Mayday (15 page)

THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

People can't concentrate properly on blowing other people to pieces if their minds are poisoned by thoughts suitable to the twenty-fifth of December.

Ogden Nash

AS MENTIONED, I DID NOT RETURN TO THE GUIDANCE OFFICE.
That's not completely true. I ducked back in to find, as Mel reported, a notebook filled with all Crow knew of Will. On another day I would have been overjoyed. This day I did not care. This day I needed to find Crow.

I remembered where I went the first time around, after Basil had attempted to stake his claim.

The darkroom had been locked; of all the days for Mr. Gerald, the custodian, to get serious. I ran to the girls' lavatory, locked the stall, and shook. I stayed there the entire day, listening as Basil's bravado floated in on wings of female voice. With each version, the assault's account twisted, bringing me closer to the role of instigator and Basil nearer the position of victim. I must've heard the story twenty times—it pleased the school to hear of me as weak.

I remember feeling I deserved it, somehow. That although I remembered his attack from within a thick fog, I must have deserved it. So I listened and sat until Mel and Julie Richear walked in. Upon hearing Mel's voice, I relaxed and forced cramped legs to stand. But the topic of their conversation strayed from convention and kept me hidden where I was.

“That's what I heard him say,” Mel's voice echoed loud.

I peeked at her through the crack in the stall, watched as she continued. “On prom night. He'll pick her up, take her to the hotel, and—”

“You're kidding, that's sick. Have you told Addy yet?”

“I haven't seen her. But I'll do one better. I'll tell Crow. She'll know what to do. She knows her sister better than anybody, so I'll let her take care of the pervert. There's no way she'll let Will touch Adele.”

Julie slung back her hair. “I never thought I'd say it, but this is one time you want Crow as your sister. Hey, did I hear right that she and Basil . . .”

I opened the stall door and emerged into an empty bathroom. I stared at myself, useless piece of junk that I was. Right then I made a vow that would haunt me the rest of my brief life.

Will and his friends would not get near my sister.

It seemed the only way to salvage my existence.

• • •

I stood around the girls' bathroom waiting for Crow to come out, but a guy can stand near that entrance for only so long, and I made frequent trips through the halls to pass the time. When the final bell rang and the whoop went up for Christmas break, Crow still had not appeared.

Sadie was right; I was affecting events. Crow's life was accelerating. After all, the first time around, Basil attacked me in April. Maybe this day the darkroom door had been open. Maybe Crow spent her hours there and never overheard Mel's lie about Will. Given the season, maybe Mel found some Christmas cheer and thought better of spreading the rumor.

Maybe she never did spread poison about Addy and Will.

I strolled toward the bus and eased inside. I sat and Thomas scooted across the aisle, took a place beside me. “The school is buzzing today. Can't say I like what I heard.”

“Whatever it was from whoever said it, don't believe it,” I turned and grimaced. Will sat behind me, his head down. One look at his face, and I knew. The egg had hatched. The lie was alive. Though she did not care, Mel's words destroyed Will, too. Being a bad boy carried a certain mystique. Being a bad-boy pervert, not so much.

I reached back and tousled his hair. Don't know why, but it felt right, and he glanced up as if he didn't care. About anything.

“It's not true, Will.” I cleared my throat. “What people are saying, I know it's not true.”

“Tell me, Prophet, will Addy believe that?”

I shrugged. “Maybe she didn't hear.”

He glanced away. I did, too.

• • •

“What's it like on Christmas Eve?” Mr. Loumans scooped a load of snow off the steps.

Hope Home was all decked out, and clearing the last bit of snow from the walk finished the job. “You know, up there.” He poked heavenward with the handle of his shovel.

It's a big responsibility to paint a man's picture of the hereafter. Too big for me.

“Can't say. Sort of a trade secret.”

I hoped that would suffice and pitched a shovelful off the bottom step. No go.

“Just a morsel.” Loumans scraped at an ice chunk on the pavement. “A man lives a long time on this earth believing, hoping. Then, suddenly, a confirmation letter like you appears, but I'm not allowed to open it. Could you give me something to hang on to? To look forward to.”

I thought a bit. “There's no tuna fish.”

Mr. Loumans thought a moment, and set out laughing. “There you go. Ask a foolish question, and there you go.”

Will stepped out of the front door, wriggling inside his rented suit. “You look good, Will. You've worked hard. You deserve this.” Mr. Loumans stepped up and straightened his tie.

“Mrs. Amy helped me with that. I've never worn one before.”

“No,” Mr. Loumans answered. “It's a very adequate Windsor, don't you think? Mr. Shane will be your chaperone. Have him home by eleven.”

“Home by eleven.” I turned and repeated to Will, “By eleven.”

“Okay, Prophet. Take me over.”

I grabbed the keys to the Impala from Mr. Loumans's outstretched hand and walked with Will toward the garage. “Did you get her a present?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He dug in his pocket. “What do you think?”

He held up a silver chain.

“Nice, but have you noticed she always accessorizes in gold?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Forget it. I think I can help.”

Will jittered in the passenger seat, genuinely nervous. He was a lot of things, perhaps a lot of really unpleasant things, but he wasn't Monster Number 2. How dumb I'd been.

We pulled into a Best Buy. “She likes James Taylor, and her
Greatest Hits
CD is scratched beyond listening.”

Will frowned, disappeared into the store, and reappeared a few minutes later.

“Okay,” he said. “Got it.” He removed the plastic case from his suit coat pocket.

It was my turn to frown.

“You didn't pay for that, did you?”

“I spent what I had on the silver thing.”

I rubbed my face. “Wait here.” I walked inside to even up, and it dawned on me I had nothing for Crow. I swooped into the CD aisle. “dArKANgLe. Just the thing.” I righted Will's wrong and paid at the cashier, rejoined Will in the car.

“Thanks,” Will said. “I'll pay you back for all you've done.”

Oh Lord, I hope not.

• • •

We pulled into Mom's buried driveway. Jude didn't believe in shoveling. Outside, one small, plastic Santa guarded the door. Jude had gone all out this year.

“Will, I'm supposed to have you home by eleven, but if
you're a little late, don't sweat it.” He grinned and opened his door, and I turned off the engine. Will poked his head back into the car. “You don't need to sit in the driveway.”

“No, I, uh, need to sit inside. Crow invited me.”

Will straightened, bent back down, then straightened again. “You and Crow?”

I shrugged. “No, I don't know why she invited me, really, there's no me and Crow.”

“Oh, wow. Yesterday in school must've sucked for you, too.”

“Pretty much.”

I waited for the explosion, the kicking of the Impala, an act that said, Stay out of my life—but none came. Instead, Will smiled.

“Well then, Prophet, let's go inside.” A hint of relief tinged his voice. “Honest, this is probably good. I'm a little nervous.”

I glanced at the door and joined him and Santa.

You should be.

I let my head thud against the brick wall.

Three times Will rang the doorbell. Three times he frowned at me. “Aren't they here?”

“Yeah.” I pointed. “They're all in there. Jude is sitting right by the door.”

“Why doesn't he answer?”

“You're being ‘seasoned.' It's one of his psychological tricks to gain the upper hand before he puts you through the Inquisition.”

“I don't know what that mean—.”

“Jude, the Monster, will ask you a series of questions, as if he has some authority over Addy, as if he's some overprotective dad instead of what he is, a freakish—” I raised my hand and zipped my lips.

Too much info. Sorry, Sadie.

Will tugged on his tie. “That's what he did to you on account of Crow?”

“No.” I rubbed my face. “I could be an ax murderer, and it wouldn't matter. Crow's not Addy.”

The door swung open, and Jude appeared. My face tightened, and then eased. I didn't want him dead, and the realization shocked me. He looked like a different monster. Shorter, older, weaker. He seemed sick and pale, more in need of a hospital than a morgue.

“Come in, boys.”

We stepped into the entryway.

“Crap!” Will turned his head this way and that. His Freudian was right on the money.

We moved forward single file through a thin, cleared space in the entryway. Jude
had
shoveled for Christmas Eve.

An explanation is in order: one that reaches clear back to when I was thirteen, to the day after Addy's horror. When Mom came back from her retreat that next morning, she found the two of us locked in the bathroom. Addy led her into our room, where Mom stared at the dresser and the broken glass and the ripped clothing. I think she came to the same conclusion I had: evil had come.

And something inside her snapped.

“Whatever happened will never happen again.”

This was all she said.

Whatever happened? I told her what had happened—loudly, clearly.

She yelled her line back into my face. It was her wall. The only way, I believe, she could continue living with herself. After all, self-blame takes a strong constitution. Courage, really, to say, Yeah, I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have gone.

But I didn't let up. I shouted and shouted until she brought out the one weapon that could silence me.

“It would never have happened if your father were here!”

And the guilt I felt about Jude's attack joined hands with the guilt I felt about Dad, and the weight of the two overwhelmed. I went into the tree house and sobbed.

But deep inside, Mom must've known that she factored into the mix, too. She had ceded control to Jude, and she determined never to do so again. That night, I listened to her raised voice, and her altered declaration:

“If this happens again, you will be playing doctor behind bars, with people your own size.”

The next morning we noticed two changes. The first, Jude had disappeared, presumably to speak at a therapist convention. As conventions rarely are monthlong events, it didn't take long to piece together the truth: Jude's continued presence in Mom's home depended on his undergoing intense in-patient therapy. It was about time that Jude became a victim of his own psycho-babble.

The second discernable change was more comforting than the first, though it would cost Mom her life.

She did not leave for work.

Nor did she the following day, or the following week. She wandered around the house, whispering her mantra.

“Whatever happened will never happen again.”

In the years that followed, Mom rarely left the home. She could not restore what had been taken, and though Jude was not indicted, Mom could see to it that a sentence was served. Her conscience would force her to serve it. She became the house's vigilant eyes and ears, a responsibility I slowly relinquished.

Jude called it agoraphobia. Apparently, he felt it an acceptable malady, much like, say, pedophilia.

I felt for my mother. I knew her strange kind of hell: a fear that stole sleep and haunted dreams, a fear demanding ultimate sacrifice. Little things like keeping house and keeping herself up no longer mattered.

Yes, it was the season of giving, but for Mom and Dad, Addy and me, there was nothing left to give; Jude had already taken it all.

Merry Christmas.

THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

There are two things that are more difficult than making an after-dinner speech: climbing a wall which is leaning toward you and kissing a girl who is leaning away from you.

Winston Churchill

JUDE SIZED UP BOTH OF US WITHOUT A HANDSHAKE.
“Which of you is Will?”

Will was busy staring around the entryway. “What is all this crap? It's worse than the dump.”

“We haven't gotten around to house cleaning, and I assume that comment correctly tags you as Will. Follow me.” Jude worked his way into the living room. Will followed, toppling stacks of magazines as he went.

They sat down on opposing chairs, and I rolled my eyes. This would take a while. I plunked down in the entryway, settled back against the closet, and sighed. The place
was
a pit. It took Will's mouth and Shane's eyes for me to realize it.

For a minute, Jude said nothing. Will's leg bounced, and the Monster picked at his fingernails. He would draw this out as long as he could.

“Why should I let you see my precious Adele?”

If he was a dad, a normal dad, that sentence might sit fine, but not after. What is it about being male that authorizes you to claim people?

“She's great.” Will shrugged. “She invited me over. I wasn't planning on proposing.” He chuckled, looked at me and then back to Jude, and his chuckle vanished.

Jude licked his lips. “What
were
you planning on doing?”

Will peeked at me, and his face twitched. I wagged my head. Jude's questions were a virus.
Let them run their course.

“Oh, I thought I'd wait until you weren't looking, sneak her out, take her behind the house, and—”

“Do you have a car, Will?” Jude hissed.

“I used to.”

“Right. What type of vehicle was it?”

Will's face shaded wistful. “Camaro, yellow. She was a beauty—not saying she was mine, but that's another story.”

“Sure,” said Jude. “If you were still in possession of said vehicle, and I, a stranger, came to your door and asked for the keys, would you give them to me?”

“Would money be accompanying the keys?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

Wrong answer.

“What if I promised to take good care of it?” Jude's lips curled, and he closed in for the kill. “I mean, I'd only be gone a few hours.”

“Nobody takes my wheels.”

Really wrong answer.

Jude wagged his pointer at Will. “But here you are, a stranger, asking to see my daughter, who is much more valuable than a car.”

Game over.

Will scooted forward in his chair. “I didn't ask you for nothin'. I'm not takin' her nowhere. You seem like the kind of guy who wants to hold my hand and make sure I behave. Is that what you want to do, Mr. Jude? I suppose that could be arranged.”

I loved that kid. I know I spent considerable soul time trying to end his life, but I loved him—his hard edge and soft center. In the face of Jude's insanity, Will held his ground and fought for Addy. Just like Crow. No wonder I judged him so quickly the first time around. He reminded me too much of myself.

Jude stood up, his psychology lying in pieces on the floor, and finally noticed me. “Crow's in her room. Good luck getting her out.”

I started to walk and stopped. “This way?”

“Through the kitchen and to your right, end of the hall.”

• • •

“Hi, Adele.” I quietly closed the bedroom door behind me. Addy stared up from her perch atop Crow's bed, her arm around her big sister. Crow gazed down, her focus on the book she treasured above all others.

In truth, it wasn't a book. It was a journal, filled with Dad's favorite philosophical quotations. Since high school, he'd kept a record of the quotes that impacted him, the ones that he was working through, those that were worthy of his attention. Divided into chapters, one for each year, the journal left a bread crumb trail of my dad's changing beliefs over time.

The Thoughts of C. Raine.

How many hours I'd spent poring over those pages.

It, and my locket, were my only record of the invisible man, the only tangible proof that the hole in my heart had at one point been filled.

I stood there, watching Crow, and it suddenly became clear. She wasn't reading. She was searching, searching for a dimly lit road that could weave through her darkness, her wasted life.

In her moments of personal agony, Crow always turned to Dad's thoughts, Dad's journal.

Crow always searched for her father.

My father.

I slumped back against the door. I was wrong about Will, and in order to avert the catastrophe of Mayday, Crow must also see it. This was still my quest, but my heart burned with a new flame. If my walkabout didn't end at my father's side—I fingered the locket—I would forever be searching.

“You must be Shane.” Addy squeezed Crow. “He's here,” she whispered, as if Crow wasn't, which was near the truth. Crow didn't flinch.

Addy exhaled hard. “Will?”

“He's being interrogated by Jude.”

Her face lit up, and Crow's hardened. She flicked a glance at the door, then went back to her oak-floor gaze—but she was no longer alone. Hate kept her company. That much was clear from her face.

“How's he doing out there?” Addy asked.

“Remarkably well.”

“Still, I'm going to go rescue him.” Addy jumped up and paused. “Unless you need me, Crow. I'll stay.”

Crow gave a tight shake of the head, and Addy bounded out, slamming the door behind her. I looked around at the room I knew so well, at the nice replacement window. It and the bathroom window were the only decent ones in the entire house.

My gaze fell on the scar that traced up Crow's forearm, a remnant of the fight with Jasmine and my first intervention in my life. I dropped to the floor and scooted away from the door. Didn't want her to feel trapped.

“Why did you come?” she asked, her gaze not leaving the journal.

“I, uh, I'm sorry. Was my invite rescinded?”

“You weren't in school yesterday.”

“I was. I searched for you,” I said. “You can be hard to find.”

“Then you heard that I was busy with Basil, so why don't you get out of my house?”

“Because I'm not after whatever Basil got.”

Crow thought for a second, tongued the inside of her cheek, and nodded. “Don't blame you.”

“No.” I scooted forward. “That's not what I meant. You're beautiful. If you knew how hard it was for me in the tree house . . .I'm just saying that's not why I came. I still want to be with you.” I raised my hands and let them fall to my lap. “It's hard to explain.”

Crow shot up her hand, and I froze.

“Basil and I, we've never. We didn't. I should say, he didn't. As soon as I figured out what was happening, I smacked him, and if I had had my knife—” She paused. “If you so much as touch any part of me during any point of this evening, Christmas Eve or not, I will kill you.”

“I know.”

She straightened, set the journal on the bed, and threw back her hair. She was drop-dead gorgeous. It wasn't a line.

“Okay then,” she whispered. “You can stay. But don't be expecting an invitation to New Year's Eve. We'll just ride this one out.”

“Fair.” I stood and opened the door for her. She rose, shuffled forward, halted in the doorway. “Did you see Will?”

“Of course. I work with the kid. I brought him over.”

“Guess I can't hold that against you.” She sauntered out of the room.

• • •

Do you celebrate Christmas? If so, happy thoughts likely consume the affair. Smiling people, lying people. “Oh, that's what I always wanted.” Hugs and thank-yous and wrapping paper flying through the air.

Maybe there's a crackling fire on a cold night with Bing Crosby crooning in the background. I imagine jolly isn't hard to find in such a place.

Consider this scene: a browning Christmas tree, no stand, propped up by piles of phone books and leaning against the basement wall. No decorations. No music. No food.

Add to the mirth six sardined people, none of whom want to be there, and six unwrapped gifts, thrown beneath the tree.

Perhaps, you might think, the Christmas spirit will infuse the night with joy.

“Here.” That's Jude handing his wife a new toaster.

“Thank you.” There's tight-lipped Mom. That toaster will join her other one. Therapists make good money, but after Jude discovered Goodwill, he felt no need to spend any on Mom.

Mom reached down and handed Jude a tie. No surprise there. She always gave Jude a tie. She admitted to me that they came from the Dollar Store, a fact that brought me immense pleasure.

This year, however, I almost snatched the tie from his hands.

It was Dad's tie. Strange what people cling to after relationships end. Lockets. Ties. This paisley beauty hid, untouched, in the back of the linen closet. Every time I went for a towel, I stared at it, crumpled, out of place, but a remnant of Dad nonetheless.

There Jude was, holding the sacred. Maybe Mom couldn't find anyone to shop for her this year, but no excuse gave her the right.

My anger didn't make sense; it was a cheap tie worn sparingly by a man who lived only in my memory. But inside I ached, and I wished Dad was beside me. At least I'd hear some Christmas carols and we'd have a tree stand.

“That looks like an old tie.” I hissed. “Where'd you get it?”

Crow stared at me. I didn't look back.

Jude raised it high in a triumphant display of the gift.

“This transfer, this exchange, is a family matter, Shane. It's a family secret.”

“No, Jude,” Crow said quietly. “That's my dad's tie.”

Jude cleared his throat. “You and Shane are under no compulsion to stay. You and your friend may go crawl beneath the rock you live under.”

So can you.

“Oh, wow, is that for me?” Adele broke in, reached beneath the tree, and retrieved her Macy's gift certificate. She then handed Crow her present, a gift card for the Book Emporium.

Will watched me the whole time, his twitchy hands eager to produce his present. The longer I gazed at him, the more certain I became: he was not in the same room. Nor was he in the same moment, or with the same people.

His face was filled with regret.

He was captive to a memory.

Finally, I gave the nod, and he shook free from his prison.

“I have something!” Words exploded from his lips, and Mom forced a smile.

“Well, Will. We are waiting with bated breath.” Jude offered his most satisfied smile and folded his hands. “It's good to see that at least one youth remembers the honored tradition of gifting the parents.”

“Sorry. Never heard of that tradition. We, uh, had our own.” Will turned the CD over in his hands. “Dad and me, well, it was our job to chop down the tree. Just the two of us, wandering among hundreds of them at the tree farm. They were either too tall or too short or too thin near the base and finally . . . finally, he'd say, ‘You go pick, son. I trust you to bring me the best. Nothing but perfection will do.'” Will glanced at our dead pine. “Damn hard to be perfect, you know?” he whispered, slapping the CD a few times. “Damn hard.” He slowly turned and handed his gift to Adele.

“Merry Christmas.”

She stared down at it, expressionless. Will, too, seemed lost in thought, and a strange heaviness descended in the room.

Pop! Adele broke free from her state and leaped onto Will's lap and hugged him something special. “How did you know? How could you have known?”

Will shrugged and glanced around, keeping his hands high in the air. A good move, based on Jude's and Crow's scowls. He glanced around the room, and his gaze landed on me. “I, uh, there's something I need to do. Say, Addy”—his stare never left me—“you want to go on a walk?”

Adele furrowed her brow. “Yeah, I'll come. Are you all right?”

“I think I am,” Will said, breaking into a broad smile. “I think I finally am.”

Adele stood, pulled Will to his feet. “Well, this really has been special. She leaned over and gave Crow a hug, while Will walked over to me. “Thanks, Prophet,” he whispered. “For everything. Tell Mr. L that, well, just tell him.”

Suddenly, I knew. Will was heading out on a walkabout of his own that would, indeed, end beside his father. And Addy? He was taking her away in the process.

I burned, not with anger or fear, but envy.

• • •

The two hurried upstairs, where the front door opened and shut.

“Ahem. Crow, here you go.” I grinned. “Hope you like it.”

I tossed her CD across the room; she caught it, examined it, looked at me, and nodded. I knew it was the best she could do.