PANIC (11 page)

Yet the smile on his face seemed real. It was a good strange, not disturbing to her at all.

He’d woken her up with his arms around her and a hot insistence in his loins and it was easy. It was wild as it could be with them being quiet as possible, a far cry from the tentative assignation in the dark she had come to expect. It had been months and she was delighted for as long as it lasted.

He didn’t even mind her morning breath.

Breakfast out was her suggestion and the diner on the highway was his, even though he had work that morning. It seemed that all the tension and hostility from the night before were gone, even between him and Caden. He didn’t complain about the mortgage, the failing water heater, Caden’s toys being on the stairwell. He didn’t lie side by side with her in their queen bed after they’d finished going at it as quietly as they could.

Sometimes he did and it made her feel like they were brother and sister, sharing the bed because their parents couldn’t afford to buy two, but this time, he held her a while. She could’ve lain there all morning with him but it energized her.

She was driving, for a change, and it was quiet with Caden still half asleep.

She could make out someone at the side of the road as the car approached to pass. No one hitchhiked anymore, but she didn’t see any car he might’ve abandoned to head toward the nearest service station or state police outpost.

“Honey, d’you see his zip-up?” she said.

“Hm?”

He looked up from her iPod, where he’d just shuffled to her favorite song.

“His hoodie. Has the exact same stain as your old one from when we painted our room.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, smirking. “I took that old thing to the shelter with the tub of clothes in the garage. Guess it gets around.”

“You did? I’d forgotten all about that.”

“Mmhm.”

“That poor man,” she said, thoughtfully.

The sun was higher in the sky now, high enough to make a bright corona behind his eyes, forcing him to wake from his exhausted sleep. It was loud there, with his head low enough to the ground to hear worms and beetles chewing through the soil; insects buzzing all around in between the stalks of tall, wild grasses.

He couldn’t hear the road anymore, or the water of the ocean where he’d hoped to make it, but he had come far enough. It was peaceful, finally, a lively morning in a solitary field without the din of human voices to disturb it.

He couldn’t feel its presence anymore and remembered why he’d stumbled here.

He didn’t need to feel it anymore. He could see it, standing near his prone body, staring out over the field like an old farmer surveying his planting. In the day, the frock and the top hat and the riding pants it wore were noticeably filthy like it dug itself up from a grave but the clothes were multicolored; faded green and purple and red.

The ugly face in profile with its flat back nearly made him laugh, if nothing else, from delirium.

Broken, jagged lines made the face the shape of Iowa, to say nothing of the totality of its outline. It kept its hands in its pockets and though it didn’t face him, it seemed to never want to leave his side.

Real sleep would never come.

It looked far off, studying something in the distance through the waving wheat-tailed grass, waiting with a transient, nowhere gaze.

“What’s going on out there? Accident?”

Caden and Eric both looked back in the direction of the house, in the direction where they’d passed the weary man on the side of the road. She felt guilty for a moment, hoping she wasn’t right. It was bad enough to see an accident, it seemed like some kind of omen to see the face of the victim just before.

They both looked blank, uncurious, facing the west like tricked supplicants, looking through the glass of the diner. She ordered French toast and eggs and bacon and he seconded her. Caden was having a short stack.

“Guys-” she said abruptly, and they turned back to her, exchanging a look when they did it. The life returned to them like they’d been reset.

“Sorry, mom,” said Caden.

“Thought I saw something,” said Eric. “Did you see it too, buddy?”

Its yellowed eyes flashed with understanding as it broke its eastward gaze. God answered its prayers. The head of the little chimney sweep thing swiveled with its body, turning walk to and crouch right by Eric’s head. Eric was too exhausted to even roll away so he wouldn’t have to look. He could deal with the skin crawling when it was nearby if it just let him slip into sleep and deal with it whenever he woke up, as refreshed as he could be resting on bare earth.

He couldn’t turn, though, compelled to look back at it, yellow and black and red in the pupils, splotchy, puke colored skin; the gleam of purpose in its eyes.

Its lips parted, finally, and a sound came from its throat, a sound he had never heard before, echoing like a shot from a cannon, barely intelligible words formed from shrieking sounds. He heard the sounds in his head, a language he needed more than ears to hear.

They were screams, booming screams that had many voices.

Its face was distorted but calm, nevertheless. It was introducing itself.

Eric was making a monster face with the webbed rind of melon left over from the breakfast he’d wolfed down.

She was watching Caden laugh with his hands over his mouth, her angel, wondering when it would be best to ask him if he preferred a little brother or a little sister.

O
NE

T
HE ROCK AND rye was a new favorite for him; before it had been the old fashioned. He’d liked that one because you could order it in a conspicuously nonchalant way in earshot of a woman sitting alone, one who might be amenable to having her ear bent. He’d done it to her, leaning into her shoulder and giving her some line about the complex smokiness of good whiskey, half joking so he didn’t come off like a snob.

Her glinting smile had been real, slipping away from her though she didn’t want to react to such a cheesy line. She’d been mortified that he’d noticed her overbite but what was actually on his mind is what that bright smile might look like biting down on fresh linens in a dark room. It was his sleight-of-hand, using his body to make a space between them that begged to be filled. She couldn’t believe he smelled better than she did.

That was the first twenty minutes they met and she’d thought it would be that good always, at least for a while.

He had no reason to restrain himself now so his customary two drinks turned to six.

“Can’t we just do this without you making a scene?”

She touched the edges of her eyes with the back of her knuckle.

“You really have some nerve.”

“Keep your voice down.”

He said this, discreetly, leaning to touch her forearm with his hand. His touch felt slimy now and she wanted to splash a drink in his face. She wanted to dump her pasta right on his lap but she just couldn’t muster up that kind of fury. She realized, finally, after seventeen weeks of the whirlwind that he saw her coming a mile off.

She was just practice for the next stupid girl. Was that what she was? Stupid? Lonely? It doesn’t really matter how the mouse ends up in the trap.

“Take your hand off me, Nick. Unless you really want to see a scene.”

Her voice was like ice and he tried for a fake, reassuring smile.

“Alright, alright. I just want,” he slurred and took his hand away, “I just want you to understand.”

It’s not you, he said in his mind before deciding not to use that one on her. It’s me.

“I understand perfectly well. You’re a cruel, vain little boy.”

She spat it out, knowing her words could never hurt like his could. It was dawning on her that he didn’t feel a thing.

“You are unbelievable. Everything is drama with you. Christ, can’t you see why we can’t do this anymore?”

She bit back tears, seeing that he was disappointed with her for even getting to that point. It was his fault - he was the one who couldn’t act like a grownup yet she was the one paying the cost; sitting there in the crowded dining room of the trattoria, hiding her wet eyes. He sucked his teeth, not knowing what to say but too boozed up to be polite.

“I’m just gonna go,” she said, putting a twenty on the table and smoothing out her short dress before standing up. She’d just bought it, too. She smoothed it again and backed her chair out and stood up, waiting until she got outside before turning into a burst pipe. In the car her sobs were hoarse and she cried until she gave herself a headache.

The waiter came over to the table, seeing the cash under her plate, the seat askew and the ruffled tablecloth. She hadn’t had a drink since she feared she might be driving herself back, alone.

“Is everything okay, sir?” he said as delicately as he could. He had his hands placed over his apron, palming his thumb nervously.

Nick crunched the ice from his drink. He couldn’t even savor the treat in his sour mood, slouching in his chair. He didn’t touch his stuffed chop or the thin, fried potatoes and they sat there on the plate waiting for someone to take an admiring picture.

“Fuck off,” he grunted.

T
WO

THE BUMPER OF his car scraped the parking curb, making a horrific scratching, warping sound of the low plastic frame. His wheels didn’t touch so he wasn’t thrown forward into the steering column, instead throwing the automatic into reverse so he could unhook his bumper.

“Just my night,” he said, under his breath as if it weren’t of his own making.

He climbed out of the sedan with some effort, swinging his door recklessly outward then banging it shut. Luckily, there were no other vehicles parked at the convenience kiosk of the gas station other than a power company truck at the far end. He stood back to survey the damage to his bumper before deciding it was nothing Megan would notice.

“Goddamn...thing,” he muttered, kicking at the concrete stopper. A lanky kid stood there next to the door, one foot propped on the fake brick exterior, waiting on nothing in particular.

“Car didn’t do nothin’ to you,” said the kid. Nick stumbled, slightly, trying to keep his composure.

“That car ruined my night, kid, so mind your business.”

He stood by the door, pointing at the kid and the kid just chuckled at him. The door swung open slightly and tapped his arm.

“Hey, whoa,” said Nick, tipped off balance.

“Geez,” said the guy in the reflective vest and greying muttonchop mustache. “Sorry, my man. You alright?”

“I’m alright, right? Right, kid? I’m having such a great night!”

The power company guy shook his head and walked off to his truck. He got out a pack, tamped it, then threw away the cellophane. He got out a cigarette, lit it, then shook his head again and climbed in the truck.

The kid laughed again, cool as the breeze. “Say,” he said, and the jingle on the door interrupted him as Nick went in, got an energy drink and stood swaying at the counter to pay for it. He came out with a scratch-off in his hand, one of the big ones that let you play ten hands of blackjack to see if you won anything.

Nick put a cigarette in his mouth and the filter rested under his tongue while he scratched with his thumbnail, seeing if he beat the house. He looked goofy in a charming way, with that unlit cigarette in his mouth.

“Say,” the kid tried again, “do you think you could let me have one of those cigarettes?”

It was a stupid opener so Nick looked at him, bleary, and smiled a tipsy smile.

“Yeah, why not,” he said, and gave the kid the cigarette out of his mouth, not realizing. They met eyes for a second and the kid’s stomach fluttered. He had no idea what he might say even though it was hardly the first time. Even pissed off and a little drunk, this guy looked gorgeous: tall, hair perfectly coiffed even when it tumbled over his dark eyes. In his tan overcoat and dress shoes, he looked like a private eye, one that gave it to his secretary now and again against the file cabinet while they went over a particularly vexing case.

He relished tasting the man’s tongue on the filter but didn’t let on as he lit the cigarette. He wanted to go with him bad.

Instead, he just froze up and nodded as blasé as he could muster, digging his heel into the fake brick wall as he flushed all over. He smelled like alcohol and cologne, doubly unattainable since he was no doubt a womanizer. He’d laugh at the proposition though he seemed convivial enough.

He sucked in his breath when he saw the man pause, leering at him in his drunkenness, waiting for something he could grab onto and run with. It took an eternity for the words to come out.

“Here, take it,” said Nick, holding out the scratchoff. “Won ten bucks.”

The kid took the card with a weak hand, hoping just to brush his finger along Nick’s palm. He didn’t, he just took the card instead, looking like a dopey wannabe cool teenager.

“Take it easy, kid,” Nick said, and the kid deflated.

“Yeah, you too.”

T
HREE

NICK WAS DRUNK enough to feel how tumescent he was, though not drunk enough to get into it with the boy. It was so obvious what he was there for but Nick felt he raised enough hell for the night. On his way home through the forested hills, he pulled over to a gate to the preserve, and hit his lights. He relieved himself in a pile of leaves, a hot torrent from half a dozen drinks. He sighed from the emptying of his bladder and kept his hand there, unexpectedly still excited. He closed his eyes and enjoyed himself a while, thinking about going back to the convenience store and offering a ride.

It was just as well since that’s exactly what he needed; something with no baggage like a ten minute quick lube. In and out, see you in three months.

There was a kid named Micah who was like that, who the boys used to tease for being a fag. The big rumor was that some of the boys roughed him up for getting a boner in the shower after gym class. Some said it wasn’t so much that as a couple guys on the football team made him prove he was like that, since it was after school and Coach was in his office. Rich claimed to be there when it happened and it must’ve been true since he had the boy come over to his basement after school with the promise of toking up. When he got there, it was Rich and himself and Nick and another guy from the lacrosse team who seemed a little too eager to get some.