Out (11 page)

“She gave me a
magazine…it was called Liberation or something like that.”

“What’s that?”
Carmen asks breathlessly.

“There are
people who are trying to change things,” Jana says before flicking the
cigarette into the bushes. “There’s an organized movement.”

Carmen glances
toward me. “Are you involved?”

“Me? No. I
just…I bumped into you. And now we’re here, and this is happening, but it can’t
be happening because we’re all going to get arrested or worse, and we have to
forget everything.” I catch my breath, watching my sister and this girl staring
wide-eyed at my rant.

Jana glances
back at the house. “Right now we need to go back to the house. You two are
going to have to decide which side you’re on. C’mon.” She grabs Carmen’s hand
and runs toward the back door. I trot to catch up.

Before we go
in, I turn to Carmen. “We should forget about this,” I whisper. She nods, tears
glistening in her eyes.

Jana puts an
arm around Carmen’s shoulder. “So nobody gets the wrong idea,” she says. We
walk into the nice, warm house. I wonder how long I’d be able to stay if
anybody knew my dirty little secret.

Jana and Carmen
walk casually into the parlor, looking cozy. I’m jealous.

On a fussy
chair, McFarland sits, skin flushed with the brandy, and
Lainie
reclines lazily on the velvet love seat, her legs tucked up under her. Warren
and David sit on the larger sofa. The gap between them that tells me they haven’t
been agreeing on something. I bet I know what.

I sit on the
floor, as far away from anyone as possible.

Jana keeps her
distance, I guess so no one smells the cigarette smoke. “We’re going upstairs.
I want to show Carmen some of my fan magazines,” she says, so politely I almost
choke. If they could only know what she’s really thinking!
 
She winks at Carmen and then heads up the
stairs.

Carmen blushes.
Wow. If I didn’t know her…I’d think she was totally Parallel. But I guess she’s
learned how to present the face she knows everyone wants to see. I don’t think
I can be that good of an actor.

David pours
himself more brandy, which is bad news. Drunk David is surly David, and it
doesn’t take that much to get there. Warren shoots him a disapproving look, but
he ignores it.

“Chris, Jim has
invited you to go out to the college for a visit,” David says happily. Sure,
great for him. He wouldn’t have to put up with what would probably be a
world-class grab fest. I can just sense that McFarland is a grabber. The idea
of that is repulsive.

“I think you’d
really enjoy
Westhaven
,” McFarland says as he takes
another drink. “The school is very progressive, and no matter what area of
study you’re interested in, there’s an excellent program for it.” He finishes
his drink in one gulp, and says, “Well, Chris, I was hoping we could take a
walk or something so I can could tell you a little bit more about the college.”
Oh, he looks so benevolent, so caring, the older mentor helping the young
Anglicant
. Shit. I have to get out of this.

“I am so tired,”
I say, shaking my head. “I was just thinking of heading up to bed.”

McFarland
glances at David slightly. He looks startled; it’s not often that his son
doesn’t do exactly as intended.

“Oh,” he
finally spits out. “Maybe you could just show Jim the
Spyder
.
He really wants to see it.”
 

“Another time,”
I beg off. Standing, I make my way to the stairs before David can find a
rebound. “Good night. Nice to see all of you again.” I don’t look back. I am
sure Dad is boring huge laser-beam holes into my back at that moment. I just
totally screwed his deal.

I want to run
to my room, shut the door, pull heavy furniture in front of it and never come
out, like a mouse running into its hole. But I don’t run. I walk, calmly, and
then panic once I’m inside.

“Shit, shit,
shit.” What can I put in front of the door? How can I keep him from coming in?
He will surely come in, to give me a good talking to. No matter how civil we
were, David knows exactly what I meant by my little show of independence. And
he won’t stand for it. I will pay. But if I could only keep him out for a
while…

A light
tapping. Fear swirls in my gut, a dark tornado. “Who is it?”

“Carmen.” She’s
whispering.

I open the door
just a bit; her face is pressed through the crack I’ve left. I don’t dare let
her in. “
Here.
” She presses something into my hand
and disappears.

 
In my hand is a small, folded paper.
 
Meet me
tomorrow. After dinner, dark. Same tree.
A little heart at the bottom.

God. What am I
going to do? How am I going to live with this?

First thing is
to hide the evidence. Where? Desk drawers? No. He might look there. Under the
bed? Too obvious. I go outside to the telescope, unscrew the lens, and
carefully place the note inside before securing the lens again.

I turn out the
lights. Put on flannel pajamas in the dark. I pretend I’m invisible, that no
one can find me in the shadows of trees in the moonlight.

A tapping at my
door
 
— I must have been asleep, because
the shadows have shifted. I’m under my quilt, and my pajama top is twisted
around like a straight jacket.

The door opens
just a crack; behind my eyelids I feel glaring light from the hallway spill in.
I don’t move, I don’t look, and I try to breathe as slowly as possible, even
though my heart is beating so fast I know they can hear it downstairs.

Footsteps,
cautious, careful. I sense someone standing over me, but I don’t move. “Chris?”
Warren whispers.

I pretend to
wake up slowly, even though Warren isn’t the person I’m avoiding. “What’s up?”
I ask, yawning.

Warren checks
the door as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “David is very angry with you,
Chris,” he whispers. The brandy smell clings to his breath and skin. “He feels
you disrespected him in front of someone very important. He feels really insulted.”

From somewhere,
some person who is not me but who is using my voice says, “I’m insulted that he
wants me to get with that stupid old fart.”

Shocked
silence. Then, from below his belly button, a deep laugh starts to rumble and
spill out of Warren, a mirth tsunami. He struggles to keep it quiet, leaning on
me and muffling the sound with my extra pillow. “Chris,” he says breathlessly. “Oh,
Lord. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” He wipes a tear from the edge of
his eye, and in the half light from the hall, his face looks lined and worried.
“He…he’s not going to let it go.
 
I just
thought you should know.”

“Can’t you help
me?” my voice squeaks. How can I fight anybody with a squeaky voice?

“I’d like to. I
agree with you, but…he’s just so sure this is the best choice for you.” I hear
doubt in his voice.

“But you don’t
think that.”

A breath. Two
breaths. “No.”

“Then help me,
Warren! You’re my father too. Tell him no!”

“It’s not that
easy,” he hisses. “I want to help you. I’ll try. But if it’s an out-and-out
fight, he’ll win. He always does.” In silhouette, he glances at the sliver of
light again. “I better go. I just wanted to warn you.”

“What’s he
going to do?”

Warren shakes
his head. “I don’t know.” Sighing, he heaves himself off the bed. “He gave
McFarland a ride back to his hotel and I’m sure he’s smoothing over the ruffled
feathers, and explaining why you’re shy or some such nonsense. Just expect a
confrontation.”

I should be
terrified. But I’m not. After the door closes, all I can see behind my eyes is
the curve of Carmen’s cheek, her smile, the way her eyes crinkle at the edges.
That night I dream of a stormy blue ocean and a boat carrying me far, far away.

The buzzing of
my phone wakes me . It’s still dark. I blink against the bright glow as I
answer. “
Andi
?”

“Can you meet
me?”

“What time is
it?” I look at my clock’s glowing red digital numbers. “Six a.m.? Are you
crazy?”

 
“I heard about last night.”
 
Her voice, strangled, sounds like she’s
trying desperately not be heard.

“What did you hear?”

 
Hesitation. “You defied your father about this
match. I heard my
mothers
talking about it.”

Cold fear sinks
my stomach. “It’s nobody’s business.”

“Chris, do you
know how dangerous this is?” There’s panic in her voice. “I’m sorry I ever
helped you. You need to forget about it. Her.”

Forget about
it. Right.

“Why are you
worried all of a sudden?” I pull on sweatpants and look for clean socks. “You
were the one who told me to see her again.”

“I know! But
that was before…well, I didn’t think you’d actually….I mean, it’s different
when you start to actually see her. I thought…I thought you’d see her and
realize it was…”

A mistake.

 
“Where are you?”

“At the end of
the driveway.” I look out the curtains, and in the grayish pre-dawn, I see a
silhouette. It waves.

“I’ll come out
and we can go for a run.” We can’t just talk in the driveway; too suspicious. I
close the phone and hunt for my shoes, throw on a dirty sweatshirt, and try to
get out of the house as quietly as possible. No one is awake yet; the only
telltale sign of any drama from the night before is the abandoned brandy
glasses in the parlor. I grab my jacket and slip out unnoticed into the dark.

 
Outside, the cold wind lifts leaves in spirals
as I trot over to where
Andi’s
waiting. “Hey.”

We wordlessly
start to jog out onto the main road, our breath steaming in puffs and bursts.
After we’ve gone about a quarter of a mile, she stops, bends over and grabs her
knees, and pants like she’s going to pass out.

I crunch
through the leaves and sit against a tree. She’s guzzling water and joins me on
the ground, then passes me the bottle. “It's freaking freezing and you’re out
of shape.”

“I am.” She
grabs the bottle and slugs two more desperate swallows. “Think I’ll…take up
smoking. Then it wouldn’t…seem like I’m out of shape, just like I have
emphysema.”

“Yeah, that’s
so much better.”

We sit quietly
for a minute, and her breathing slows. “Chris.”

“Hmm?”

“You have to
forget about it.” She grabs my arm, clutches it too tightly. “You have to
forget about her.”

“I know.” My
life would be so much easier if I just pretended Carmen and I had never met.
But how do you change something that’s already happened?

“Okay.”
Andi
sighs, relieved. “And I’ll talk to Carmen. I’ll get
her to leave.”

“No!” Anger and
desperation punch me in the gut. “You won’t talk to her.”

“I will. If
she’s gone, then you won’t be able to see her. And then there won’t be anything
to worry about.” Her voice softens. “We can go back to how it was.”

The words build
up in me, suddenly, anger and frustration at what she says. “I don’t want to go
back to how it was!” I jump up, kick the tree, and start running, running away
from her, running away from what everybody thinks I ought to do.
 
I hear her following me, but I’m too fast.

“Chris!” From
far behind me, her voice sounds through the cold. “Wait!” What am I doing? Am I
going to run away from everything I know, everybody I’ve ever met? Shit.

I stop, breathe
deeply, and wait for her to catch up. When she does, she grabs my arm and hangs
on, panting. “
Dammit
. I’m not going running with you
again. You’re going to kill me.”

“The cigarettes
will kill you.” I wrap my arm around her, supporting her weight as we shuffle
along.

She chugs the
last of the water from the bottle, then tucks it back into her jacket. “I don’t
smoke.”

“I know.”

She grabs me in
a huge hug that feels like she won’t ever let go.
 
“Chris. You promise? You’ll forget about her?”
she mumbles into my jacket.

Forget? Her
face swims in front of me.
There are
consequences to living a life that someone else wants you to live, too.

Smart,
beautiful, fierce Carmen. Forget her?

 
“Yes,” I say, my voice dismissive and full of
confidence. But another voice, smaller and more powerful, nags at my mind. As I
look at my best friend, I know that things are never going to be the same. A
terror, black and full of teeth, gnaws at my thoughts, quickens my pulse, makes
me feel like
I
might have a heart
attack.
Andi
smiles, her mind eased for the moment. “I’ll
forget,” I say, knowing it’s a lie. Saying it for her.

I wish it were
that simple.

Back home,
David’s car is already gone, but Warren’s Escalade is still parked in the
driveway. All I want to do is disappear, get away from the house and melt into
the forest. I wander in, hoping to find Warren. I do.

He’s sitting at
the kitchen table reading the paper, sipping coffee from a cobalt blue coffee
mug the size of a swimming pool. “You’re up early,” he comments without looking
up from the paper.

“Went for a
run.” I grab a mug and pour myself a cup.

“Sit.” He
carefully folds the paper along the creases, studying it as if it’s an origami
swan. He doesn’t look at me. Pull the chair out, sit, sip. Wait.

“Where’s David?”
Grab the sports section. Sports! As if I care.

Warren covers
my hand with his. “What are you doing?”

I blink
innocently. “Reading the paper. Drinking coffee.”

“David’s
furious.” Warren sighs, heaving his mountain of a chest up with effort to pour
more French Roast into his mug. Spooning mounds of sugar into it, he says, “He
thought you’d run away.”