Landslide (15 page)
Authors: Jenn Cooksey
I blow out a decided breath and nod. “Alright. If you’re okay with it and really want me to do this, I’ll ask him to come back and get me.”
“Good, you get to dialin’,” she says and jumps up, her knees creaking once or twice with the weight of her standing body on them again, but even with that, she’s far more spry than you’d expect a woman of her age to be, especially at a little past nine in the evening.
Then again, she did have a nap…
“I’m gonna go pack up some meals for you two and sign over the paperwork to Cole for that old camper that’s just sittin’ on the side of the house. Figure it’ll make up for havin’ to come all the way back here in the first place and then cartin’ you around the country with him,” she states so casually that I can’t do anything else except stare at her with my mouth hanging open, “Well don’t look at me like that. I been meanin’ to sell it since your Grandpa passed, bless his heart. And it’s ‘bout time it gets used for something other than bein’ an eyesore. Besides, I don’t really want to be worryin’ ‘bout either o’ you sleepin’ on the side of a road, even if it
is
God’s country.”
A true smile stretches across my face as excited butterflies start flapping their wings like mad in my stomach. I watch my grandma shimmy into the kitchen and my brain finally interprets the scent of pie that my nose had picked up earlier but never quite got the message to my head of the yumminess that awaits. With my phone in my hand, I debate calling versus texting, quickly choosing to go with texting because if I call, I know I’ll most likely get Cole’s voicemail. He doesn’t usually like to talk on the phone ever, but especially when he’s driving. He almost always listens to music really loud anyway so chances are, he won’t hear me call and who knows how long it could be before he checks for missed calls or listens to messages. He doesn’t really text and drive either, but this way he’ll at least probably see it. I hope. I
really
hope, because all of a sudden, I’m practically giddy about hearing his car pull up out front so we can go on an adventure together.
So, anxiously bouncing my knees up and down like a little kid impatiently waiting for dessert to be set before them, I type out my text…
Please come back. I want to go with you.
11
—Erica—
In the distance of a downstairs corner stands Old Father Time chiming eight o’clock. The once soothing, sing-song melody of home is no longer comforting as I stare at my phone and unanswered text, feeling not only severely disappointed, but, you know, wholly stupid and immature as well for being so disappointed. And Xanax although helpful last night at midnight when I finally gave up and abandoned my post on the steps of the porch waiting for Cole, didn’t really do much to stave off any dreaming so, I didn’t have what I’d call restful sleep. At least I didn’t have any nightmares; however, my dreams were weird and disturbingly vivid, leaving me feeling wholly out of sorts this morning. All of these things combined are the building blocks of a slippery slope above a pit of depressed prickliness that I can feel myself about to slide down into.
I splash some cool water on my face in the hopes that it’ll wake me up and clear my head a little. The person staring back at me in the mirror looks like me, but I’m a stranger unto myself. Then noticing my birth control pills on the counter, I realize part of what my problem is. A quick check under the sink to see what my supply level is like doesn’t do anything for my mood. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I grab my phone and head to the top of the stairs, deciding to call Cole although I’m hurt that he didn’t even bother to tell me he’d had a change of heart about wanting me to go with him. I’m cranky in addition, and I really don’t know what I’m going to say to him if he actually answers. I know I’m only probably asking for trouble here, but PMS seems to be dictating the protocol so against my better judgment, I go ahead and dial.
“Talk to me,” he answers on the third ring, but it doesn’t sound like him. I mean it sort of does, I guess, although it sounds like he’s in a cave next to a babbling brook or something, and he just sounds…odd. Like he’s manic and has gone from being a rage monster to Mr. Happy Go Lucky over night.
“Cole?”
“Uh, yeah, you called me…s’up?”
“What are you
doing
?” I ask with my face sort of squinted up, being irritated and trying to figure out what the sounds I’m hearing in the background are.
“Takin’ a leak. What are you doing?”
I stumble on my own feet and stutter to a stop with his matter of fact information, and I swear, I’m sure I have one of those goofy, cross-eyed looks on my face.
“Um, right this minute I’m wondering if I have any tampons in my purse because I’m out in my bathroom and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get my period any minute. I’m also about to go downstairs and eat breakfast,” I answer, thinking that I might as well be just as specific, as he’s apparently comfortable discussing our bodily functions and such.
“Well, that’s not really my area of expertise, but maybe you can wad up some toilet paper or something…that’s all I got,” he responds nonchalantly and completely unfazed. He then just continues as if news of my impending menstruation isn’t a completely icky segue into talking about food. “I wanna grab some breakfast too before hitting the road again. Chicken fried steak sounds
so
good.”
“Did you, um…” I start, suddenly nervous about asking and afraid of the answer even more, “Did you get my text?”
“Mmhm. Not until morning though. I got pulled over for drinking and driving and then got arrested for being under age and driving under the influence, so I spent the night in jail.”
“Oh my God, Cole! Are you serious?!”
“Not in the least. Thanks though for believing I’d be a larger than life dickwad to drink and drive,” he laughs at me, and then almost too casually he says, “I did however get baked, swam naked in the ocean, and fucked around with a few people on the beach in San Diego until the sun came up.”
“Oh,” I murmur, relieved on the one hand, but not really wanting to get into it with him about the whole getting stoned thing. He knows how I feel about that and it almost seems like he’s pushing my buttons on purpose for some reason this morning, which is irritating in and of itself. I mean, he has to know what a huge deal it was for me to even ask him to come back, let alone getting to the point of deciding to go with him in the first place, and here he is, being flippant, rude, and borderline obnoxious, and really, a pretty big asshole. Still, I’m curious about who he’d deemed more important than his childhood best friend last night so I ask, “What people?”
“Just, people,” he barely answers and then I think more or less to himself he complains, “Damn, my ass feels raw…think there’s still sand in it.”
“Well, were they guys or girls?” I question, my curiosity piqued now and my frustration with his tone and unwillingness to recognize that he’s hurting my feelings rapidly increasing even more so.
“Uh, both.”
“Well, who were they? What were their names?”
“Um, honestly, I don’t remember any of the chicks’ names, but the beast of a lifeguard’s name was Tristan and his buddy’s name was Jeff. You don’t know any of ‘em though, so why the hell does it matter?”
“I just want—”
“Hold on, I need two hands…gotta shake it off and zip,” he informs me so very politely.
Not
.
“Oh my God, never mind. Forget I called,” I snap and hear a toilet start flushing just before I hang up.
I stalk my way around the corner heading for the kitchen, completely irked and almost in tears,
again
. I should’ve listened to my gut instinct when it told me that spontaneity never works for people like me. But then again, I haven’t seemed to have had much success with pre-planning either or I wouldn’t still be a virgin.
The thought crashes through me like a tidal wave, Holden’s face riding in the surf and smiling down on me at first before his mouth opens up into a punishing grin and devours me with the razor blade teeth of biting cold water.
Inordinately dejected tears put a stranglehold on my throat and forward progress. I feel so lost and alone—utterly inadequate. All my hopes and dreams for any life worth living seem to have slithered between my fingers. Sure, they did; I’d naïvely pinned them all on Prince Charming and then he died and left me. So what do I do? I turn around and stupidly look to Boorish the Dwarf to rescue me. Which of course he doesn’t do because he’s too busy frolicking naked on a beach somewhere in San Diego with a beast, mermaids, and talking seagulls to realize or care that he’s wandered into the wrong story, thereby abandoning Snow White because he’s effectively the only one she has left. Just,
ugh
.
Mental note: Stop watching Disney movies. You are by no means a princess and life certainly isn’t a fairytale.
Sullenly picking my feet up again, I feel something whack the back of my head so I whirl around to see what it was only to be pelted in the face with another paper-wrapped tampon.
“Why’d you hang up on me? Hashtag girl problems or what?” Cole asks, inexplicably standing in the short hallway just outside the downstairs bathroom, two or three more tampons clutched in one of his hands, “Seriously, I was just having some fun with you, but if this is how you’re gonna be every time your plumbing is about to do its thing, I’m gonna need to start paying attention to a calendar or download a doomsday countdown alarm or something…I mean there’s gotta be an app for that, right?”
I stare at him, totally bewildered, not knowing whether I feel like crying happy tears or punching him in the face.
“Here, catch,” he commands and tosses the rest of the tampons at me all at once, “This is all there was under the sink in there so we’ll have to hit a store before too long I’m guessing. I already gassed up the camper, checked the engine out and all that, hitched my baby up, and made sure everything’s all good to go, but I really just wanna get outta town again before we make any stops. You cool with that?”
I go with both crying and smacking him in the arm repeatedly…
“Ow! Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you need some chocolate, stat,” he laughs at me, “And I’m starting to think I might just be on board with drinking and driving this week.”
I whack him again and we head into the kitchen, him rubbing his hands together in appreciative expectation, and me rolling my eyes at myself as he tucks into the heaping plate of chicken fried steak, sausage and bacon, and grits that my grandma sets before him. Seriously, I grew up knowing exactly what she was cooking for breakfast with just a single sniff from under the covers of my bed. How did I not put together that Cole was here in my house when I smelled gravy first thing this morning and he mentioned eating chicken fried steak? Hashtag girl problems indeed.
I’m packed and ready by the time Cole has eaten his fill and my grandma has finished pulling out casseroles from the freezers, cookies and brownies from the jar and pantry, and packing up any and all leftovers she can find for us.
She gives us both a squeeze and cupping Cole’s somewhat bruised cheek in her fragile hand, she tells him, “Bless your ever lovin’ heart…now you make sure you take good care of my grand baby drivin’ her around with you this summer. She’s precious cargo you know. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble no matter how bad it wants to be found,” and then to me she says, “And you be a good helpmeet to him out there on the road, you hear? I raised you to know how to do all of what needs to be done, so don’t let him starve or go around in filthy clothes. You’re partners in this now so watch out for each other and have yourselves some fun, and don’t be fretting about me. I’ll be fine and I’ll see you both when you get back.”
I nod and wipe a tear from my cheek before giving her another hug, but one look at Cole and I know he hasn’t told her that he’s not coming back. And he isn’t planning on pointing out the distinction to her either. I silently plead with him using my eyes, encouraging him to at least give her the opportunity to say the final goodbye that I know she’d want to say to him if she knew this would be the last time she’d have the chance to say it face to face. He just barely shakes his head “no” and looks to the sky briefly, putting a period at the end of our unspoken discussion.
When we finally get in and buckle up in the smallish camper, that supposedly sleeps six but really only three full-grown humans comfortably, I give Cole another look.
“What would’ve been the point, Erica? You know she would’ve argued with me about it, just like she did about giving me this house on wheels at fuckin’ five-thirty this morning. Scared the shit out of me too…I was sleeping in my car out front and she wakes me up by rapping the morning newspaper against the window and then hands me the goddamned keys and title to this thing.
“I let her win that battle because she wouldn’t get dick for this relic if she tried to sell it, but what really did it was when she reminded me that snakes and spiders have this not so cool way of getting into tents and sleeping bags,” he says in disgust and visibly shudders, “And you know how much the idea of that freaks me out because I’m a pussy when it comes to those fuckers, just like I
know
she knows. That’s why she brought it up, I’m sure.
“
And
, she would’ve started hemming and hawing about how you’re gonna get back here and I just wanna get on the goddamned road before next week! Besides, saying goodbye is depressing as fuck…I’ve done that enough the last couple days, you know? I mean I really think I’ve filled my goodbye quota for at least a decade or more, and you have too, so shut it,” he rants at me, looking over the dashboard and checking the glove compartment to make sure he’s familiar with where everything is before firing up the engine.
“How
am
I gonna get back home?” I really haven’t spent a single ounce of energy wondering about that detail since the idea of going with him became plausible, but really, now I’m thinking it’s something that needs to be figured out.
