by Jody Kaye
Looking back on the day before Rob’s death, I still honestly believe it. In my mind’s eye, I could see us leaving each other those bullshit comments on social media or texting the way I do now with Skye and Jasper. That’s not the same, thought, is it? I only met everyone at the factory because Cece convinced them to take pity on me. They haven’t been my friends long.
“Anyhow,” I wave my hand. “I guess it doesn’t matter because I don’t speak with anyone from my past. My other teammates who took responsibility went to jail too. It was better we lost touch.”
“But why did you go to jail?”
“I was there the night before when everyone was drinking. A bunch of us left to go to a party at the house I picked you up from and got hammered. When I got back to my room, Rob was lying in bed so I didn’t think much of it. I passed out drunk too. The next morning, I woke up—”
God, the memory of the smell lingers at the back of my throat.
“Dude, the fuck? Did you piss yourself?” I sit up and hang my legs over the side of the mattress. The heat is on and my bare feet are hot the way they are when I have a fever. Another acrid smell fights for attention. It’s worse than a stopped-up toilet.
He’s a lump in the bed a few feet away. I stand and walk over, scrubbing sleep from my eyes and praying someone has pain killers that will knock out the pounding in my skull. I’m dehydrated and thirsty as hell, but the stench has me ready to double over gagging.
“Man, get up and hit the freakin’ shower.”
I’m about to offer for us to get the hell out of here and go to the dining hall once we can walk a straight line. I’m still feeling the effects of the rum, vodka, beer? I don’t even remember what was in my cup at the party.
I pull the covers back and almost upchuck. Rob’s lifeless eyes stare at me. His face is contorted, like something you’d see in a horror flick. His hard jaw hangs open. Vomit trails down his cheek and neck.
My knees give out, slamming into the floor. Somehow I’ve managed to turn before I fall forward on top of him. I crawl on all fours to the door and open it. The fresher scent of the hall chokes me as I gasp for cleaner breaths to fill my lungs. I’m not sure when I started crying, but I’m also screaming for help. One of the guys grabs my shoulders, picking me up while I try to use the stair banister to find my footing.
“I see it all in slow motion every time I think about it,” I say to Aidy. Tears trickle down her cheeks and I use my knuckle to wipe one away. I hope she’s crying for Rob and not for me. “I even see the guy who picks me up jump back as I throw up all over the carpet.” Puke spattered on the hem of his flannel pajama pants. “It’s still vivid years later.”
“You said you left. Your roommate was drinking with someone else.”
“Yeah, but I was fuzzy on the exact time I came back to my room and Rob had been dead for long enough the coroner couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when it happened. There was enough overlap that he may have been alive when I walked in. But I was too trashed to know any better. And I’d been there when he’d started drinking. Being able to intervene might have made the difference.”
“You could be innocent. What if he was gone before—”
“No, Sweet Pea. Don’t go there. Don’t rack your brain the way I do. It’s not worth it. Rob was my friend and we all…I played a part in his death and take responsibility for my actions. I could have asked him to go to the party instead of leaving him with those teammates. I could have checked on him when I got back to our room. I could have taken him out for coffee and a flippin’ cinnamon bun. I didn’t. We all made choices and had to live with the consequences.”
“How can you be so calm about it?”
“I was angry at first. Felt like Rob’s parents were going after me. But then it didn’t matter. I got kicked out of school, lost my scholarships, had fucking legal bills, and my parents washed their hands of me. You couldn’t kick me any lower than I already was. The only person who got hurt taking the plea deal they offered was Cece. If I dragged it out, my sister would have court-side tickets to watch a drawn-out trial, reinforcing she was alone—or would be for a lot longer if I got a harsher sentence. Rob’s family wasn’t going to move on or heal. So I did my time, thought about my crime, and made my peace with how one fucked up choice knocked over the dominoes. If he doesn’t get a do-over, neither should I.”
I don’t for a moment believe Aidy thinks any less of me than I ever have, but her perception has changed. She’s quiet for a long while, pondering my confession. I take it as a good sign that she’s not on a hot tack, begging to head back to Brighton. I don’t think her concerns overrule her readiness to leave the tranquility of the beach.
We make idle chit chat interspersed with a few random questions from Aidy about my time in jail, which I don’t mind answering. Eventually, we make it back to the part of the beach close to the lot where I parked the van. We wind up sitting in comfortable silence watching the waves crash onto the shore for a while longer.
When she’s done, she’s done. Aidy stands up, brushing the sand off of her bottom again and says, “Enough of that.” She wants to go back to having fun.
I feel like it’s what I promised her. A few lighthearted hours someplace seemingly farther away than it is. It doesn’t matter if you live on the ocean. Setting foot on the beach is a momentary escape from reality.
My life is so different than what I’d expected, even when I was let out earlier this year. I come here a lot to reflect on my blessings and let the negativity go. I need the open space as a reminder that I’m no longer confined. Which I also find humor in since my prospects nowadays don’t include a glimmer of playing professional basketball, let alone a white-collar job. It’s difficult to find an employer who will take a chance on an ex-con and harder to establish a career path. I’m stuck in the confines, struggling to learn how to make it through the next four decades as a productive citizen with less than half of the prospects I had four years ago.
Maybe if I’d had a silver spoon in my mouth the “slap on the wrist” sentence outraging many for my part in Rob’s death would have stopped stinging when I peeled off the orange jumpsuit.
Family connections have helped some of my teammates move on. But I came from a small town and my parents are embarrassed to be associated with me. My A-game on the court was all I had going. Now, I’m back to living the life perhaps I’d been predestined for since it’s the same path of least resistance the rest of my family and their surrounding community trod down.
Cece is the only exception to the rule. She saw me work my ass off to get, earn, better and did the same. I thought I’d be pulling my sister up instead of dragging her down.
Aidy reaches her hand out to me. I grasp the olive branch and we leave our shoes lying on the beach to wade into the water.
It’s October and while the rest of the world is embracing pumpkin spice and breaking out their sweaters, we’re still experiencing what other regions call Indian Summer. Daytime temps haven’t dipped below seventy, and the same can be said at night. The waters off of the Eastern Carolina Coast won’t come close to giving beachgoers frostbite. Some days in the winter, it’s warmer than the air.
We both pace in the shallows and, after an accidental nudge as the undertow has the sand shifting between our toes, a kick-fight ensues with us splashing one another. Aidy laughs the way she does when she’s with Owen.
I’m grinning like a fool because—despite it just being the subject of conversation—for a few hours I’ve left my baggage behind.
Telling Aidy and not having her harsh criticism is a weight lifted off my shoulders and I embrace the small freedom, enjoying her company.
The gradual receding tide moves us out further to where the waves lick the backs of our knees. A wave overtakes us. And once our pants are wet, we give up and begin body surfing, swimming out and letting the current carry us back to shore. I’m laughing as loud as Aidy is now and catch her eye as she wipes a stray purple lock from her face.
The ice-filled cloud that had me so concerned when we first met is gone. I glad I must have been wrong and was projecting my problems on her.
An hour later, we’re meandering past the lavatories, soaked through and hoping the steamy pavement assists the drip-dry so we get on the road without ruining the upholstery.
The van belongs to the security company. Trig lets me drive it like it’s my personal vehicle. This isn’t my first choice of cars, but beggars can’t be choosers. Even my fucking gas goes on a company credit card. Any time I’ve paid cash, he’s gotten on me for the receipt so he can match the mileage to the expenses. It took him giving me three dirty looks for trying to be a good guy before it sunk in. Trig isn’t okay with me forking over part of my paycheck. I know his method isn’t on the up and up, but I’m also not in a position to argue. In stark contrast, the only way I could get a driver’s license was by paying for my gas and insurance. My freakin’ father wouldn’t show his face in court for my hearing. So, forgetting about him helping with my mountain of legal bills took no effort.
“Where can we go like this? I’m still drenched.” Aidy’s got a point. We look less like beach bums and more like we’ve endured a hurricane.
“There’s a surf shop a few miles down the road next to a restaurant.” I lift my brow in question. Aidy hops in the van.
When we get up to the store, she pokes her finger at the no shirt, no shoes sign. The only thing presentable about us is our sandy footwear. Aidy snags a vintage state flag t-shirt and holds up a retro baseball tee for me.
“You should get that one,” I say. Aidy mentioned in passing she played softball.
In the end, she puts the flag style back and we both get the same style shirt with different logos. Aidy also selects a pair of board shorts, rubbing her fingers against the wicking fabric. “We should have thought about this beforehand,” she says, pressing a pair in my direction.
“I don’t think they were open when we decided to go for a swim.” I place the shorts back on the display. “My jeans are fine.”
“You’ve been swimming in the ocean in those. They’re nasty wet and the salt!”
“I’ll live.”
Aidy has her wallet out to pay for everything. I don’t want to add to the bill and she’s not letting me go Dutch.
The store manager allows her to cut the tags off and Aidy disappears behind a curtain in the changing area. I whip my damp shirt over my head and replace it with the new one. When she’s changed, we head next door to the restaurant looking like tourists.
Aidy spends the better part of the time before our meals arrive humorously bickering with me over why I should have let her get me a pair of shorts.
“No twinsies,” I respond firmly, and insist on picking up the lunch tab. Too many people are giving me a hand out right now. Accepting people’s generosity is difficult for a kid who grew up like me. I want to give back, repay them, and do my part whenever it’s appropriate.
“I have my origami crane still. Oh,” she gasps, disappointed and holding it up. “It’s a little crushed from my back pocket. But still good to spend.”
“Nah.” I take the twenty, adjusting the folds so it’s crisp. “Save it.”
“How do you know Trig and Kimber?” Aidy changes the subject, munching on the onion ring topping her burger.
“Through my sister. When I was sent up-river, as she likes to call it, it was only for a few months. However, the university kicked me out of school long before and the lawyer’s fees had mounted. My scholarships didn’t cover all of my tuition, and without being enrolled at the university any longer, the bills were coming due. She knew I had nowhere to go once I’d served my sentence and went to Carver for a favor…Not that she should have. Carver does her a solid giving her somewhere to live…Anyhow, Carver had no use for me and, even though there’s plenty of rooms there, he’s picky about who stays at his place. Trig happened to need an extra set of hands, like an apprentice. So he trained me and offered me the third floor.”
“Why’s Carver picky?”
“Would you want a felon staying in the same building as your business?” I pose the question to throw her off. When there are no installs, I work in a tech room at the mill and I’m certain plenty of illegal shit goes down there.
Aidy’s nose wrinkles. “I didn’t think of it that way. You’re you. I was more worried you were Trig’s kid than I am concerned you went to jail.”
“I look nothing like Trig.” I place the top bun on my grilled chicken sandwich and take a bite. Melty pimento cheese oozes out. I smile, wiping the grease from my lips. This is living. Something as simple as tasting life brings me pure joy. “You, however. Even with the purple hair camouflage, there’s no doubt who you’re related to.”
Aidy twists her wet locks. “I needed a change. Everyone says red-heads are fiery.”
“You’re not?”
“I may have inherited the wrong color gene by accident. I’m more, steady?”
“Fires smolder too, Sweet Pea. There’s a lot underneath the surface that goes unseen.”
She winces, and I catch an ice crackle back at the corner of her eye. “What’s with the food nicknames? Kimber calls me Dumplin’. You’ve got the veggie thing going.”
“As I mentioned, embers burn too.” I smirk at her. “The pea thing is because you laughed when Owen sneezed them on you. It’s sweet how happy he makes you. Heck, being around him makes me happy.” The same way as being with you does. “He’s full of possibility and doesn’t have a care in the world. Wouldn’t it be great if it was like that for everyone?”
“Yeah, it would.” She agrees with a sardonic huff. “But then you grow up and nothing is what you were told it was supposed to be.”
“How did you grow up, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Only child, maybe a little spoiled. Hopefully not too coddled that it turned me into a brat. I think I tried everything once before picking up a bat and taking my first swing. My dad was thrilled. He’d played ball in high school and my mom went to all of his games. So softball became my sport, and we traveled. Oh gosh, with all those tournaments and weekends away, sometimes I longed for my own bed, you know?” Those last words are wistful. More like a recent memory than a distant one.
“You still play?” I clear my throat and swallow.
“No. By my senior year, I’d run myself ragged and I was done competing. I wanted to focus on college and didn’t need scholarships for my family to afford school.” Aidy’s been animated while she speaks, and she catches the error of what’s slipped past her lips before I do.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. Playing basketball had to have meant so much to you and—”
“Aidy.” I reach across the table for her hand to reassure her. “Believe me, people have said far worse to me than speaking their truths. I get it. I guess I understand even more now why Kimber gave you up for adoption.”
Aidy had gotten everything Kimber wanted for her. She was raised the way I thought I’d be raising my kids someday.
We finish up and I lean back in my seat, cracking my spine. The meal sits in my stomach like Thanksgiving dinner and I yawn.
“You must be exhausted.”
“Nothing a power nap won’t cure. Do you mind if we go back to the beach for an hour so I can sleep this off?” I rub my gut.
Aidy’s gaze follows my circling palm. I like her eyes on me and the wondering she does about what muscles are hidden under my shirt before she straightens and looks away.
“It’s not a problem.” Pink tinges her cheeks.
I feed the meter for the second time in the municipal lot. This time we stay in the van with the windows down and the back doors wide open to the sidewalk. There’s enough breeze to cool the interior. We rest in the shade in the back, stretching out on the carpet since I have no cargo, and away from the sun glaring through the windshield.
I’m on my back and Aidy’s tucked her knees to her chest. She uses my sweat
shirt as a pillow again. I watch her fight to keep her eyes open the way she had on the drive last night. It’s surprising when she falls asleep on the hard floor before I do, but I may have stayed awake to make sure she was okay. I wake hours later as her body shudders beside me and I roll on my side to face her.
Tears pool in the crook between the slope of her nose and her eye. One rolls down, moistening her cheeks and landing on my sweatshirt. Her breathing is labored, and she’s crying in her sleep. In the darkest recesses of my own fears, I know this isn’t normal.
I use the pad of my thumb to trace around Aidy’s closed eyelids. “What happened to you, Sweet Pea?” I whisper.
“Hey, kid, what’s new?” Trig asks as I come in the front door a few weeks later. He doesn’t seem shocked at my presence or me knowing the correct digits to input on the keypad outside to let myself in. Heck, his doorbell cam probably alerted him as I pulled up to the house.
“Not too much.” I drop my stuff in the guest room off the kitchen and make gimme fingers so he’ll hand over my baby brother.
“Aiy!” Owen tries to say my name, squeezing his chubby arms around my neck.
“Ooh! I missed your snuggles!”
Trig chortles, rubbing the baby’s back. I’ve spent way too much time here as of late. If it’s been a whole three days since I’ve seen Owen, it’s saying a lot.
“He’s got new tricks.”
“Tricks?” I nuzzle Owen’s nose. “What are you a puppy?”