by CL Walters
“Get in.”
I move around the truck and climb into the passenger’s seat.
She drives.
I scrunch down into the seat, head against the cool of the window, and feel sorry for myself. “Thanks.”
“Don’t talk. I don’t want to hear your voice.”
I don’t say any more words, which is all right with me. My head spins with thoughts of what’s just happened, then spins because I drank so fast, but I’m not so inebriated that I’m unaware. Demolition. I’m great at it.
I keep my eyes fixed on the shadows of the trees outside of the truck, the stars in the sky, and the sound of the country twang coming from the radio. Then I just try not to think or feel anything at all.
4
My sleep is restless with images of Max, Josh, Tanner, Emma, and Bella trying to keep from being sucked into a tornado. I’m the tornado. When I open my eyes and gaze at the ceiling of my bedroom, the weight of what I did crashes down on me and makes it difficult to get out from underneath the rubble. I messed up and not being able to assign blame to someone else, even though I want to, leaves me exposed. I owe Max an apology. I owe everyone an apology. My life feels like I should be a walking apology.
When mom knocks at my door, “Griffin?” I sit up and glance at my clock. I slept through the alarm and skipped my run.
“Yeah?” I stare at the door, wishing that I could open it to different circumstances.
“Let’s go get your car.”
The prospect should be more exciting than it feels. I’m too filled with self-loathing and feel undeserving of the convenience. “Be right there.”
With a sigh, I rub my face. Danny was right; I have a problem. I need to stop drinking. I’m worse when I do. In the month I hadn’t, I hadn’t fucked anything up. Running helped too, I think. The discipline meted out by the road has been a deterrent to my dickish behavior.
I need to go see Max and apologize.
Mom is waiting in the car by the time I’m dressed and ready. I slide into the passenger seat. “Ready to do this?” she asks.
I nod, and she reverses from the driveway.
“Where were you last night?”
“I went out to the Quarry.”
“That crappy truck that dropped you home looked like the truck the guy you work for drives. I see him at the store every couple of days.”
“Cal? Yeah. I was with his daughter, Max.”
She turns her head to look at me. “Is that a good idea?”
“We aren’t involved, Mom. Jeez. I’m not stupid.” I say it, but then that’s not true. I have been stupid.
“I never said you were, but you Nichols’ men don’t always make the best decisions when it comes to your dicks.”
“Mom!” My cheeks heat.
“What? It’s true. Look at your father.”
The heat of the blush cools, and my insides slow, straining as if moving will detonate the moment into smithereens. She never says much about my father, and we’ve never once talked about his other family. It was Phoenix who slipped about it before he left and was the only reason I knew. I assumed Mom knew or discovered it, and that was how Phoenix had known, but she’s never said a thing to me. “What about him?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“Mom?” I want her to tell me. I want her to drop the walls and rant about how much he’s hurt her, but she doesn’t. Instead, she closes up.
“Forget it.” She offers me a half smile. “I was just trying to be funny.”
We drive in silence.
I was little when dad went to prison, too little to consider what it did to my mom, and then didn’t consider it at all. Sure, I’ve been incensed and self-righteous knowing he cheated on her—on us—but I didn’t think about the impact on my mom over the last ten years. I glance at her and wonder how a guy does that to her.
But I hurt Max.
I hurt everyone.
Maybe I’m not so different from him, and I hate that thought. I’d made a promise to myself a long time ago to not be like him.
When we get to the used car lot, Mom parks, and three men descend like vultures. She asks for some guy named Bill.
“Who’s Bill?” I ask her.
She puts her keys in her purse. “The manager here.”
“How do you know him?” I glance at her.
She situates her purse tightly against her side. “He’s a customer from the diner.” She isn’t look at me, and her cheeks are pink.
I grimace. I don’t like the look and the assumptions I’m making.
Bill’s a little short. Well, shorter than me. He’s got a lot of silver hair and a ready smile. Kind of tan. A tiny bit paunchy in the midsection, but not too bad considering the guy is old. He fills out his plain, blue collared shirt with the car lot logo like he works out. His handshake is firm. He’s looking at my mom with too much interest. She keeps blushing. I press my teeth together and remind myself I’m there to get a car.
Bill leads us around the car lot. He shows us different options based on what I’ve told him I want, and all the while he’s flirting with my mom. All smiles and jokes. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I know where this guy’s mind is at. And that’s my mom.
I finally pick a blue car in my price range.
“Now comes the fun part,” Bill says and leads us into the dealership, where he gives us water and a granola bar. After haggling—and I’m thankful for my mom, who won’t budge on a monthly payment—Bill presents me with an offer I can afford.
“Congratulations, Griffin. You have a car.” Bill holds out his hand to me.
I just want to get away from Bill, so I take his hand again to get this over with.
“Maybe I’ll see you again,” Bill says.
I offer him a forced smile and hope to God I don’t.
He says something to my mom, who smiles, and I want to shove him away from her, but I know that doesn’t make any sense. Mom’s a grown woman who’s spent her life taking care of me, but I suddenly feel irrationally sullen.
After we finish the paperwork, I’m handed the keys to something that’s mine. I drive from the car lot sort of bursting with excitement even as disgusted as I am about Bill hitting on my mom. The first place I drive is to Max’s.
As I turn into the gravel driveway, I notice the house and how different it looks from that first day. Not beautiful, by any means, but stripped in a way, naked and exposed. Somehow, that’s better. It’s like everything that was weighing it down and threatening to topple it has been removed. When I park, Cal walks around the corner. I see him look over his shoulder, then change direction to walk toward me.
“Look who got some wheels.” He’s smiling and claps my shoulder when he reaches me.
I’m not sure why it makes me feel proud, but Cal’s approval does. “Yeah. It gets good gas mileage and only has 35,000 miles on it.”
Cal nods. “Good. Good.” He walks around it like he did Max’s cabinet the other day and asks about the features.
I catch sight of Max standing in the doorway of the workshop. She’s dressed in oversized, denim overalls with a fitted black t-shirt and goggles hanging around her neck. A yellow handkerchief is tied around her hair keeping it off her face. Hands in her pockets, she starts across the drive toward us.
“No more bus then,” Cal says.
“No more bus.” The thought gives me a warm glow.
When Max gets to us, she remains distant, arms crossed over her chest.
“Looks good, Griffin. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right? Painting this week.”
“Yes sir,” I say.
Cal claps me on the shoulder again as he walks away.
“Nice car,” Max says but stays where she is. I don’t know if she’s said it for my benefit or to hold up a version of the world being normal for her dad.
“The first place I drove.”
“Where? Your ghost town?”
“No. Here. T
o show you.”
She nods, but it seems more like a rote movement without meaning. Her mouth does that sideways thing. She looks at the house.
I lean against the car and look down at the keys in my hands. “I’m sorry about last night, Max.”
She hums a sound like she doesn’t believe me. “Do you know what you’re apologizing for or are you just saying it?”
“For being a jerk.”
“I need you to be more specific, Griffin.”
Griffin. I’ve noticed she only uses my name when she’s serious. I swallow. “The drinking.”
She makes a buzzing sound. “Nope. Thanks for playing. Nice car. Nice chatting.” She turns to leave, the gravel scraping underneath her shoes as she does.
“Wait.” I scramble toward her, and my brain jostles memories trying to figure out exactly what I’ve done to owe her an apology.
She stops. Waits.
I know it could be any number of things, and she’s going to just get more upset if I can’t identify it. I drank to numb the anger. I took it out on her because she was there, like a punching bag, only with my mouth. “Honestly, Max, I’m not very good at words.”
She shakes her head. “You being terrible with words isn’t an excuse to be a dick. Your words do a pretty good job of hurting people.” She turns away again.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
She doesn’t turn back around but remains where she is.
“I meant that I know I say shitty things that hurt people; what I’m not good at is figuring out how to use them to fix things. Not a lot of practice.”
She faces me, eyes narrowed, and crosses her arms. She’s a force, and I’m slightly terrified.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
Her hands go to her hips. “I don’t have time or patience to teach you, Griffin. You’re a man already and need to own your shit. You’re old enough to know how to treat people. But since you tried to teach me some life lessons, here’s one for you.” She holds up her index finger. “One of the things you should do is follow your own rules about drinking and decision making.” She holds up a second finger. “You shouldn’t treat your friends like they’re your opponent, use them like verbal punching bags, but then treat an enemy like they are somehow better than you.” She holds up a third finger. “And you shouldn’t make jokes at your friend’s expense. It hurts.”
Her skin is flushed with her hurt. I think about my mom again and wish my dad hadn’t hurt her. I wish I hadn’t hurt Max. I want to be better than him, even if I’m not sure how to be, but I take in Max’s lesson. I wonder if my dad ever apologized to my mom.
“I’m sorry, Max. Really. I am. Let me make it up to you.”
She waves a hand. “Apology accepted, SK.” She turns and starts back across the driveway away from me. “But I don’t want to look at you right now.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to go for a drive?” I call after her.
“I’m busy.” She disappears into the shop.
I get back into my car and sit in the drive for a moment longer than is probably necessary. I consider going after Max and talking her into a drive but decide that might make her really angry. Since I’m forgiven, I should leave that possible hornet’s nest alone. So I drive home to save gas, for some reason happier than when I woke up, lighter too, and when I get home, I go for a run.
5
The clouds are thick and heavy when I leave the house the next morning to run, and halfway through, the sky unlocks the door to meet the earth, dumping every drop of moisture it held hostage. I wonder if Max is out running too. When I make it home, I climb into the shower to warm up. I dress for work, looking forward to driving my car, to seeing Max, to working with Cal, to focusing on something productive.
The rain is still slick sheets when I park my car in front of the farmhouse. I hurry through the swath of mud to the workshop, ducking into the doorway, soaked through. It’s dark and empty. No Cal. I glance about the place, his truck isn’t here either, which is weird. So I dart across the yard for the back door, which is closer than the front. I knock.
Max’s face, her hair wet, appears in the glass a moment later; she opens the door. “Dad’s not here. You can’t paint in this.”
“Yeah.” I look at the water draining waterfalls from the roof of the barn and shop. “Okay.”
She pushes open the screen door to let me in. “You’re soaked.” Her eyes linger on my shirt stuck to my body as I walk into the house, squeaking as I do. She whirls away and disappears, and like most mornings I help myself to the coffee, which I’ve acquired a taste for with a touch of cream.
“Did he leave me directions?” I call out not sure where she is, or if she can hear me.
“He said he texted you.” She walks back into the kitchen and tosses me a towel. Then she passes me to get the cup of coffee waiting for her on the counter.
“Maybe he forgot.” I flip the towel on my shoulder and pull my phone from my pocket to text him. I set it on the counter to wait for his answer and run the towel over my head. When I’ve wiped myself down, I pick up the coffee cup and wrap my hands around the ceramic for warmth.
“What happened to that?” she asks, indicating my phone with her eyes. Her hands are wrapped around her coffee mug, her nose perched just above the rim.
I watch her eyes fix on my hair, which I’m sure is probably standing on end, and use my fingers to tame it. “Stupid choice,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows lift with her head in a knowing nod. “You’re full of them.”
My phone pings.
Cal’s answer:
Sorry, Griffin. Got an emergency call early this morning. A plumbing thing. No painting. I didn’t prep for anything else. Day off.
“Looks like I have a day off.”
I wish I didn’t because I don’t want to be alone. No. Not accurate. I wanted to be with Cal. And Max. Plus, now I have a car to pay for.
“Big plans?” she asks.
“No.”
“Would you like to demonstrate how sorry you are for Saturday and be my chauffeur? And think very carefully before you say ‘yes,’ because I will not allow you to bitch after you agree.’”
“Sure.”
She grins over her mug, her eyes curling up at the corners and sparkling, which makes me wonder what I’ve agreed to. “Remember what I’ve said, car-slave.”
I feel the grin inside my chest but refuse to allow it on my face. “Yes, ma’am.”
After I run home to change into dry clothes, I learn I’ve agreed to car-slave for college supplies because Max is skipping town at the end of the week. When she asks me to take her the extra thirty minutes into the city to the Triple B: Bed, Bath and Bigbox, I pretend to agree with reluctance, and Max reminds me of my agreement. The truth, however, if she were to climb into my head, is she’d know there’s nothing reluctant about my agreement. An opportunity to drive. I’m down. An opportunity to spend time with Max. Yes.
I park my car, find a cart, and sail past her with my momentum. “I’ll even drive the cart.”
She trails behind me, studying the list she made on her phone. “Bedding first,” she calls from behind me as I enter the automatic doors.
I turn and wait for her. “I’ll follow you.”
“I don’t know where I’m going.”
“Me either. We shop at the CheapMart.”
We meander.
“Max, do you want one of these for your dorm room?” I ask her, holding up a giant box with a bright red mixer.
“What am I going to do with that in a dorm room?” she asks.
I put it back. “I don’t know. What’s it for?”
“Baking.”
“Who bakes? I thought that was only in the 1950’s or something.”
She laughs.
I like her laugh. The joy in it makes me smile (one I don’t hide), and warmth spread through my chest like my hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug. I have this sensation that I’m
filled with helium and might float away.
“You could bake.”
“I don’t have one of those.”
“You don’t need one of those.”
“I don’t know, Max. Triple B seems to suggest that I need one of those.”
She rolls her eyes and keeps moving through the maze of the store. Eventually, we find blue signs tacked to the wall with arrows. “There.” She points at one. “Bedding.” I push the cart behind her until we arrive in the bedding section.
I sit on one of the many sample mattresses that isn’t really a mattress at all, but a plywood box dressed up in a pink and blue bit of fluff with too many pillows.
“Griffin! Stop. Get up!”
“I’m so tired,” I whine even though I’m not really. I’d never admit it, but I’m enjoying being with her. She’s fun. I flop backward.
“You’re going to get us kicked out!” Her voice is thin and whispery as she glances around.
I grab a strange lacey concoction of a pillow and put it under my head.
“Griffin!” She tugs at my t-shirt sleeve. “Get up. That’s decorative.”
“I think you should try it to see if you like it.” I grasp her wrist, pull, and roll, drawing her with me. She rolls over the top of me until she’s awkwardly lying next to me on a bed that’s not a bed, her legs draped over my hip, and my hand on her waist.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes are huge, and she’s fighting a smile.
“You should test out the product. I think it’s scratchy.”
We’re facing one another. She laughs, her head tipped back, and her eyes squeezed shut with mirth. That pleasant floaty feeling happens in my chest again, but this time there’s a little pinch to go with it, a tiny bit uncomfortable as if it’s telling me, “Yo, Griffin. Take note.”
When she opens her eyes, they connect with mine, her pupils dilating to swallow most of the gray. “You’d wash it first, so it wasn’t so scratchy.” Her words fade to black.
My smile fades to black because I’m looking at her, really looking at her. I feel hot all the sudden, finding it difficult to draw a breath—my lungs have tightened while my heart thumps around, bouncing against the inside of me. I swallow.