooters, sprawling on her freshly cut lawn at night. They’d be talking about colleges and their future lives. And around them the crickets would chirp, and the stars would shine, while the ocean, subdued up there among the islands, would calmly murmur and lap against the stones.

  It hurt me to think about it. I tried not to. I reminded myself that Kate and I were following our separate paths. That’s what Dr. Snow always said. He was big on “paths” and “journeys.” We all have our different “roads” to travel, and sometimes it was impossible to predict where they would go, or why. The important thing was to stay open and learn whatever lessons came along. I smiled as I thought of the lessons I’d learned in Seaside: How to smoke out of a four-foot bong. How to beat a guy nearly to death. Where to find every last nickel in some California guy’s Chevy Tahoe.

  * * *

  I didn’t think about Kate too long. Maybe a minute or two before my mind, as usual, went back to Phoebe. Where was she on this windswept afternoon? Reckless, troubled Phoebe. Phoebe, whose eyes were green and whose lips tasted like smoke and alcohol and God knows what else. Her breath was so complicated, so ominous, and yet so alluring. It was like you were breathing in all her conflicts and contradictions. She was not a person you just “got” or would ever completely understand. Even Emily, who was also cute and a little bit hard, after you’d talked to her a couple times, you basically knew what her deal was. Or someone like Jace: Even in sarcasm mode it was obvious her heart was in the right place. But what about Phoebe? Where was her heart?

  She and Nicole, they knew how to have a good time, that’s for sure. The two of them, always at the center of things, always burning the brightest. Phoebe was what? Eighteen? She seemed older than that by about a thousand years. She was a very old soul. A person who knew things way sooner than she was supposed to. There were no girls like her at my high school. No girl would dare be like that. And finding her on the beach that morning, under the sleeping bag . . . sometimes I would remember that and I would be so amazed. That really happened! She had been dead asleep, passed out, on a beach at five thirty in the morning, on the cold sand, with the crabs and the seagulls, and the tide rolling up on her. It was bracing to remember that. This was not some ordinary person. Phoebe was like a character from a novel. She was a lost soul, a tragic figure, but also fearless and funny and strangely irresistible. And best of all: She had let me into her world. She had given me access. It felt exhilarating, that part of it. To be included in the excitement of her life. It proved I wasn’t just some boring dude. I wasn’t just some average Joe, with nothing going on.

  * * *

  I’d been walking about an hour when I saw a mailbox I thought I recognized. It had a special trim around the bottom. I studied the house and the driveway. When Phoebe got out of the truck that morning, she walked uphill, to the right, toward her front door. Which was consistent with this house, since the door was to the right of the driveway.

  Was this it? The house was a dull reddish brown. Nobody appeared to be home. Could I knock on the door?

  I checked around me, scanning the other houses. None of them looked familiar. But they didn’t look unfamiliar, either. I should have paid more attention when I dropped her off. I studied the front of the house again, looking for clues. Her last name was Garnet. I checked the mailbox, but there was no name on it. I glanced around to see if any neighbors were watching, and then opened it. There was a flyer inside, from a supermarket. It was addressed to RESIDENT, which didn’t help.

  Then a car came around the corner. I slid the flyer back in and discreetly closed the mailbox. Then I casually walked on, my heart racing in my chest.

  26

  And then my mom called.

  This was the next day, at the end of my shift. I was in the storage room, putting my Happy Bubble shirt back on its hanger, when my phone lit up.

  I didn’t know why she would be calling. She didn’t generally talk to me directly; usually I heard stuff through my dad. But there it was: her famous name on my phone screen.

  I took the call and held the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Nick, it’s your mother.”
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  “Hi, Mom.”

  She took a long breath, like this was going to be a hard conversation for her. “How are you?” she said. “How are things in Seaside?”

  “Things are good,” I said.

  “Where are you?”

  “Right now? I’m at the car wash. I’m just getting off work.”

  “That’s right. You’re working for your uncle Rob.”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “How is that?”

  “It’s okay. It was cloudy today. So there weren’t many customers.”

  “I always wondered how a car wash could stay in business in a place where it rains so much.”

  “Well it does stay in business,” I said. “And it does pretty well.”

  “I guess that’s nice for your aunt and uncle.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  My mother took another breath. I could feel her anxiety. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  I sat down and prepared myself. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good.

  “I’m going to be moving out of the house,” she said.

  “Out of our house . . . ?”

  “Yes. I’m getting an apartment, closer to campus.”

  “We practically live on campus,” I said. “How much closer can you get?”

  “It’s not the distance. It’s the logistics of it. Your father and I . . .” She sighed. “We’ve discussed it, and we think it’s for the best.”

  I said nothing. Now it was my turn to take a long breath. The truth was, it never felt right at home when it was just my dad and me. Not that my dad did anything wrong. Or that I enjoyed dealing with my mom. It was just the basic mechanics of the thing. Two guys, living together . . . something was missing. It didn’t feel like a family. I don’t know why. You needed a woman there, I guess. Women were what families were built around.

  “So I’ve rented a place,” continued my mother. “I think it will make things easier for everyone.”