Blue Jeans and Coffee Beans (10 page)

“Maris, hey.” Matt stops and pats the dog’s head. “You’re out late.”

“Matt? What’s going on? Is Eva with you?” Madison pulls on her leash, sniffing the salty air in noisy bursts.

Matt motions behind him. “No. I’m sobering up Kyle. He’s in rough shape tonight.”

“Kyle?” She looks past him. “What’s he doing? He’s going to hurt himself, Matt.”

Matt turns around, but Maris reaches for his arm. “Don’t yell,” she says. “He’ll look up at you and lose his balance.” She pulls Madison in and holds the dog close beside her.

Kyle, still barefoot, sits on the top rail of the seat back. He has turned sideways, lifting one foot at a time to the top rail. Then, just like mounting a balance beam, he slowly rises to a standing position, his arms wavering in an attempt to keep his balance. One foot moves in front of the other while he walks the beam not quite eight inches in width, with no barricade to prevent him from falling twenty feet to a concrete landing.

“He’s going to kill himself. Jason’s got to do something.”

“Jason?” Maris looks around him.

Jason stands in the sand and motions to Matt to help before turning back to Kyle.

“He knows,” Maris says. “If Kyle turns, he’ll fall. Just how drunk is he?”

“Man, he’s wasted.”

Kyle takes a step, his arms wavering, his focus on the long board ahead of him. Jason moves silently onto the boardwalk, and then hesitates. He presses the heel of his palm to his forehead as though he can’t see clearly. Matt watches him bend at the waist, hands on his knees, like he’s struggling to breathe. “Something’s wrong,” he tells Maris. “Jason’s not right.”

They both watch Jason now. He lifts his head, still bent at the waist, and eyes Kyle. “Is he drunk?” Maris asks.

“No. And I don’t like what I’m seeing.” He starts to walk but Maris pulls his arm.

“Wait. Look.” She points to the shadows in the boat basin. “A swan!”

Matt looks toward the west end of the marina, beyond Kyle’s viewpoint. A lone white swan moves through the creek into the darkened harbor. It moves slowly, its unseen webbed feet paddling beneath the black water. “Don’t they sleep at night?” he asks Maris. The large bird heads for the center of the marina.

“If Kyle loses his focus, he’ll go down,” Maris insists quietly.

“Shit. Come on, Barlow,” Matt says under his breath. He knows Jason. They’ve been friends all their lives. No way is Jason drunk, so something else is happening with him, except Matt doesn’t know what. All he knows is that this long, hot night has finally done its trick. It’s pushed each one of them to their limit. Jason, unexpectedly, reaches his first.

The waves breaking on the beach, splashing over and over, wash over Kyle’s thoughts of Lauren, of a steady job, of meeting the bills, of his old pickup and his kids. He can’t make his life work, no matter how hard he tries. The waves keep rolling along the beach. Salt water, the waves, the rhythm, are so comforting.

His left foot shimmies on the wet board and he lurches to the right to keep his balance. When he looks up, he sees Matt at the far end of the boardwalk and suspects Jason’s presence behind him now. “I know you’re there, Barlow. Leave me the fuck alone,” he says without turning. His voice is thick and he blinks back tears. Those sweet waves, he hears them breaking on the beach, they keep washing over his troubles. Tears blur the board in front of him. It’s weird because this doesn’t feel like the scaffolding he climbs at the ships. This board feels cold and slippery under his bare feet. Where are his boots? He doesn’t remember taking them off and thinks he should try to sit, but loses his balance again. His outstretched arms dip to the right. Finally he manages to lower himself to his knees, both hands holding the board in front of him. But somehow this feels worse. If he moves at all, he might not be able to stop himself from falling in the wrong direction. His legs feel too big crouched beneath him. He drops his head and listens to the waves still breaking on the beach. They never stop.

Jason moves closer when a rush of lightheadedness passes over him. He strains to hear; there is that sound again. Something more than just the bike’s engine idling. It leaves him cold. Perspiration soaks through his shirt.

Now he sees it coming out of nowhere again. He straightens and runs his hands through his hair. Out of nowhere. Wreaking havoc in its path. His chest hurts as he wrenches the Harley Davidson with all he has, twisting his whole body to escape the impact barreling down on them. He bends at the waist again, hands on his knees, sucking in air.

He shakes his head and looks up from the swan to Kyle.

Not Neil.

Kyle.

The big white bird gracefully paddles directly into Kyle’s line of vision and Kyle falters. He is too big to stay crouched on top of an eight-inch-wide plank. Suddenly he freezes and Jason knows he’s caught a glimpse of white movement. Kyle turns toward the wayward bird and his arms swing frantically as he loses his balance.

One last second. The second Jason needed seven years ago finally arrives. With it comes the screaming engine, filling his head so that he covers his ears to block it out. Every muscle knots again in resistance to the collision about to happen.

Kyle’s feet slip out from beneath him.

“Jesus, go!” Matt yells as he bolts down the beach to Kyle.

Kyle falls in the wrong direction, toward the concrete, his arms flailing, and Jason lurches forward, barely catching his arm. Feeling the impact, feeling his brother slam into him. He turns and wrenches Kyle toward him for all he is worth, never letting go.

The strength with which he wrenches Kyle drives Jason backward until he trips off the edge of the boardwalk, falling hard. Kyle, still in his grip, hits the wooden planks of the boardwalk first, then falls off to the sand. On his back, he hits the ground hard, too. Matt thinks the wind is knocked out of him until he sees Kyle sit right up and look over to Jason.

“You stupid bastard,” Jason says in a low voice. His chest heaves; tears wet his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He stands himself up, shifting his stance on the beach, reaching down to where his prosthetic leg attaches to his knee, while the others watch. His shirt is drenched. He shakes. Perspiration runs down his temples while he struggles to brush the sand off his leg again.

The beach is quiet except for the waves breaking. Maris steps off the boardwalk to help Kyle to his feet. She reaches for his hand, dropping Madison’s leash to do so. The dog sits on the edge of the boardwalk, watching Jason.

“Don’t you ever,
ever
,” Jason shoves Kyle in the chest, “pull a fucking stunt like that again.” His eyes are wild and when Kyle steps back, Jason moves right with him, staying within inches of his face.

Maris backs way off and Matt moves in closer. “Do you understand me?” Jason yells, shoving Kyle again. Seven years of rage surface and Matt sees it. He knows they all do.

“Do you?” Jason asks, moving closer, his voice ragged. “You want suicide? Next time leave me out of it.” He pushes his hands hard against Kyle’s shoulders.

Matt has seen it all in his work. Rage does funny things. It can go off at any time, at anyone. He comes around behind them and hooks his arms through Jason’s, pulling him off Kyle.

“Come on, guy,” he says, knowing what this is all about. “Let it go.”

Jason shakes him off hard. Eyeing Kyle one more time, he wipes his face with the heel of his hand before turning and walking toward the water.

Maris hurries past Kyle to catch up to Jason.

“Leave him alone,” Matt says to Maris, blocking her from getting by. “He’s got his own demons to deal with.”

She turns, ready to argue, but Matt cuts her off. “Trust me, Maris. Let him be.”

But no one is quick enough to stop Madison. She quietly jumps off the boardwalk and runs down the beach.

“Madison!” Maris calls out. The dog runs faster, shadowing Jason, the leash dragging behind her.

Maris and Matt walk with Kyle back to the Gallaghers’ house. Eva makes a plate of club sandwiches to go with a strong pot of coffee. No one wants to relive the incident at the moment, particularly Kyle. Maris knows it scared the daylights out of him. Or Jason did. Kyle’s face is white; he doesn’t talk.

“Matt will fill you in later,” Maris tells Eva in the kitchen. “When Kyle sleeps it off, if that’s possible. I don’t know how he’ll be able to sleep at all tonight.”

“It was that bad?” Eva asks.

Maris nods. She pours an extra cup of black coffee.

“Where’s Jason?” Eva asks.

“He disappeared down the beach. If you think Kyle had it rough, you should’ve seen him.”

“Jason? He looked fine earlier.”

“Well this was awful. He really had a breakdown. I’m going to see if I can find him.”

It is after midnight and the timers have turned off the lighting. Maris can make them out on the dark boardwalk, though, Jason and Madison. The dog’s tail thumps the sandy boards as she nears.

“Hey,” Maris says softly. She stands beside Jason, unsure if he wants anyone with him right now.

“Maris,” he says. “I think this is yours.” He hands her the leather leash.

She takes it and sits beside him in the quiet night, setting the coffee mug between them on the seat. He must have splashed salt water on his face, his head. His hair is dripping wet and slicked back. Shadows and whiskers cover his face. Even the darkness can’t hide that he looks a wreck. Maris can smell the salt, the perspiration, the night, on him. She leans over the coffee and gives him a quick hug. “Here, I brought you something hot to drink.”

“Thanks.” He takes the coffee. “I planned to drop the dog off at your place. But I never made it that far.”

“That’s okay.” They sit at the very spot where Jason had saved Kyle’s life. He sips the coffee while Maris talks. “I wanted to go after you,” she tells him. “But Matt stopped me. He said to leave you alone.” Jason doesn’t look at her. “Are you okay?”

He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, taps one out, lights it and takes a deep drag. His other hand presses against his injured leg, as though it aches deep inside.

“Jason.” Her hand takes his, the one pressing his leg. She holds it, easy, warming it. “I have to know that you’re okay.”