Into This River I Drown (34 page)

Oh? Homework? Sure, Benji. It can wait.

Thanks.

Benji?

Yeah?

I think… I think everything is going to be all right.

Of course you do, I thought. Of course you do, you bitch. How dare you forget him like he’s nothing. How dare you.
Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.
I gave her another smile as she left the room.

And for the next few months, I focused on what needed to be done not to draw attention to myself. I buckled down. I worked hard. The police reports, the coroner’s reports, the photos, the little chunk of metal that supposedly came from his truck, twisted and black—all stayed locked up, secreted away. They would have my undivided attention later. I would give them all the time they needed once the focus was no longer on me.

But the longer they stayed hidden, the harder it was to find the courage to look at them again. Maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there. Maybe there was no evidence to suggest anything happened other than what the investigators said. Maybe my father was going to Eugene to meet with friends. Maybe he lost control of the truck (a deer? slick roads? distracted?). Maybe he crashed down the embankment, flipped his truck, and drowned just like they said. Maybe that’s all it was.

Adrift. My mother and I were adrift, occasionally colliding and bouncing away. The wounds scabbed over but never healed, just waiting to be torn open again. That’s the thing about grief: the longer it festers, the harder it is to cleanse.

So I’m
not surprised that my mother isn’t there the morning after Cal returns. She’s seen something that has altered her perception of the way the world works and needs time to work it out on her own. It helps me that she had the exact same reaction I did when Cal first revealed himself: shock, denial, then anger. She and I are more alike than I like to admit, and I would do well to remember that.

Mary rejoices at seeing Cal again, much like her twin. Christie seems more subdued and gives a less warm reception, but Cal still has her smiling by the end of breakfast, charming her completely. If my mother has said anything to either of them, they don’t show it on their faces. I like to think that they wouldn’t be able to hide the shock of something so life-altering from me, especially given they are blood relations. I watch closely for any telltale sign, any flicker of fear or amazement based on anything other than the conversation at hand.

There’s nothing.

Cal and I spend the rest of the day in bed. I don’t hear my phone ring later that night, my mother leaving a message in a flat voice that she wants me to open the store tomorrow, but that Cal should stay at Little House.
Like hell
, I think when I listen to the message. Cal’s running his big hands up my thighs, cradling my balls.
Like fucking hell
. I toss the phone to the floor as he leans down and swallows me whole. Fast learner, he is.

The second day, Roseland rejoices at Cal’s return.

It doesn’t take long for word to spread that the big guy is back. What starts off as a quiet morning soon leads to the bell above the door ringing steadily. I begin to recognize the looks that people give when they walk in: a brief smile for me, almost as a courtesy, their gazes darting until they find who they are looking for. Their eyes light up, and they step forward, hand outstretched if they are male, arms wide open for a hug if they are female. “It’s good to see you,” becomes the mantra of the day. “Glad to have you back. You sticking around this time?” Cal glances at me every time before he answers, as if seeking my approval, as if I am the one making the decision for him. And every time I nod. “Sure am,” he says. “Benji’s going to let me drive the Ford. It’s so cherry, you know?”

They know.

Rosie comes to steal him away later in the afternoon, taking him back to the diner, wanting to show him the green-clover marshmallow cupcakes she made just for him. His eyes go slightly dreamy at the thought (not an “I don’t know if I’m going to like that” uttered) and she glances at me, as if asking my permission. I shove down the slight panic, rolling my eyes and muttering that she’s going to be responsible when he’s destroyed the town due to his sugar high. She laughs and has started pulling him away, the other ten people in the store waiting to follow them out, when Cal stops. And turns. With a determined look in his eye. I know what that look means. I have about four seconds to make up my mind on whether or not to stop him before he’s on me, leaning across the counter, hooking his hand around my neck, pressing his lips firmly against mine. The world goes white around us as he nibbles on my bottom lip, briefly touching his tongue to mine. He pulls away and presses his forehead against me. “Okay, Benji?” he asks quietly, kissing my cheek. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

“Sure,” I manage to say. “Have fun.”

He pulls away and turns toward Rosie, who has the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. “Looks like someone has been holding out on me,” she says, eyeing me over his shoulder. “Cal, it appears you owe me a story or two.”

“I know a lot of stories,” he assures her as I groan, already wondering what the hell he’s going to tell her. Or them, as the rest of the people begin to follow as well, like they’re his little groupies. For the most part, they smile at me, reaching out to pat my hand as they walk by, ignoring the furious blush on my face. “How lovely for you, dear,” Eloise Watkins says, she of the Friday Virginia Slims. “He does have quite the ass. And that red hair….” She sighs and follows him out the door.

“Good for you!” Doc Heward says cheerfully. “It’s about time.”

“About time?” I call after him. “He hasn’t been here that long!”

“Bah!” I heard him call back through the door, following the rest up to Rosie’s.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter.

That bastard knew
exactly
what he was doing when he kissed me in front of everyone. I’m fine with being out, but that’s different from everyone knowing my business. Granted, I expect half the town assumed we were already fucking the first day they met him, so I don’t suppose it’s anything too bad. Well, not until the gossip wildfire reaches my mother and she finds out my… well, whatever he is to me… kissed me in the middle of the store in front of half the business owners on Poplar Street. That should make for a lovely time at the next meeting of the Roseland Chamber of Commerce. Hysterical.

The bell rings overhead and I roll my eyes without looking up from going over the delivery invoices. “If you’re looking for Cal, the party’s moved up to Rosie’s.”

“Cal?” a man says. I look up, not immediately recognizing his voice. I’m instantly wary of the stranger standing before me. He’s a lot older than me, probably in his forties. He’s on the losing side of fat, his middle thick, his arms like slabs of concrete in the gray collared shirt. He’s balding on top, his dark hair thinning in little wisps. His eyes are small, and he almost reminds me of a fish, the way his lips pucker as if he’s bitten into a lemon. His face is doughy and pale.

“Can I help you?” I say. He doesn’t seem like one of the Strange Men, but given the last few days, I don’t want to take any chances.

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” he says as he walks to the counter and places his meaty hands flat down on top of it. “You said something about Cal?” he asks, watching me closely.

His voice is familiar to me, though I can’t quite place it. I rack my brain as I say, “Uh, sure. He’s up at the diner with most of the rest of the town.”

“Is that a fact?” he says, sounding amused. “So old Cal Blue came back, did he?”

“I’m sorry, do you know him?” I feel cold.

“Not personally, though I’ve heard a lot about him,” Fish Eyes says, a small smile on his face. “Seems a lot of people around here are talking about him.”

I school my face so it’s blank when I shrug. “He’s all right.”

Fish Eyes laughs. “I’m sure he is. And you must be Benji, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you run the station here, right?”

“Yes.”

He nods. “Big Eddie’s Gas and Convenience. Quite the mouthful.”

“Can I help you with something?” I want him to leave. I wonder briefly if my thread is showing, if Cal is racing toward the store. I hope not. The moments when threads show during the day, I’ve had to calm him so his wings aren’t visible. I don’t know what would happen if they exploded out of him in the middle of Rosie’s Diner. Probably not the best thing to happen. I will myself to calm.

“I’m sure you probably could,” Fish Eyes says. “Tell me, Benji. What does a guy your age get up to in a small town like this?”

“Mostly work,” I say with a false smile. I can almost place his voice, but the answer dances away. “I own the store, so I don’t have time for much else.”

“Well, as long as you’re staying out of trouble, then you should be okay,” Fish Eyes says. “Would hate to think anything would happen to you. Or Cal. Good old Cal Blue, right? That his name?”

“You ask a lot of questions, mister.”

He laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard. “I am a curious man,” he agrees, wiping his eyes. “I like to know everything I can, if you catch my drift.”

“Can’t say that I do,” I say, trying to sound bored.
Stay away, Cal. Stay away.

He looks behind me. “Why don’t you give me a pack of them Marlboro 100s and we can call ourselves square.”

I turn, an idea forming in my head. I reach up and grab the smokes. “Got your ID on you?”

He looks taken aback. “I’m flattered, Benji, but I think I’m a bit above eighteen.”

 “Federal law requires me to swipe a driver’s license through the reader every time I sell cigarettes. Don’t want to get dinged by the state. They do random tests.” I shrug like it is out of my hands. “For all I know, you could be an agent doing an inspection. Haven’t had one in a while.”

“Do I look like a government agent to you?”

“You look like a lot of things to me. Got that ID so I can ring you up?”

He narrows his eyes as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. He opens it and slides an Oregon driver’s license across the counter. I snap it up, trying to look at ease. I turn to the ID reader behind me and slide it through. I glance down at the screen on the reader.
VERIFIED
, it says.
JACK TRAYNOR DOB 11/14/1959.

Traynor.

Where have I heard—

No. Oh fuck.

The gunman:
All I wanted was a fucking hit, man! Traynor told me I could get it, that fucking bastard!

Then—

Mayor Walken:
You seem to forget, Traynor, that you are operating in
my
town, with
my
permission, which makes me
your
boss.

Then—

The smoker:
I say we just take them out now. Kill the fucking faggot before he goes any further with this.

He’s here,
I think.
He’s here and he knows I was there that night. He knows I was listening.

For each thought I have, each voice that goes through my head, another second ticks by. I can hear them counting off in my head and it’s
one
and it’s
two
and it’s
three…
until I realize that I’m still staring at the reader which is shouting:
TRAYNOR TRAYNOR TRAYNOR.

“There a problem?” I hear him ask, an edge to his words.

“No,” I say, sounding remarkably calm. “No problem. It just didn’t read it. Shouldn’t be but another moment.” I swipe it again. The screen lights up brighter than it ever has before, saying
TRAYNOR,
shrieking
TRAYNOR.
It’s trying to tell me what I already know.
Get it together, Benji,
I tell myself.
Focus. Get it together and fucking do your job. He’s waiting for you to fuck up. He’s waiting for the look on your face. Do your fucking job.

I plaster a smile on my face, the skin feeling tight. I turn back to Traynor, who is watching me with a scowl. I hand him back his ID, which he snatches out of my hand. I ring up the smokes. “That’ll be $7.86,” I tell him evenly.

He hands me a ten. “You know, you look a little nervous.”

Fuck
.
Calm. Calm. No threads. Cal, stay away.
“Just tired,” I assure him as I make his change. “Been a rough couple of weeks.”

“Is that right?” he says, holding out his hand for the change, hooking his fingers up. I can’t help but think how much like a bear trap it looks.

I nod and drop the dollars and coins into his hand. And just like that, the trap closes, his fingers encircling my wrist, vise tight. I know he can feel my pulse, the blood rushing in erratic beats of my heart. My hand is clammy and my breath lodges in my throat. It’s like the world has gone silent around us, as if we’re stuck in a vacuum. I don’t know if I could call out even if I tried.
No, Cal. Stay away. Stay away.

Traynor has a shrewd look on his face, as if he can see inside my head and knows every single damn thing I’m thinking. There’s so many weird things going on in this town that I banish Cal from my thoughts just in case Traynor
can
see inside.
These are some strange days
, I think frantically. I’m expecting his eyes to start twitching back and forth and his head to cock to the side, like he’s a bird stalking its prey.

“You okay, there, Benji?” he asks, deceptively soft. “You getting sick?”

“Might be the flu,” I say weakly, the first thought in my head. “Been going around town. May head on home when the shift change gets here in a few minutes.” There’s no one coming in, but he doesn’t know that. At least I don’t think he does.

If he’s worried about my words, he doesn’t give a reaction. He grinds his fingers into my wrist and I bite back the whimper that threatens to rise. “You know,” he says, “faggots can find themselves in a world of hurt if they don’t mind their own business.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he says, squeezing my wrist again. “But you look like you need a reminder, just in case.”