In the Middle of Somewhere (47 page)

“Rex,” I say, but I don’t have anything to say to him. It’s more like I’m asking for something, but I don’t know what it is. “Rex,” I begin again, thinking maybe the sentence will finish itself.

“I’m here, baby,” he says, and he pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back. I’m so embarrassed. I feel like a little kid, doing this in front of everyone. Jesus, I don’t even know Christopher. I pick my head back up. Ginger is walking Christopher to the door.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, but he shakes his head and waves me off like it’s nothing.

“Feel better,” he says, and he pecks Ginger on the cheek and leaves.

Ginger walks over to me.

“I’m going to check on the shop,” she says. “You’re okay here?” I nod.

The door closes behind her and I look at Rex.

“Sorry,” I say, confused. The tears are still running down my cheeks, but I don’t feel like I’m crying. I feel like I’m leaking.

Rex shakes his head, then pulls my face to his and kisses my lips softly.

“Do you think I should call Colin?” I ask.

“What do you think?” Rex says.

“I don’t think he would talk to me. He never has. But… I don’t know. What if he… what if… you don’t think he’d hurt himself, do you?”

Rex is immediately alert.

“What makes you say that?”

“I… don’t know. I just had this feeling like maybe he’s tried it before. But I don’t quite remember.”

“It can’t hurt to call,” Rex says, proving he’s never tried to call Colin before.

I fish my phone out and find Colin’s number. It rings and rings, but I hang up before his voice mail comes on.

“You don’t want to leave a message?”

“I don’t know what to say.” But my finger is hitting redial anyway. This time, I leave a message. “Colin, it’s Daniel.” I pause, not knowing what to say beyond this point. “I, um, I kind of wanted to talk to you about some stuff. But, I don’t know. Maybe not. About today, I mean. And maybe always? Um. Anyway, call me if you want. Or not. Okay, bye.” I hang up the phone, roll my eyes at myself, and drop the phone on the coffee table in disgust. Rex pats me on the back awkwardly; not even he is able to pretend that wasn’t the dumbest message ever.

I retrieve my glass from the floor and pour a finger of bourbon into it. Ginger knocks tentatively at her own door.

“Come in,” I say, and swallow the bourbon, sinking down onto the couch.

“You okay?” she asks. I nod, suddenly irritated to be here instead of in my own bed. Well, really Rex’s bed. My bed sucks.

“So Colin’s gay, huh,” Ginger says. “What in the fuck is the world coming to?”

I just shake my head. I feel woozy.

“Will you put Patty Griffin on again?”

“Sure,” Ginger says.

When she sits back down, I reach for the bourbon and pour us each another.

“You guys are my favorite people,” I say. “Thanks for being with me at the funeral today.” I miss my mouth when I take a sip, my lips weirdly numb, and spill.

“Shit,” I mutter, and pull my T-shirt off with one hand, swiping at my chest with it.

Ginger eases the cup from my hand and puts it on the coffee table.

“Hey!” I protest weakly.

“Daniel,” she says, leaning forward to look me in the face. “I love you more than anyone in the world. You’re my favorite person too. I just wish you didn’t have to be wasted to say it.” She gives a meaningful head toss in Rex’s direction.

“I don’t,” I insist, trying to figure out whether it’s true or not.

“I know it’s a terrible day,” she goes on. “I’m not judging. I just… you get that your brothers are drunk all the time, right? You get that your dad was drunk all the time? I just don’t want you to go back to a place you can’t crawl out of. You know?”

My head is pounding. I know she’s right. But I’ve actually been doing really well since I moved to Michigan. I guess not working at a bar helps.

“I’m gonna crash,” I say, and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. She and Rex are talking quietly when I come out.

“Daniel,” Ginger says quietly. “Are—”

“We’re fine,” I say. I scrub my hands over my eyes. “I know,” I say, answering her earlier question. “I know and I don’t want to be like that. I’ve been doing good lately, I promise.” Then I drag myself over to the bed and fall in, my head spinning. It feels like I sink all the way down. I try to kick my pants off, but only get one leg out before the room starts spinning.

After a few minutes of breathing deeply, the room stills and Rex gets into bed. When he lifts the covers, he sees the state of me and huffs out a breath. He untangles me from my pants and drops them over the side of the bed, then gathers me to his chest and strokes a warm hand up and down my spine.

“Sorry, Rex,” I say. “Didn’t mean to be so terrible today.”

“You weren’t, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

“I threw up and got in a fight at a funeral ’n made you walk in the cold ’n got drunk,” I slur into his neck. His hand feels so good it’s melting my spine. I can practically feel myself slumping into liquid on top of him, dripping down to fill in any empty spots.

“I’m sorry you threw up,” he says, and that makes me start to laugh, only it comes out wrong and Rex pulls me tighter to him.

“Feel so much better when you’re around,” I tell him. “’S not fair you get to be with you all the time.”

I can feel Rex smile. I hope he doesn’t think I’m a drunk. Like my brothers. Like my whole fucking family. I burrow my head into his neck, thinking that maybe if I can get close enough I’ll just be absorbed into him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

“I want to leave tomorrow,” I say, my voice so rough it’s barely even there.

“What about the wake? Party thing?”

I shake my head and pull the blanket up so it’s almost covering my head.

“Don’t want to go. They won’t care anyway.”

“All right,” Rex says. “Sleep now, love. Just sleep.”

I
DON
’
T
even notice when Rex drives us straight to his house when we get back to Michigan.

“Oh, sorry,” he says in the driveway. “I didn’t ask if you wanted me to drop you off?”

Do I want that? I have no clean clothes and I desperately need to do laundry. There’s no food in my house. I could go get my laundry and do it here, I guess. No, I can’t, because my car is dead. And if—

“Hey.” Rex squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s go get your laundry and bring it back here. We can stop and get some groceries and I’ll make dinner while you do laundry. We can just go from there, okay?”

I nod, relief flooding me.

While I’m doing laundry, my phone rings, practically scaring me to death, and I walk into the living room to answer. It’s Virginia Beckwith, my dissertation advisor and all-around mentor from grad school.

“Hey, Virginia,” I say. “How are you?”

“Well, Daniel, I’m well. You?”

“I’m okay,” I say, not wanting to get into any of the shit about my dad, not to mention field questions about why I didn’t come see her when I was in town.

“Listen, you remember the junior faculty position that you applied for last year at Temple?”

“Yeah, sure. I thought the interview went well, but then the line got canceled because they didn’t have the funding to hire anyone. At least, that’s what they told me.”

“Yes, that’s my understanding as well. You were at the ASA meeting in Detroit, no?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you probably heard about the, er, incident regarding Maggie Shill?”

“Oh, I saw it.”

“Yes, very bad form, of course. Well, Maggie Shill was up for tenure at Temple this year and because of the… incident, she didn’t get it.”

“Oh wow.”

“Point being: I got a call from the chair of last year’s search committee. He asked me about you—where you had ended up, whether you were happy there. Since Maggie Shill was denied tenure, she’s leaving Temple, which means a nineteenth-century Americanist position has opened up. They don’t have the funds for a senior hire, so they’re opening it to junior faculty. The chair of the committee indicated to me that they would very much like you to apply for the position.”

“Wow, Virginia, thank you. I mean, yes, that’s great.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t like you up there in Michigan, away from even a decent library.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, listen, I’ll e-mail you the details. Of course, it’s early still, so the official call won’t be out until next month, but I wanted to make sure you could get a head start on putting your materials together. Yes?”

“Yes,” I say, because that’s what you say to Virginia.

“All right, then. You’re well?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. All right, Daniel. I’ll send you that information. Bye-bye.”

“Bye.”

“What’s up?” Rex asks, clearly having heard from the kitchen.

“The, um, the job I really wanted last year—well, almost the same job—might be open again this year and they want me to apply.”

“That’s great,” he says. “Right?”

I nod. But there’s a weight settling in my stomach that feels like a cannonball.

“What’s the job?”

“It’s a nineteenth-century Americanist job.”

“Isn’t that perfect?”

I nod again.

“It’s at Temple,” I say.

“Where’s that?” Rex asks.

“Philadelphia.”

“Right,” Rex says. “Well, of course they want you.”

“Just to submit an application.”

“Still,” he says. He kisses me on the cheek. “Listen, Will’s going to come over in a few minutes to drop Marilyn off, okay?”

I nod.

“I think your laundry buzzed,” he says, and heads back to the kitchen.

Marilyn comes bounding into the laundry alcove as I’m switching the loads, nuzzling my hand and trying to jump up on me, which I let her do because I think it’s cute and because Rex can’t see.

“Hey, girl,” I say, dropping to my knees to hug her around the neck. “Did you know that my timing is epically off?” She licks my face as if to say
I know better than anyone, since you were driving down the road at the exact moment I was trying to cross it
.

“Daniel?” Will sticks his head around the corner. “Rex says you’re good with cars?”

“I’m okay,” I say.

“Mind taking a peek at mine?”

“Yeah, sure.” I grab my coat and follow him outside. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I don’t think, but I’m heading back to New York and I just want to make sure she’ll make the trip.”

“You’re leaving?” I say, gesturing for him to pop the hood.

“Yeah. I took some time off work to see my sister, but now I have to get back.”

I look up at him. His jaw is set and he looks stressed.

“You’ll break poor Leo’s heart,” I tease as I scan his car’s guts. “Does he know yet?”

“I’m going to tell him now.”

“Well, be nice to him; he’s a good kid.”

Will stares at the ground.

“I know.”

“Your car is fine. You obviously just had it serviced. So what is this really about?”

Will looks slightly sheepish at having been caught.

“I guess you really do know about cars.”

“I know enough.”

“Listen,” he says, his tone sincere, “I’m sorry about your father. Really sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Turns out you’re not so bad. Maybe if we were both back east, we might even be friends.”

I nod when he pauses since he seems to expect it.

“So, okay, look. I want to tell you something. About me and Rex.”

My blood goes cold and I snap my head up to look at him.

“No! No, shit, sorry, nothing like that.” He clears his throat. “I want to tell you something about before we broke up because I think maybe you’re actually pretty good for Rex. I know he cares about you a lot and I think you care about him too.”

“I do,” I say quickly. “What?”

“As I’m sure you already know, Rex and I broke up because I left town. Well”—he makes an expansive gesture—“mostly. Anyway, when I told Rex I was leaving he said, ‘I guess part of me knew it was coming. I hope you’ll take care of yourself.’ That was all. And after that—he was never the same. He was still sweet, supportive Rex and he asked me about my plans and everything. But he was gone, even though we didn’t break up until I left, three months later. He was there, but he’d dropped the gate down, right? He wasn’t going to be vulnerable with me after that. If anything, he was more invested in lending a hand, being a help. But that was it.”

As Will talks, the cannonball that’s felt like it was lodged in my stomach since Virginia’s call turns into a block of ice. I’m shivering and something like panic is creeping up the back of my neck.

“So,” I start to say. “So, um.”

“So,” Will says. “I’m trying to help you. I don’t mean that your relationship with Rex is the same as mine—far from it. But I think maybe you and I are more alike than I wanted to admit. Which means that maybe I know a thing or two about how you operate. Like, maybe you didn’t grow up with a whole hell of a lot of positive fucking reinforcement. So, maybe you get that from people in your profession. And maybe you think you need that because you can’t get it anywhere else. And if that’s your choice, that’s fine. I just think….”

“What?”

“I think Rex is good for you too. So, if you think that you can leave and he’ll be here waiting for you if you change your mind and come back… he won’t. He might mean to be. He might swear up and down that you should follow your dreams—in fact, I’m sure he would because that’s the kind of guy he is. But he shuts down if he thinks someone is leaving him. He shuts down and then it’s too late. And maybe I just don’t want that to happen to you the way it happened to me. And I really don’t want to see Rex hurt. That’s all.”

He sighs and kicks at a rock on the driveway.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that,” he says. “But I’m glad I did. Don’t fuck it up. I want you to be here the next time I come into town.”

I nod. Though I’m loath to admit it, what Will said about Rex makes a lot of sense. Rex offers help to protect himself. It’s something to fall back on when he’s uncertain. Something he can offer to show he cares without making himself too vulnerable. But how can I tell the difference between that and what he says is how we trust each other: by letting each other help? I really don’t know.