A Shot at Us

by Cameron Lowe

  “What would you do?” she asked Malcolm, her voice thick and syrupy from contentedness and drowsiness. They were deep into the rolling nothingness of the Dakotas. She didn’t want music on right that moment, so she focused on her husband-to-be instead.

  “What do you mean?” Malcolm asked.

  “If you could go anywhere, do anything, what would you do? And you’re not allowed the stock response of ‘anything, if it was with you.’”

  “Darn, and here I thought I was going to get good boyfriend points.”

  She reached out and squeezed his hip. “You’ve already won the game, honey. More points would just be showing off.”

  He smiled and thought about it. “I used to like working on the school newspaper. I was crap at grammar, but I liked telling stories about people and things going on around our little corner of the world. I think if I could be a journalist, I would do that. As to where… I don’t know, actually. I’ve only ever lived in Minneapolis and Rankin Flats, so… hm. Somewhere exotic. Maybe… Sydney.”

  “Australia?”

  “Yeah. Kinda fell in love with the idea when the Summer Games were there. How about you?”

  “Well, you’ve got me beat in the number of places I’ve lived. I guess… somewhere beautiful and warm. Somewhere tropical, maybe. Bora Bora or… St. Bart’s.”

  “You’d make a killing as a bikini model down there.”

  “So would you.”

  “Eh, the bustline’s a little slim.”

  Gwen smiled and robbed his arm. “Hugh talks about becoming a journalist too sometimes. I think he’d be good at it. He doesn’t do well with the actual, you know, science of English, but like you said, he likes stories. Especially writing them. He wrote a book in junior high. Well… a short one, anyways.”

  “Let me guess,” Malcolm said. “Horror, maybe?”

  “Nope. Fantasy.”

  “Really? I didn’t have him pegged as a fantasy kind of guy.”

  She glanced at him, amused. “Oh, big time. He’s read Tad Williams’ fantasy novels… gosh, I don’t know, a dozen times, at least.”

  “Huh. I would not have guessed. All right, your turn still. We know the place you’d go, but…”

  “What would I do?” Gwen asked.

  “Yup.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a vet, but if I wasn’t, a… detective. Ooh, or a private investigator.”

  “Now we’re talking,” Malcolm said. “We could open up a business.”

  There was silence for a very long time, and only when the car vibrated a bit did he notice she was shaking from crying silently. He kicked on his emergency blinkers, slowed, and pulled over as far as he could before parking. The dome light cast her face in hard shadows, and she turned away from him.

  “I’ve been so good about holding it in. I’m sorry.”

  “No, hey,” Malcolm whispered. He reached out and rubbed her back. “Talk to me.”

  “This is the first… first… Thanksgiving I haven’t spent with them, and…”

  “Aw, shit, Gwen…”

  “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Please. Because I’m not. I love you, no matter what their problem is. It just… h-hurts.”

  There was nothing he could do, so Malcolm rubbed her back for a few more minutes and pulled out onto the Interstate once a semi blew by, kicking up a plume of snow. Once she’d slid down into a nap and come back out of it an hour later, they talked again, mostly of little things. Late into the evening, they pulled off the Interstate and aimed for home.

  Chapter 18

  Life at the Eagle Nest apartment complex was strange, wonderful, and frightening, all often in the same day.

  Malcolm and Gwen’s immediate neighbors were a nice pair of immigrants, Emmanuel and Luiza, both of whom worked for one of the big cattle ranches south of town. They stayed on the ranch during the week, and only came home Tuesdays and Wednesdays. That was fine by Malcolm and Gwen, who loved the quiet. When they were around, they frequently invited Gwen and Malcolm over for dinner or breakfast. As often as they tried to reciprocate, neither Gwen or Malcolm could quite match up to Luiza’s skills with a skillet.

  Across the hall, things were a bit different. The eternally clothes-less siblings they’d seen when they first moved in belonged to Dylan and Meg, a drunk of a father and a mom who only came out of her painkiller haze now and then to open a can of Chef Boyardee for them. Gwen took to feeding them herself sometimes, usually just grilled ham and cheeses and a warmed-up can of soup, but it was a better meal than she ever saw them receive at home.

  Annie Sosa, the old woman they met when they first moved in, was both a sweet woman when she was on her pain medication and a holy terror of annoyance when she wasn’t. She could be heard at all hours of the night playing her television far too loud, or cursing the neighbor kids down the hallway, or slamming her door so hard Malcolm thought it was a gunshot every time. But she also brought them over platters of cookies and banana bread, and often she pushed the groceries she got from the food bank onto them. That last hurt, but saving a little bit of grocery money every month helped.

  The rest of the building was much like that – some really good people who just couldn’t afford somewhere better who became friends, a few people Gwen didn’t want to be alone around, and a majority of blandly polite residents who just wanted to do their jobs and come home to a little television. Frank, their landlord, lived on the first floor, and was rarely seen actually doing anything, as Mrs. Sosa had promised, but he also wasn’t a pain in their ass, either. When they put up a few scattered Christmas decorations and got a vindictive noise complaint from Dylan or Meg, Frank took Malcolm and Gwen’s side, and even brought along a stepladder to help them hang up lights in their windows.

  Malcolm started at a second job, working the days he got off from the coffee shop at Matto Furio’s delivering pizzas. The extra income was a relief, though it did mean he had to work Christmas Eve. They decided to spend the holiday together there at home rather than travel back to Minneapolis again. Throughout the years, when they could manage it, they alternated Thanksgiving and Christmas between the Flats and Minneapolis, though the weather was not always so appreciative of their planning. Their finances couldn’t always allow it either, but they tried.

  That year, though, they spent a quiet Christmas Eve together. Despite his plans, Charlie couldn’t make it, and Hugh was stuck halfway across the state thanks to a blizzard at a distant relative’s house. That was okay, though. Gwen and Malcolm liked having the idea of having a holiday to themselves, especially their first year as a couple. Malcolm’s manager at Matto Furio’s let all the employees working take home a feast, and that evening they dined on spicy pretzel bites, fried pickles, pesto chicken pasta, and chocolate cake while they watched Home Alone on VHS. When both the meal and the movie were finished, Gwen slid over Malcolm on the couch, and they made slow, pleasant love in front of their tiny fake tree and the colorful lights they’d bought from Kmart. Malcolm held her for a long time afterwards, trying to find the right words to express how sorry he was she couldn’t spend the holiday with her parents because of him.

  In the morning, they made love again, this time far more energetically right up until the point when someone knocked on their door. When Malcolm, grumbling about having to leave his fiancé in bed, checked to see who it was, they’d left, but in front of the door was a cardboard box full of small, wrapped presents with no nametags attached. Inside were small necessities – a set of new sheets and pillowcases, a jar full of quarters for the basement laundry machines, a half a ham, and best of all, an envelope with a Christmas card and a gift certificate to a nearby grocery store. The card wasn’t signed, but it did say, “Love you always.” There was no question as to who had left it, though when they called to thank Gwen’s parents, they were greeted only by an answering machine.

  * * *

  Gwen felt guilty about missing Christmas services, so she and Malcolm went to church the next Sunday. Mrs. Sosa didn’t
hold the small nondenominational church a few blocks away in high regard – she was a devout Catholic and called them “diet Christians” – but she grudgingly admitted the pastor there was nice enough. They decided to take a chance on it.

  The church was just a short walk away, so Gwen looped her arm through Malcolm’s and together they navigated the tricky mess of snow and half-revealed ice, both of them nearly slipping until they wised up and walked on the lawns instead of the sidewalk. A handful of vehicles were parked at the boxy little church, and a few people shuffled inside, doing the same penguin walk as the couple to avoid tripping.

  Inside, a tall, fresh-faced, doughy young man with pink pufferfish lips greeted everyone who came in with a firm handshake and a smile. His eyes lit up when he saw the newcomers, and he introduced himself as Dewey Bader, the pastor. Nearly as young as the engaged couple, he was enthusiastic and green, the ink barely dry on his theology degree. His sermon was full of stuttering and quick glances at notecards he’d tried to keep in his shirt pocket, but Gwen liked his enthusiasm.

  She became a fixture in the church, and Malcolm tried to go with her when he wasn’t working. He was never as big on religion as she was, though when their kids were born, he agreed wholeheartedly they should be brought up in that atmosphere. One thing Malcolm did take to was the community. Dewey and his then-girlfriend Willa loved to organize potlucks and took any occasion they could to invite his parishioners to one. Malcolm and Gwen brought what they could, but sometimes “what they could” amounted to a bag of chips or garlic bread from the discount section of the nearby grocery store. A few people muttered about that to each other, but in this part of the Flats, people generally understood and could relate.

  Both of them began to settle into a pleasant schedule. Gwen’s work at the vet clinic was their foundation, but with two jobs, Malcolm helped cover the bases. By January, they began to seriously discuss their wedding. Gwen confessed she’d love to get married in the church near her home she used to attend with her family, but with the silent treatment the Caplans were giving her, she thought maybe when the weather was nicer they could just go to the Justice of the Peace and get their license. No fuss, maybe the two of them, Hugh, and Malcolm’s family if they wanted to come visit. It would save them money to boot, she told him. Seeing through the lines she was feeding him, his heart broke that he couldn’t give her the wedding she really wanted.

  By and large, though, those first few months were bliss. Things were tight, but manageable. They ate way too much Matto Furio’s. They made love without interruptions. Their schedules were vastly different – hers was a strict 9-5, his was wildly variable – but there was time to talk, to settle together, to discover each other in the evenings. She taught him to like classic country, and he slid into a fondness for Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings. He taught her… well, nothing at all about rap or hip-hop, since she still insisted it was garbage music no matter how many times he tried to teach her about the brilliance of Dr. Dre or the Wu-Tang Clan. They learned what books and movies the other liked, the foods they didn’t, the various little habits they found cute and would later find annoying.

  That wasn’t to say it was all wonderful, and they would learn how dangerous that street really was. But initially, at least, their world was each other, and that was enough for a while.

  * * *

  “That’s the last of it,” Calvin said. His smile wasn’t faked, but it looked thin, worn out.

  Gwen knelt next to the three boxes and rummaged through them. “Oh hey, the bowling trophy. You know, it took me forever to realize ‘most potential’ meant we sucked.”

  “There’s a lot of little stuff like that. I don’t mind if you throw it away. I just… couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  She pulled out a baseball they’d snagged from a foul ball at a local Polecats game. On it was scribbled either “Paul Rodrick” or “Fuck Off.” Gwen was a mega-fan of the actor, and he’d been watching the game that day. Calvin asked for his signature as the man was in mid-bite of a pulled pork patty melt. “Aw, the baseball. Can’t believe I forgot that.”

  He leaned against his – once their – kitchen counter and folded his arms. “That was a good day.”

  “Other than him throwing a half-empty beer cup at you after you got this.”

  Calvin laughed. “Yeah, that, not so much.”

  She put the baseball back into the box and stood up. “You doing okay, Calvin?”

  “You know… I don’t know how to answer that. I’m still a little bit messed up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. I just need time. But there’s one question you could answer, and please, be honest.”

  “Sure.”

  Calvin looked her in the eyes. “Did you and Malcolm… before we broke up…?”

  “Did I cheat on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. We didn’t even kiss until we were both, um, single.”

  He searched her expression and finally nodded. “Thank you for that. As much as I miss you, what keeps digging at the back of my mind is if I missed some sign, if there was something I could have done earlier.”

  “No, Calvin. I cared for you, and you’re a good man. But I think we were hiding what we really wanted for so long that eventually that gap between us was just too wide to bridge. Does that make sense?”

  “It does.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve got an opportunity this summer. Interning for a bank in Frankfurt.”

  “Germany?” When Calvin nodded, Gwen grinned. “That’s incredible.”

  “It is,” he admitted, and an honest smile touched his face. “I’m going to do it. And maybe study abroad for a year. Dad thinks it’s smart. I make some foreign contacts, we maybe extend the reach of the stores, and I get to have some fun. Plus, you know Dad. Loves living vicariously through me.”

  “Calvin, I’m so proud and happy for you.”

  “Thank you. I just… thought you should know.” He glanced at his feet. “And I wanted to apologize. I should have never tried to tie you down to this place. To us. I hope Malcolm is always honest with you about what it is he really wants. And you with him.”

  She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. It was a chaste, familiar gesture and she stepped back immediately so as to not give him the wrong impression. “He’s… I love him. With all my heart.”

  “Good. I’m… happy,” Calvin said. He nodded, and glanced down at the boxes, both of them pretending not to hear the quake in his voice. “Let’s, um, let’s get you loaded up.”

  They said their goodbyes outside in the crisp January air.

  Chapter 19

  “I can’t deal with him anymore,” Vanessa said, brushing past Malcolm on the sidewalk by Hugh’s dorm.

  “Whoa whoa whoa, what is it, what’s the matter?” he asked.

  “He’s fucked, that’s what.” She turned and spread her arms wide. “I don’t know what he’s on, and I don’t care.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  That stopped her. She shook her head. The Montana chill was at its absolute worst that February, and her breath plumed visibly in the air with every deep exhale. “Not the way you think. He told me he’d never do anything harder than weed. We tried coke, once, but that was together and it was a mistake. He promised me never again. Like an idiot, I believed him.” She brushed at her eyes with her thumbs. “I can’t keep doing this up and down bullshit. One minute Hugh’s great, he’s amazing, and the next I’m talking him out of a bathroom stall because he thinks his RA’s going to shoot him.”

  “Wait, for real?”

  “Yeah,” Vanessa said. “Look, Malcolm, you seem cool. But please, tell them all to just…” She shivered and her voice broke. “To not call me again, okay?”

  “I’ll tell them.”

  “Thank you. Good luck.”

  * * *

  He got the call from Vanessa as he was getting ready to head to the Brisktro. This was the twelfth day he’d worked in a row due t
o an employee shortage, and he was both exhausted and so very ready to quit.

  As he brushed his teeth, their phones started ringing. Both were corded phones because the electrical in the building was shot to hell and cordless phones couldn’t be relied upon to work. The super pretended there was absolutely no problem. When Malcolm pointed out that the apartments would probably save money if they chose to fix the wiring as opposed to swapping out light bulbs every couple weeks, Frank had no good response except to say it just wasn’t in the building’s budget.

  Cell phones weren’t yet the accessory of choice of every human being in America from five to ninety, and they were far too prohibitively expensive for Malcolm and Gwen. So, toothbrush in his mouth, Malcolm stalked out to the kitchen area and grabbed the phone off the wall.

  “Hello?” he mumbled around the toothbrush.

  “Hey. Malcolm. It’s Vanessa.” In the background was someone shouting and crying. “Is Gwen there?”

  “No, she’s already left for the vet clinic. Why? What’s up?”

  “He doesn’t like me he’s gonna come in here and pop…” Hugh moaned, barely audible.

  “Hugh’s on something and he’s having a bad trip. You weren’t the one to give him this shit, were you?”

  “What?” Malcolm asked. “The hell would you think that?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know. I just… friend of a drug dealer, I thought… sorry. Look, can you guys come here and take care of him? I just…”

  She trailed off into silence and Malcolm jerked the toothbrush out of his mouth. “Let me make a call or two and I’ll be there.”