Wayward

by Gregory Ashe

  “If you figured things out, why is your father calling to tell me that you’ve moved out of the house, that things are over between the two of you, and he’d really appreciate it if I could come to dinner on Friday night so we can talk about what ‘matters most in life.’ Those are his words, in case you can’t tell.”

  “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m not trying to dodge this conversation. I did not break up with Emery, and I did not move out of the house.”

  “Everybody’s talking about it, John-Henry. People have seen you staying at the Hare and Tortoise. Whatever you’re fighting about, just make it right. You will never do better than Emery. Never.”

  Somers wanted to scream. Instead, he managed a choked, “Goodbye, Cora,” and disconnected the call. He drove like a bat out of hell, knowing he was being an asshole and still spurred on by his terror. When he drove into the preschool parking lot, his first feeling was tremendous relief, a kind of sickly relaxation that made his joints loose. No dark-haired little girl was sitting out on the curb. Thank God.

  But when he finally got inside, past the gauntlet of locked doors and buzzers and cameras and a shrunken gnome of a man who had to be around ninety and wore a badge that said Security, all they could tell him was that Evie had already been picked up. By Hazard.

  Somers’s moment of shock lasted slightly too long; he could see it on Miss Patty’s face.

  “Oh my God,” Somers said with a laugh that, even to him, sounded shrill and forced. “I got the days wrong. Of course.”

  Lots of nodding. Lots of nervous smiling. Lots of “Of course” and “It happens to all of us” and “Boy, I bet you were in a hurry,” and then a spat of laughter like cats on an electrified roof. The gnome walked Somers back to the door, and he even opened it for him, his wispy white hair flattened by the inrush of spring air. When Somers stepped outside, though, the gnome grabbed his arm.

  “Whatever’s going on with your young man,” he said, eyes wet, the sheen like a polish to the milky cataracts, “you figure it out. Not all of us were lucky enough to live in a time when we could have that kind of thing.”

  Somers just stared at him; his jaw probably hit the ground.

  “Get your head on straight,” the gnome said, wagging a finger. “You buy him a nice dinner, you apologize, and you make it right.”

  “Yeah,” Somers said, still too shocked by the revelation that Hazard had picked up Evie and by this bizarre encounter to manage anything else.

  “He’s very handsome.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And very smart.”

  “Yeah.” Then, because Somers had the strange need to impress the gnome, “Yeah, I love him a lot. He’s the best man I’ve ever known.”

  The gnome didn’t seem impressed, though; he just snorted. “You’re as bad as the rest of them,” he said, and then he pulled the door shut. He was obviously trying to slam it, as though to punctuate the significance of his message, but the hydraulic door closer took its own sweet time.

  When the door was finally shut, Somers stared at his own weak reflection, barely recognizing the asshole with the Beer Bros and Bitches t-shirt (out of all his tees, how had he grabbed that one?), the boat shoes, the haystack hair. Fuck, Somers thought with a kind of weak wonder. He was lucky the gnome hadn’t just shot him for looking like such a piece of shit.

  He called Hazard, and the phone rang. And rang. And rang.

  He disconnected and called again.

  “I told you I’m mad at you—”

  “Do you have Evie?” Somers interrupted.

  “Yes. It was my day to pick her up.”

  “Ok. Great. God, that’s—thank you.”

  “It was my day, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Yes. You’re incredible for doing this.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “No, wait. I was at home, and you weren’t there.”

  An old clunker in the preschool parking lot was trying to turn over, and Somers stuck a finger in his ear. Had Hazard’s breathing changed? Had he made some sort of involuntary noise that would reveal his own desire to move past this and start patching things up? Hard to tell with a Ford cranking away in the background.

  “We’re at the park,” Hazard said and disconnected.

  Somers grinned and jogged to the Mustang. He’d managed to track down his missing daughter after all. And, added bonus, his missing fiancé.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MARCH 27

  WEDNESDAY

  4:02 PM

  WHEN SOMERS PULLED INTO the parking lot of the Orton A. Vanderwerf Memorial Park, he spotted the Odyssey immediately. There was even a spot open next to it, and he slid the Mustang into place. That way, if Hazard stormed off—well, they could storm off together. And suddenly Somers had the horrible need to giggle at the idea of doing all of Hazard’s gloomy grumpiness as a couple. It hit him so hard it was like hysterics, and he slumped in the seat, wheezing for breath and wiping his eyes, not sure if he was laughing or crying.

  When the spell passed, he checked himself in the visor mirror, slapped his cheeks a few times—better color, chin up, let’s see that smile. And then it was lights, camera, action, and he was out of the car, moving across the asphalt.

  The spring day had warmed up nicely, and plenty of kids and parents were using the park. The facilities were new: the big, chunky plastic tubes and slides and bubbles all laid out in a rambling castle with turrets and balconies. Kids ran through the maze, screaming with excitement. Evie was playing with two little boys near the edge of the rubberized pad that marked the playground proper; the trio was hunkered down, examining something on the ground. When she noticed Somers, she stood up and did a few jumps, but then she got right back down again to study whatever was on the ground.

  As Somers took in the rest of the park, he noticed that the adults had congregated in two camps, with the playground between them like a contested battlefield. Both groups were laughing and talking, having a grand old time, until you noticed the nasty looks rocketing back and forth. Well, even playgrounds had their politics, Somers realized. He was just hoping not to get dragged into the mess today.

  Emery Hazard, of course, had managed not to get dragged in. He sat between the two groups, alone, on a bench. He was wearing a black t-shirt that Somers recognized. It was a little too small for Hazard, especially since he’d added muscle over the last few months, and it was old. Like, falling apart. Like, maybe one time, on a rare, impromptu cleaning spree, Somers had grabbed it and shoved it in a bag for Goodwill. Hazard had somehow discovered his betrayal before the bag left the house, and the shirt had gone back in the drawer. When Somers had tried to talk about it, just out of curiosity, he’d met the same dead end he met so many times: no, the shirt wasn’t important; no, it wasn’t emotionally significant; it had no cultural or historical value; no, someone important to Hazard hadn’t given it to him; no, there wasn’t a story about it. When Somers had asked his trump question—Why keep it?—Hazard had shrugged and said, “It’s mine.”

  Well, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Somers wasn’t sure why, but remembering that conversation popped his good mood, and the aftereffects of worrying about Evie rushed in. He wanted this conversation to be light. He wanted it to be fun. He wanted to remind Hazard of how much they loved each other, how they had moved past worse things in the past. But right then, all he really wanted was to be on the couch, with something dumb on TV, maybe Arnold, maybe The Terminator, and maybe a beer in his hand.

  “Hey,” he said as he approached.

  Hazard craned his head, looked at him, and turned back to the playground.

  “So, you’re still mad at me,” Somers said, dropping onto the bench.

  “I said that on the phone.”

  “Great.”

  Hazard crossed his arms. Then he leaned forward on his knees. His big shoulders turned in.

  “Do you want to fight?” Somers said. “Will
you feel better after a fight?”

  Hazard’s gaze remained locked straight ahead. “Maybe I’ll feel better if I get myself a beer, a bro, and a bitch.”

  “Jesus, Ree. I put it on by accident.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “Ok, so we are going to have a fight.”

  “Why would we fight?” Hazard’s gaze cut toward Somers for an instant and then back to the playground. “We’re not even dating.”

  Somers groaned. He covered his face for a moment and spoke through his hands. “I did not know he was going to do that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Dropping his hands, Somers found Hazard staring at him. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me, John.” Hazard spoke in a whisper, and it was worse than his usual ranting and raging. “You knew. You knew that’s where this was all going, and you still said yes, and you let him do it.”

  “Do you want to do this right here? Fine. We can do this right here. Let’s have a huge fight. A really spectacular one. Maybe you can Hulk out and rip this bench out of the ground and hit me over the head with it. And then we can get over it, apologize, and make out like randy teenagers. Right here. Everybody will know I still love you.”

  Hazard scoffed and turned away.

  “Don’t do that,” Somers said. “You started this. Let’s finish it.”

  “While we’re broken up,” Hazard said, his voice throttled so that Somers could barely understand the words, “maybe you should enjoy yourself. Becky Sanderson is right over there. I bet she’d give you another hummer if you ask nice.”

  “A hummer? How old are you?” Leaning forward, Somers touched Hazard’s shoulder. “Ree, I know—”

  The effect was instantaneous. Hazard slid to the end of the bench, out of Somers’s reach, and spun on him. “Don’t.”

  Somers was so shocked he couldn’t respond. Then the moment passed, and Hazard locked his gaze on the playground again. For the next minute, Somers tried to process what had happened. Things had been escalating the way they normally did, both of them stepping on the brake when the other was trying to hit the gas, and then Hazard had gone nuclear. Sweat prickled under Somers’s arms; a glare came off the cars driving past the park, a barrage of light that made Somers squeeze his eyes shut for a moment because he felt a headache starting.

  “Will you please talk to me about this?”

  Kids playing. Moms gabbing. The thump-thump-thump of somebody’s child going down the slide like a bowling ball.

  Somers opened his eyes; Hazard was still looking at the playground.

  “I’m really trying here. I know that you’re upset with me. I’m trying to understand that. But you’re not being fair. I didn’t know he was going to ask us to . . . to take some time like this. And I didn’t know my father was going to start all these rumors about us. Not to this degree, anyway. I thought maybe he’d say something to a few people, maybe swing votes he needed to impress. I didn’t know it was going to blow up like this. But we both said yes, Ree. You looked at him, you knew what he was asking, and you didn’t say no. And you did it for the same reason I did: because you owed him. You don’t want to admit it, but you did. I’m not as smart as you. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

  Hazard didn’t turn, didn’t blink, but a muscle tightened in his jaw.

  “This whole thing sucks,” Somers said. “But look, it’s for another ten days. We can do this. We love each other. I love you. I’m sitting here in a playground whisper fighting with you because I love you.” He wrapped one hand around Hazard’s bicep, relishing the contact, the familiar heat. “Please talk to me.”

  When Hazard’s head turned, though, his eyes were cold and flat and expressionless. His gaze fixed on Somers, unchanging as the moments dragged past. And then Somers’s face was hot, and pins and needles worked their way across his chest. He released Hazard’s arm and sat back.

  “I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to touch me again,” Hazard said.

  The pins and needles moved into Somers’s gut. He had to blink stinging eyes.

  “I honestly don’t know if you’re lying or not,” Hazard said. “Usually, I know. Some of the time, I know. I’m too . . . preoccupied right now. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I’ll pretend you didn’t immediately understand that your dad was going to use this separation to make the whole town believe his son was a good old straight boy who’d just had his head messed with by a queer.”

  “Stop it,” Somers said.

  “And I’ll even pretend that you didn’t know he was going to spread rumors about my professional life.”

  “What? About when you were a cop? Or now, as a PI?”

  “And we can both pretend that we’re doing this because we owed your dad a favor. But here’s the thing I can’t pretend about, John: you’ve spent your whole life, ever since you moved out of your parents’ house, telling them to fuck off one way or another. You did it with Cora. You did it with law school. You did it with joining the police. And let’s be honest: you did it when you hooked up with me. So I guess I’m having a really hard time believing that all of a sudden you feel this overwhelming sense of filial piety.”

  Realization trickled through Somers; it was like soapy water filming glass. He couldn’t see, could barely breathe. “You think I wanted to move out?”

  “Thirteen percent of engagements don’t end in weddings,” Hazard said.

  “You looked that up? You looked up that fucking statistic? Jesus, Ree, I knew you were fucked up, but how fucked up are you?”

  Hazard’s head jerked to one side, as though the words had been a whip lash. Then he stood. “Evie needs dinner.”

  “No way,” Somers said, grabbing Hazard’s wrist. “You’re going to sit your ass down and tell me to my face that you think I was having second thoughts about our relationship. You don’t get to treat me like shit and then walk off like you’re the fucking father of the year.”

  Hazard broke the hold easily; his gaze was a gelid mixture of pity and disgust. And then he crossed toward Evie, calling her name, holding out his arms and dropping into a crouch as she squealed and ran to him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MARCH 27

  WEDNESDAY

  5:00 PM

  SOMERS FOLLOWED THE ODYSSEY HOME. Because, well, he had to. He parked in the garage. He stood by the car, shifting his weight from heel to heel. He thought about picking up a spade and taking out all the windows in the minivan, but, of course, he couldn’t. Hazard was still getting Evie unbuckled. Instead, he walked short, jerky zips across the front of the garage.

  “Hi, John-Henry,” their neighbor, Noah, called from the driveway next door.

  Somers ignored him.

  Hazard had finished unbuckling Evie, and now he carried her inside. Somers followed, slapping the garage door control so hard that the plastic casing slipped sideways. But then he had to stand there, rocking on his heels again, while Evie squirmed out of her jacket and then sat down to kick off her shoes.

  It wasn’t until Evie ran to her room, her little feet padding on the stairs, that Somers moved in.

  “You are a fucking asshole,” he said in a low voice, pressing in as close as he dared to Hazard. Not touching—Hazard had a bad history with that kind of thing—but invading his space. “How fucking dare you?”

  “Me?” Hazard said, shouldering past Somers to get to the pantry. He rummaged through the cans and boxes, stretching to reach something on the top shelf.

  Somers suddenly felt wild and sick at the same time, like a fever had moved into his brain. He stumbled into the pantry after Hazard, pulling the door shut behind him. The only light came from a forty-watt bulb, a dusty yellow glow that barely showed anything.

  Hazard glanced over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want our daughter hearing us fight.”

  “Oh. She’s still our daughter. That’s great. Wh
en I got to the preschool, I was wondering if you’d had my name taken off the pick-up list.”

  That punch landed; Somers felt his breath whoosh out. He struggled for air while Hazard continued to pick through cans of French-cut green beans, boxes of Stove Top Stuffing, a block of Velveeta forming a base for several jars of salsa.

  “Why are you being so mean to me?”

  Hazard didn’t even look back this time. He found what he’d been looking for—a can of chicken soup, organic, with princess-shaped noodles—and turned around.

  “Move.”

  Somers shook his head; he didn’t trust his voice.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “No.” Growling, Hazard reached for him, but Somers spoke first. “If you touch me, I’m going to—fuck, I don’t know, I’m going to bite you or claw your eyes out or break your fucking nose. No. I’m not moving until we figure this out.”

  “Figure what out? We’ll be back together in a couple of weeks, right? What’s the big deal?” One big shoulder rolled in a shrug. “Unless you find something better by then.”

  The light from the forty-watt suddenly seemed to strobe; the world fluttered in and out of darkness for Somers, and he tried taking deep breaths.

  “You agreed to this too,” Somers said dizzily. “Ree, I don’t understand. You agreed. You said yes.”

  “We already did this once,” Hazard said. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Hazard shifted his weight, but Somers couldn’t move, not yet.

  “Well?” Hazard said. “Are you going to get that?”

  “Yeah,” Somers said, the word slow and syrupy. “I’m going to answer the door.”

  But neither of them moved; the doorbell rang again.

  “Now, please,” Hazard said.

  Somers managed to get the pantry door open. He looked at Hazard and said, “I’m going to answer the fucking door.”