Nothing to Lose (23 page)

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kirstie asked when we got on.

“No, I want to forget everything.”

She wrapped her arms around me in reply.

Sometime in the early morning, there was a rainstorm. Thunder and wind shook the walls. I rolled over and looked around the dim room in confusion, seeing the outline of a yellow window, then the whole room coming into sharp focus with a lightning bolt. I felt a cool hand on my shoulder and remembered where I was, with Kirstie in her narrow, yellow-covered bed.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Sleep. It’s only thunder.”

“But…”

“You can stay with me as long as you like.”

I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I woke Friday morning, alone in Kirstie’s trailer, but knowing what I would do. I’d go with them. Everything I had in Miami was long gone already. Everything I had now was here. Monday morning, when the carnival packed up and left town, I would leave with it. Wherever they were going, I’d be going with them.

I looked at the old windup alarm clock on the TV table by Kirstie’s bed. Almost noon. It took me a second to realize it was still Friday, still the day after the party and the hospital. The day before seemed so long ago. Even school. I felt a pang, realizing I’d never go to school again. But I had a new life with Kirstie now.

When I stepped out to look for her, a cold shower hit me. I wiped it from my eyes.

“Oops,” Kirstie said, not apologetic at all. “Just cleaning up a little.”

She held a hose and was hosing something off the side of the trailer. I ran down the steps and kissed her. I was soaking wet but she didn’t pull away.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” she said when we finally pulled apart.

“I’m staying,” I said. “You were right.”

“I so often am,” she said, smiling. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want to be contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

“I’m sure,” I said. “I love you.”

I stopped, I’d been avoiding the words for a week. Now they were stuffed into the space between us, like an exploded airbag. Separating us. I held my breath. Please don’t think I’m a stupid kid. Please let this moment go by. She didn’t have to say it back. I’d have settled for her not laughing.

But part of me needed her to love me too.

“You don’t have to say that,” she said. “It’s not required.”

“I know it’s not, but I love you. You’ve changed my life. You’ve saved me.”

“You saved yourself.” She turned away. When she looked back, she said, “We’ll talk to Corbett about a job for you.”

It was amazing how quickly it happened. In the next two days I talked to Corbett about an under-the-table job, and Kirstie set me up with a fake ID that said I was eighteen and gave my name as Robert Frost. I started on a mustache.

I slept in Kirstie’s bed. I didn’t ask her to tell me she loved me. She didn’t tell me, either.

The other carnies acted differently since I was staying. Some, who’d treated me like a harmless tagalong, now looked at me suspiciously. Others, who’d treated me with suspicion, were friendly now that I was staying. I didn’t go home for two days. But I knew I had to go back, to say good-bye. I planned to do it Sunday, the day the fair closed.

I woke early that morning and put on a borrowed souvenir T-shirt. I’d get my clothes from home too. I tried not to wake Kirstie, getting up. We’d been up until after three, and the fair opened early that day. I stood, watching her in the dim light. Eighteen days I’d known her. Eighteen days ago I’d been a mess, trapped with Mom and Walker, unable to move, unable to leave, worrying every day I’d snap, feeling like I had nothing to lose by doing it.

Now it was all changed. I had Kirstie. I had friends, too, a job, a life ahead of me instead of just behind. And more than that, I’d made a decision. I wasn’t trapped anymore. I was a man in every sense of the word.

But was I? I felt guilty about leaving. Yet I knew there was nothing I could do by staying. Maybe my staying even made it worse. So many of the fights Mom and Walker had were about me in some way. Because of me. It would be better if I left. I was kidding myself if I thought I could help by staying.

I opened the trailer door and stepped outside. The air was cool and clean smelling. The light hit Kirstie’s face, and she sort of cringed against it. I started to close the door behind me.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home. I mean, I’m going to my mother’s house.”

“Don’t leave.” Her still-sleepy voice was like a little kid’s.

“I’m not leaving. I’m just going to pack my things, to say good-bye.”

She was sitting up now. “Don’t. Please don’t. If you go, they’ll suck you back in. They’ll make you stay, and. . . .” She fumbled with the sheet now, pulling it around her.

“I have to. I’m not staying, but I have to say goodbye. Don’t you wish you’d said good-bye to anyone?”

She looked away. Finally, she said, “I said good-bye to Erica that day when I left her at the funnel cakes. She didn’t know it was for forever, but I did.”

“But…”

“If I’d said good-bye for real, I couldn’t have left. I could have left Dad, that’s for sure. But not Erica.”

“Well, I am leaving.” Though, even as I said it, I felt my resolve slipping. “I don’t know what will happen to my mother, but sorry, I need to tell her I’m going so she won’t put out an APB. And I need my stuff.”

“Cricket can loan you clothes. Life’s all about leaving things behind anyway. What’s a few T-shirts?”

“Cricket’s, like, five-four.” I let the door close and walked close to her. “I need to do this, Kirstie. But I’ll be back.” I sat on the bed and put my arms around her. She felt motionless as an ice block. “I’ll be back.”

“I love you too, Michael.”

I looked at her, and for the first time, she wasn’t the girl I knew, strong, confident, able to take on anyone even if she had to use a knife to do it. She looked scared, waiting for my answer.

“I’m coming back, Kirstie. I promise.”

Then I walked to the door and opened and closed it again before I could change my mind.

I find Karpe in his room, the trig test forgotten, watching television.

“They know nothing,
nada
.” He points to the screen even though the news isn’t on anymore. It’s nine thirty, and he’s watching some show on the WB.

“I told Angela,” I tell him. “I told her I was there the night it happened.”

“They tried to talk to some carnies, but none of them would comment. They didn’t want to be on television.” He hears what I said and adds, “Do you feel better, telling?”

“Not a whole lot. I don’t think I’ll ever feel better.”

“You sure are hard on yourself.”

“Shouldn’t I be? I mean, I lived there two years, watching it happen, watching him beat her up. And now, I’m still watching. Do you have any idea how shitty that feels?”

Karpe reaches for the remote and snaps off the television.

“Yes,” he says.

“Right.”

“No, really. I know. When my parents first got divorced, I lived with my mom awhile. And she had a boyfriend who … had problems.” He looks away. “That’s why I moved in with Dad. I was in all kinds of therapy at the time, and the main thing they were telling me was it wasn’t my fault. But I never totally believed it, you know?”

I nod. It reminded me of what Kirstie had said. “When did it happen?”

“When I was eleven. Sixth grade. That’s when they got together.”

I realize what he’s saying. “The year we stopped being friends.”

“Right. I pretty much disconnected from everyone that year. I never blamed you or anyone. You couldn’t have known.”

“But you knew about my mom,” I say, remembering how Karpe befriended me when everyone else was ditching in droves. Karpe had known, too, for the best reason. He’d experienced it himself. I’d been so sure no one could understand.

“I suspected,” he says. “I knew the signs. But I didn’t really know until that night at the hospital. That night with … what was her name?”

“Kirstie.”

“Kirstie. That night when you left with her.”

“I wish I’d never gone back to the house.”

“Why did you?”

“I barely even remember anymore.”

But I do remember. I remember so strongly that I feel like I could go back, change direction, if only I thought about it hard enough.

It took me the whole morning to get to Key Biscayne. I wondered if Kirstie was right, if I should just disappear without a word. I had enough money now to buy a carny’s wardrobe, and I was staying with Kirstie anyway. But finally I decided that no, I had to say good-bye.

I got home midday, when I’d be least likely to see Walker. He’d be at work or, if not, out on his sailboat. I didn’t make a sound going to my room to pack. I knew how to be quiet. The surf would have drowned me out anyway. I packed a duffel with only what I needed, some clothes and sneakers, a few photos. I added a slightly deflated football to the top, then took it out. I’d have no room for extras now.

When I finished packing, I went to Mom’s room.

As usual, she was stitching.

She rushed to me. “I was so worried, Michael. Walker said your bed wasn’t slept in Thursday. Then yesterday and the day before.” When I didn’t answer, she said, “But you’re back.”

The ocean was so loud. “I’m leaving again.”

“Walker will be home soon for dinner. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day to go out.”

“I mean I’m leaving.” I looked behind me at the green duffel I’d left in the doorway. She saw it too. “I’m leaving for good.”

The fabric she was embroidering fell from her hands.

“Oh, no, Michael. No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But what will I do?” She came closer. I noticed her walk, that she favored one leg.

“Same as you do with me here. Nothing. You wouldn’t let me help.” I thought of Nurse Mastin saying,
I can’t afford to care anymore.

“But I’ve done this all for you.”

“Don’t lay that on me!” I screamed. “I can’t believe you’d say that.”

“How can you leave me with… I mean, Michael, it’s been bad. At the office. His partners cut him out. It happened Thursday. The day he…”

I remembered that time at Walker’s office, those two guys on the elevator. They’d been talking about Walker.
The old man
, they’d called him. But I didn’t feel sorry for him. He was responsible for what he did, same as I was responsible for what I did.

I started to say there’d always be something to blame for Walker’s rages, but I stopped. I was here to say good-bye.

Still, I had to try one last time.

“Come with me,” I said.

She shook her head like I knew she would. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“You won’t.”

“It would be kicking him when he’s down, leaving now.”

“He’s the one who kicks, not you.” Then I stopped talking. It was no use. The wind was whistling across the beach. I stared at my mother. The balcony door slammed shut.

We both looked out, silent.

“I’m going now.” I picked up the duffel and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry.”

I started to leave the room. I couldn’t do anything for her, I reminded myself.
But you could be here.
My eyes stung with the cold salt air that hung in the room.

I didn’t look back.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

I turned, sending my duffel into the wall.

“What?”

“I haven’t told him yet. I was going to Thursday, but then… I don’t know what will happen when he finds out.”

I still didn’t look at her. I looked out the closed balcony door. I felt cold and sick.