Payton Hidden Away (4 page)

“Hey sweetie.” Her face peels
back in one of those adorable smiles I can’t seem to get enough of. Her arms
are opened to me, and she’s all dolled up—a bit of eye-shadow and lipstick, her
hair slightly curled, and a miniskirt that reminds me why boys chase girls.

I close my arms
around her and draw her close as I bury my face in her hair so I can relish the
scent of her shampoo. My hands slowly caress her back, and I’ll admit that I’m
slightly aroused at the feel of the bra-strap under her shirt.

“Are you wearing
cologne?” she asks as she pulls away, her eyes gleaming.

“My secret
weapon.”

She smiles and
leans up on her tip-toes, inhaling and smiling. I swear there is nothing like
being a teenager. It’s the best feeling in the world. She kisses me on the
lips, and I can taste the remnants of a raspberry drink on her tongue. She
settles back flat on her feet and rests her head against my chest, squeezing
me. “I missed you,” she says quietly.

I smile and tell
her that I missed her more, but my mind has drifted. I do have a secret, but
it’s not my cologne. It’s something she needs to know, but I can’t say it here.
Not now. Not like this. When I tell her, she’ll act excited, but she’ll be
crushed. I’ll see it in her eyes no matter how she smiles or what she says.
She’ll be crushed, and seeing that hurt in her eyes will crush me.

“You okay?” she
asks,

“Are you two
done?” Ritchie interrupts, smacking me on the back of the head as he enters the
house. “Where’s the beer?”

Kristie stares—her
eyes searching mine.

“I’m fine,” I
say, exaggerating a smile.

“I’m on the
hunt,” Ritchie calls from inside.

“I’m good,” I
repeat.

“Yeah?” she
asks.

“Where’s
Joanne?” I whisper, looking around.

“Upstairs, I
think. Why?”

“Might want to
keep her up there.”

“Are you
changing the subject?”

“No. I’m worried
about Ritchie.”

She snickers. “Relax.
He’s a teddy bear.”

“That’s what I
keep hearing.”

“Hey,” she says,
drawing my attention to her pretty eyes. “Focus on me.” She points at her
chest. “Boobs. Remember?”

Boobs.

Girls aren’t
stupid. They know exactly what we’re thinking. I don’t know if I’m in love or
not, but if I’m not, I’m awfully close. And if I’m awfully close, then I’m
awfully turned on. And if I’m awfully turned on, then there’s this
uncomfortable and somewhat difficult ‘issue’ I need to hide brewing slightly
below my belt.

“Yo, Triple A,” Ritchie
interrupts, grinning. “Beer’s gettin’ cold.”

“I thought
that’s the point,” I answer sarcastically.

“Well, yeah…I
mean…”

“Haven’t you got
anywhere else to be?” I snap. “Like, I don’t know, stalking someone?”

Ritchie’s face
goes dark. “Kiss my grits, buttface. Maybe I’ll stalk you.”

“Whatever gets
you off.”

He frowns, but
he must have gotten the point, because he turns his back and wanders back into
the living room.

“That was kind
of harsh,” Kristie whispers.

“He’ll be fine.”

She smiles, her
hand brushing the bulge in my pants. “What’s this?”

Blushing, I push
her hand away, turn away with embarrassment and enter the house. She follows me
in, wrapping her arms around me from behind. A few of Kristie’s friends are
seated around the living room. There are six chairs and ten girls. Ritchie is
sitting in one of those chairs facing the couch. He’s sitting rigidly, his legs
restless. I can’t say that I don’t know what it feels like to be nervous like
he is, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s on his own. If I say anything, it’ll
only make things worse, particularly for me.

I take my place
beside Kristie on the couch. She leans over and whispers in my ear that she
loves me. It’s awkward, but I think she likes that it’s awkward. In fact, I
think she’s reveling in the awkwardness while doing whatever she can to make me
feel even more awkward. I do my best to take my own advice and relax.

The
conversations taking place around the Lambert’s living room are what I would
expect on an afternoon like this—bad jokes, little giggles, a few bored looks.
It’s a group of acquaintances pretending to be friends without realizing that
being friends isn’t something you really need to work at. But it’s still good
and calm and relaxing right up until the moment that
she
appears.

Joanne.

Ritchie was
relatively quiet before, but now he sits straight up, his fingers digging into
the edges of the armrests he’s clinging to. His face goes beet-red as he
clumsily tries to steal glances while trying not to get caught, but Joanne
knows it. So does everyone else. The other girls are covering their mouths to
keep from giggling while Ritchie squirms. He’s my best friend, and the fact
that they’re toying with his mind is starting to irritate me. Ritchie’s a good
guy. He just wants what every other guy our age wants; he wants to be someone’s
hero.

Joanne wanders
to the center of the room where the keg is perched on the coffee table. She
begins filling a paper cup while slowly tracing her upper lip with the tip her
tongue. Ritchie just sits there fidgeting nervously. Staring.

Bless his big
ol’ dumb heart.

She finishes
pouring her drink and looks over as she straightens. It’s her way of remaining
the object of his affection as well as the centerpiece of the entire room. And
she certainly has our attention. Everyone’s looking. Me, Ritchie, the other
guys—even the other girls. She’s proving that she can be every bit as sexy as
her sister, and as long as she doesn’t speak, no one can tell the difference.

“My sister’s a
tramp,” Kristie murmurs.

“She’s just
having fun,” I return. I feel bad for my friend, and I feel bad for Jo. Yet in
a way I’m relieved. I’ve always been a bit jealous of the way Ritchie can own
an entire stadium filled with screaming fans—the way he can tip his hat just
slightly, and the place goes bonkers. He grins that stupid grin, and kids,
adults, and old farts alike roar until they’re hoarse. He doesn’t have the same
power here. Here it’s different. Here, that power is hers.

Kristie says
something, and I nod even though I don’t hear a word she says. I just smile
like a trooper and play along. My mind continues to wander, drifting to that
ugly subject I’d rather avoid.

“Something’s
wrong,” Kristie says.

“What do you mean?”

“With you.”

I sigh. “We’re
back on this again?”

“Why, is
something bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering
me,” I say. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.
You’re totally disconnected. You’re sitting here, but you might as well be a
million miles away.”

“What’s with the
third degree?”

“Nothing. I’m
not…I’m not accusing.”

“Well, I’m right
here.”

“You sure?”

I nod. I’m sure.
Or pretty sure anyway. Or maybe I’m not sure. I still haven’t figured out a way
to break the news that in two weeks I’ll be moving out. I’ll be hopping on a
jet and moving halfway across the country. The University of Georgia said yes,
and that’s a pretty big deal. No one in my family has ever graduated from
anywhere, so it’s pretty important that I do. It’s also a long way away, and she’s
not going to understand. Hell, I’m not even sure I do. I know it’s a great
opportunity, and I need to take it because it’s there for the taking, but I’m
eighteen years old, and what do eighteen year olds know about great opportunities?
What do kids my age know about anything? All I know for certain is I have a
beautiful girlfriend, the best of friends and a comfy little life here in
Payton, yet I’m two weeks away from turning my back on all of it.

I guess that
means I’m not okay. I’m a mess, but I can also bullshit with the best of them,
so I do, and she buys it, and no one else notices, because they’re watching
Joanne toy with Ritchie, and Ritchie’s dying one beautiful moment at a time.

Payton County. 6:41 pm. The sun
will be up for some time yet. It’s the middle of July, and in Michigan, that
means it’ll still be light after ten. Here the summers never end. Here, the
sunset is a reminder that the morning is only a few hours away.

Walking the
streets of my hometown, I feel like an outsider. Everything feels the same, yet
so much has changed. Payton is dying. Maybe it’s already dead, but nobody got
the memo. A few of them look my way, and I think they’re staring because I’m in
a town that never has visitors. People don’t stop in Payton to vacation, and
they rarely stop for gas. The town is out of the way, and given the fact that
I’m walking instead of merely driving through indicates that I’m here on
purpose.

“Help you?” an
old man asks after shutting off his lawn mower, adjusting his cap and hitching
his belt. He steps gingerly over his freshly cut grass, which bears a close
resemblance to whacked weeds.

“Just out for a
walk,” I answer.

The old man tips
his hat again. “You know someone here?”

I nod.

“Maybe I can
steer you in the right direction. I know pretty much everyone.”

“Thanks, but I’m
not lost.”

He doesn’t look
convinced.

“Just out for a
walk,” I repeat.

“Uh huh.” The
old man steps back, hitches his belt again and looks around while running his
tongue under his lower lip—back and forth, back and forth. Any neighborly cheer
he’d been pawning is lost in his dull eyes. He looks frail enough to tip over
in a stiff breeze, but he’s determined to stand up straight in order to show me
how much he distrusts me. There isn’t much life left behind those eyes. They’re
dull pits, hollow and black, staring directly into my soul.

Rather than
waiting for him to step aside, I walk around him. It means stepping off the
sidewalk and on the grass, but the creepiness of our conversation has compelled
me to ignore neighborly etiquette. “Have a good one,” I mutter as I walk past.

“I remember you
as a good kid,” the old man calls. “You were more polite back then.”

I turn. “Excuse
me?”

“Before you
skipped town,” he mutters, but he’s already shuffling his way back across the
scraggly lawn. I should recognize him, and it’s the fact that I don’t that
upsets me. Rather than calling back, I turn away to find a heavyset woman
walking toward me. Her face is fixed in a frown.

“Tony?” she
calls. “What you doin’ back here?” She stops a few feet from me, tilting her
head before a slow smile breaks across her face. She opens her arms, the heavy
fat wiggling back and forth. I offer a timid smile, but I make no move. “You
don’t recognize me, huh?” she asks, her smile only growing wider as if she’s
the world’s best-kept secret.

I smile. “I’m
sorry.”

“Nobody thought
we’d see you again.”

“Well, here I
am.”

“Holly,” she
says as if that makes perfect sense. “Holly Andrews.”

Holly Andrews.
The little girl down the street who had a big time crush on me when I was ten
and she was six. My god, she looks ten years older than me. Weight aside, her
hair has thinned and grayed. The bags under her eyes that used to make her look
like she was forever smiling have turned into gray tea-bags that look like
melting wax, and she’s got a very unattractive scar that makes the right side
of her lip droop. I guess that’s what life in Payton does to you.

“I see you
tryin’ to work through it,” she says with a smile.

“It’s been a
long time.”

“Some get
lucky.” She shrugs. “Some don’t.”

“How have you
been?” I ask, not all that interested.

“Five kids.” She
holds up five fingers on the left hand to emphasize. “Three husbands.” Three
fingers on the right.

“Well, they say
three’s a charm.”

“There’s nothing
charming about it. The third one only stuck around long enough to charm me out
of my retirement savings.” She giggles. And snorts. “I’m on to unlucky number
four.”

“Congratulations.”

“It’s so good to
see you,” she says with a grin, re-opening her arms. It bothers me that these
people recognize me. I don’t recognize them, which gives them the advantage,
leaving me vulnerable. And the longer I’m here in this depression-saturated
town, the more I just want to leave.

“You too,” I
lie.

“Wanna come in
for a drink?” she asks, motioning toward her house. “I just made up a fresh
batch of punch for the kids. There’s plenty to go around.”

I shake my head.
“I’d love to, but I’m meeting someone. I just thought I’d go for a quick walk.
See the town.”

She smiles and
settles back. “There’s not much to see.” She giggles, waving a chubby hand. “Anyway,
I wasn’t insinuating nothin’.”

“I wasn’t
suggesting that you were.”

“Married?”

I lift a
ring-less left-hand and wiggle my fingers. “Divorced.”

“Bummer.”

“I’ll stop by
before I leave.”

“Yeah?” Her tone
carries a hint of doubt.

“Sure.”

“You mean like the
last time?”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning when
you left town all those years ago, there was that whole…thing.”

That thing.
First the third degree from the old man, and now her. I can see her eyes
reading mine. She’s prying, digging in with her talons, but I refuse to give
her the satisfaction of cornering me on a subject that’s none of her business.

“Forget it,” she
says, a false smile spreading across her lips. “Can’t blame me from bein’
curious.”

“The Welcome
Wagon around here could use a tune up,” I grumble.

“Payton’s still
a small town. There’s not a lot to talk about. Someone like you shows up, it’s
bound to stir the hornet’s nest.” she grins. “I meant it though. Stop by if you
can. No strings attached. It’s been twenty years since all that, so no guilt trips,
I promise.”

“I’ll stop by.”
I turn my back on her and this town.

This town.

This town has
turned into that place you see on TV when someone local snaps. As they lead the
perp away in shackles, everyone will say what a nice guy he was, and what a
great place this town is, and they’ll say it to the camera while wearing a
bathrobe or a wife-beater. They’ll say it without shame, and they’ll say it
from right here, right smack-dab in the middle of a rash that can’t be itched. I’d
leave except I came for a reason, and that reason has nothing to do with these
people. In a way, it doesn’t even have anything to do with this place. I decide
to work my way back to the hotel. I don’t want to appear as though I’m trying
to flee, but I don’t want to socialize either. It’s been a long day, and I’m
not mentally prepared for this. Not the town, not these people—not any of it.

My phone rings,
and the caller ID says ‘Restricted.’ I answer anyway.

“Tony?” she
asks.

I wouldn’t have
been able to place her voice this morning, but now that I’ve had a chance to
process, everything sweet and sorrow in what was once the perfect girl is
recognizable even over a bad connection.

“What did you
decide?” Kristie asks. “Are you coming? Can you come?”

“I’m out for a
walk.”

Silence.

“32
^nd
looks like hell,” I say. “The whole town does.”

“32
^nd
?”
she asks. “32
^nd
Street? Here in Payton?”

“I just flew in,
and now my arms are killing me.”

Silence. I at
least expected a courtesy giggle…

“Where are you?”
she asks.

“32
^nd
and Main.”

“Why didn’t you call
me?”

“You never gave
me your number.”

A pause. It’s
like I can hear her thinking on the other end. She analyzes everything, and I
guess that’s partly why we didn’t make it.

“I can’t believe
it,” she says softly. “You’re actually here.”

“In the flesh.”

“How about
dinner?”

I draw a breath,
standing stupidly in the middle of a sidewalk while sprinklers twist and spin
all around me. “I’m at the Days Inn.”

“Of course you
are,” she replies. “It’s the only hotel in town. What room? I’ll pick you up.”

“I have a car.”

“So do I.”

“Sixteen.”

“I’ll be there
in ten minutes.”

“I won’t,” I
reply. “Like I said, I’m out for a walk. This town is unbelievable. What the
hell happened here?”

“What do you
mean?”

“You know
exactly what I mean. What happened here? The people are zombies, the businesses
are boarded up. What’s going on?”

Pause. “It’s
still the same old Payton.”

“No,” I reply.
“It isn’t. Nothing’s the same.”

“You okay?”

I shake my head,
but take my time answering as I look around again. “I’m not sure.”

“So, when should
I meet you?”

I look around,
my phone pressed against my ear. I do a quick calculation. “Give me a half
hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hang up, turn
the corner, and start back toward the hotel. There are kids playing in the
street, but they hold up their hockey game to watch me pass. Everyone’s
curious. Everyone’s staring. Even the kids. I’m a stranger in a town where
everyone knows everyone else.

This walk was a
bad idea.

“Hey guys,” I
say as I pass. None of them answer. They just stare, so I keep walking.
Eventually they go back to their game, and eventually I stop looking back. I
consider jogging the rest of the way back to the hotel just to get out of the spotlight,
but if I run, the whole town will see, and then they’ll wonder even more. I
keep my pace brisk while keeping my posture casual—head bowed, hands buried
deep in my pockets as I head home.

Home.

Home, at this
point, doesn’t apply. I don’t have a home. ‘Home’ isn’t here, and it isn’t back
in Atlanta. Home is where the heart is, but at this point, I don’t know where
my heart is either.

The sun is
orange fireball in the sky, slowly looming larger as the afternoon ages. The hotel
parking lot remains hot, the tar-filled cracks lifting like gum from the
bottoms of my shoes. I don’t know what I’m doing back in this dilapidated
little town, and I have no idea what to expect tonight, tomorrow or three days
from now, but one thing is certain as I turn the key and open the door, and
that is I’ll need a shower before Kristie shows.