Payton Hidden Away (5 page)

A knock at the door. Staring at
my reflection, I figure I look okay, but mentally, I’d rather close the drapes,
pull the chain and watch some mindless TV. It’s been a long day, but resting
will have to wait, because she’s here, and just like when we were kids, she’s nothing
if not prompt. Thirty minutes on the nose.

Crossing the
room, I’m prepared for anything. I vaguely remember the girl I dated, though my
recent run-ins with Rachel Roberts and Holly Andrews isn’t far from my mind. As
I open the door, I’m prepared for the best while bracing for the worst. I
guess, in a way, I’m selfish enough to hope Kristie’s let herself go so I won’t
feel so bad that I abandoned her here.

But she hasn’t,
so I do.

I’m standing in
my open doorway—tongue-tied. There she is, and she hasn’t aged a day. I’d
recognize those baby-blues from a half mile away the same way I’d recognize
that hesitant smile. There might be a couple of thin laugh lines and a hint of
gray mixed in with the blond, but she still looks young, and she still looks
fresh. In fact, she looks just like I remember her; perfect.

“Hey,” she says
sweetly.

“I…uh…” I pause,
wondering what to say next. Across the parking lot, the gum-smacking girl that
checked me in at the front counter is outside leaning against the wall. She’s
either smoking a cigarette or a joint. And she’s staring. At me.

Kristie follows
my gaze before turning back. “She’s a little young.”

I frown and turn
away, walking back into my room. Kristie follows, looking around as though the
condition of the room is going to reveal something about me. And maybe it does.
The room is in shambles; clothes on the bed, draped over the chair, wet towels
and wash cloths on the floor of the bathroom, all my personal things stacked on
the back of the toilet.

“I hadn’t
exactly prepared for guests,” I say, my voice trailing off.

“It’s a hotel
room.”

“I was trying to
conjure repressed memories by recreating the ambience of my childhood bedroom.”
No response. Nothing. Not even a smile. “Nobody ever gets my jokes.”

Now she smiles.
“That’s because I’m hungry.”

“I’ll drive.”

“You remember
where you’re going?”

“Even if I
didn’t, it’s a small town.” I grab my wallet and keys from the nightstand
before corralling her back toward the door where I lock up and lead her across
the parking lot to the rental. “There are only so many streets to choose from.”

“One day this
place is going to surprise you.”

“Oh, believe me,
I’m surprised.”

She climbs in
and pulls her door shut. I already know where I’m taking her even before I take
the wheel. Our favorite hangout was always Dune’s. We’d go there in the
evenings and camp out on the deck, the lights along the railing, the stars
shooting across the heavens like out of a movie.

“So, can I ask
where you’re taking me?” Kristie asks.

I just shrug. No
sense in ruining the surprise.

“It’s not there
anymore,” she murmurs, turning away to gaze out her window.

“You don’t even
know where I’m going.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re just—”

“Dune’s.” She
turns to me. “It’s gone.”

“Where’d it go?”

“Burned down.
Something like six years ago. They said it was arson, but nobody could ever
prove anything. I think it was Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. They skipped town after
they collected the insurance. They never even considered rebuilding.”

This information
is timely enough, but I’m already irritated as I come upon the hole in the world
where Dune’s used to be. It looks like the city never even bothered to clean up
the mess. The charcoaled and rotted out remains still stand, weeds and
fledgling trees growing where I used to dine as a kid.

“Typical…” I
say.

Kristie just
stares straight ahead.

I pull into the
overgrown parking lot before turning around. “Now where?”

“We passed a
Burger King.”

“Burger King?
Really?”

“There’s
Cherries off Lincoln.”

“Neither of us
are dressed for Cherries.”

“It’s a small
town, Tony. Our options are somewhat limited.”

“I’m not
arguing.” I shake my head as I drive slowly along the street. “I’m just
saying.”

She sits quietly
for a second before tugging on the door handle.

“What are you
doing?” I ask frantically. “We’re moving!”

“I suddenly
don’t feel so good. Can you pull over?”

“I’m in the
middle of the street.”

“Then hurry it
up.”

Reacting
quickly, I pull to the side of the road. She struggles with her seatbelt,
finally gets it off, kicks open the door and leans over, straining against her
seatbelt while vomiting all over the street.

I cringe. “You
okay?”

“Can we go?” she
asks, pulling the door shut.

“Should I take
you home?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you
pregnant?”

“Jesus. No, I am
not pregnant. I’m nervous.”

“About what?”

“Can we just
go?”

“We’re going.”

“I don’t feel us
moving.”

“We’re moving,”
I answer, stomping on the gas. “Here we go.”

She fishes
through her purse and settles on a Tic Tac before offering me one. Then she
crosses her legs and resumes her quiet stare out the passenger-side window.

“I’m taking you
home,” I say softly.

“I told you, I’m
just nervous.”

“What in the
world is there to be nervous about?”

“A reaction from
you like that one.”

“So, this is my
fault?”

She rests her
forehead against the glass, her breath white fog. “Twenty years and you haven’t
changed at all.”

I shake my head,
equally frustrated. “Maybe that’s the problem. I haven’t changed, but
everything else has.”

She doesn’t
answer, but I recognize the cold silence she’s placed between us. It’s always
been her way of putting me down. It’s how she makes it clear that she’s right,
and I’m wrong. Guilty by attrition. Or was it proximity?

“Pull in here,”
she says suddenly, unbuckling her belt while pointing at a restaurant coming up
on the right.

I frown.
“O’Riordan’s?”

“They have good
steaks.”

“Is it new?”

“Compared to
what?”

“Compared to I
don’t recognize it.”

“They were here
before you left.”

“I don’t
remember it.”

“Blame it on old
age.”

The parking
lot’s mostly empty, so parking is convenient. She climbs out, and I catch the
wiggle of her perfect butt as she strolls toward the entrance. Then she turns
and brushes the hair out of her eyes. “You comin’?”

I pull the keys
from the ignition and step from the car. I consider locking up, but this is
Payton County, not New York City. I follow her up on the sidewalk and toward
the front door where a merry bell announces our entrance, and a jukebox sings
hello.

“Do you love me,
Tony?” she asks, grinning up at me
with those baby blues. Her head is my lap, her Geography textbook in hers, but
she hasn’t looked at it in probably ten minutes or more. “Anthony.” She
giggles. “Anthony Alexander Abbott.”

I’m perched up
against an old oak tree while highlighting what I hope are pertinent pieces of
info I’ll need for my science final. “Of course I do,” I answer without even
looking up. At this point, I say ‘yes’ out of habit. I mean, she asks me like
every five minutes. It’s probably love, but I’m seventeen years old. What the
hell do I know about love?

She sits up and
tosses her hair until it cascades over her shoulder and seductively hides half
of her face. She smiles. “Triple A.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m
just saying.”

“Saying what?”
I’m totally engrossed in highlighting the shit out of this book.

“Your name.
Triple A. It sounds like the name of someone famous,” she sighs dreamily. “Like
a rock star.”

She never calls
me Triple A. Only when she’s mad. So I look over. She looks so pretty like that.
Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect teeth. I may or may not be in love, but I’m
certainly in lust. She leans in. Her lips are soft, her tongue warm. Her hand
finds the bulge in my pants and gives it a slight squeeze. Embarrassed, I roll
away and stand—turning my back.

“What’s the
matter?”

“Nothing,” I
say.

“What are you so
embarrassed about? That’s the way things are supposed to work, you know.” I can
hear her stand. Then she does that thing she does where she wraps her arms
around me from behind and rests her head against my back. “Besides, I like it,”
she murmurs. “I like knowing it’s because of me.”

Now I’m even
more uncomfortable. It’s not the same for girls. Girls can tell if a guy is
turned on, but it’s not as easy the other way around, and I hate knowing that
she can tell and I can’t. “Don’t be mad,” she says, starting to sway—holding on
from behind while encouraging me to sway with her. There’s no music, but we
don’t really need any. She loves to dance. She’s always moving to something,
and I swear I’ll never get tired of watching her move. Of course, I can’t actually
see her since she’s holding onto me from behind, so I turn back to face her,
and she greets me with an incredibly white smile, her eyes twinkling. Leaning
on her tip-toes, she kisses me, and all is right with the world.

So much for
homework.

She rests her
head against my chest and slows things down. “I hate that you’re leaving,” she
whispers, and here comes the guilt trip.

“It’s not
permanent. I’ll be back for Christmas.”

“But Georgia?”

“What’s wrong
with Georgia?”

“It’s so far
away…”

Now she’s running
her hand under my shirt, and while the sensation is foreign, I like the feel of
her cool fingers against my skin. Still, I’m leery someone will walk up at any
moment and berate us for being lewd in public, and I squirm uncomfortably,
looking around.

“What’s wrong?”
she asks.

“What if
someone…”

But she’s
getting braver. She’s moved her hand lower, now caressing the outside of the
front of my jeans. “It’s okay,” she whispers.

Every teenage
kid dreams of losing his virginity, and I’m no exception, but seriously? Out in
the middle of a public park? This place is totally exposed. Sure, it’s up on a
hill and set back from the main path, but it’s also a small town. Everybody
knows everything about everyone else.

“It’s okay,” she
repeats.

Of course it’s
okay. It’s amazing. I’ve never been so excited in my whole life. But I’m also
terrified. She’s holding me with her eyes to make sure I won’t bolt while using
her hand to encourage me. I’m not sure how far she’s prepared to go, but I can
tell she’s getting into it. Her chest is rising and falling as she breathes,
and my worries of getting caught are slipping away. At this point I think I’m
more worried that it might actually happen, right up until—

“Yo, Triple A!”
comes a distant call. Immediately, I break from my trance. Ritchie is trudging
up the hill toward us. “What you doin’, man?”

My erection
shrivels like a deflated balloon, and Kristie backs off, disappointment evident
in her eyes.

“Are you guys
dancing or somethin’?” Ritchie gasps as he makes the steep climb. “I been
looking all over for you.”

“I’ve been
hiding from you,” I say, my tone rigid.

Ritchie is
panting by the time he reaches my side. “Too much…” he tries and shakes his
head as he leans his hands on his knees. “That is one big ass hill.” Finally,
he straightens and slaps me sharply on the back. “What are you two doin’ way up
here?”

“I’m spending
time with my
girlfriend
,” I say.

Ritchie looks at
Kristie then me before breaking into a grin. “Cool.”

I bite my
tongue, reminding myself to remain calm. “And?”

“And what?” he
pants.

“And why are you
here?”

“I gotta show
you somethin’.”

“It can wait.”

Ritchie eyes me
a moment and then Kristie before shaking his head. “Not really. You’ll wanna
see this.”

“It can wait.”

Ritchie narrows
his eyes at Kristie before turning on me. “Look, there’s something I
gotta
show you. It’s
important
.” He slaps me on the arm again. “Let’s go.”

“Jesus, Ritchie,
I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

He just stands
there, hands at his sides, sweat stains under his arms, his chest heaving. “I
swear I’m gonna knock you flat if you keep talkin’ blasphemy like that.”

“Then stop
pissing me off.”

He shakes his
head, exhales and lifts his yes. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going
anywhere.”

“You gotta see
this. I’m tellin’ you.”

“I’m not—”

“Go ahead,”
Kristie interrupts. She looks me in the eye and offers a tiny nod. “Go with
your friend. I don’t want you two fighting.”

“We’re not
fighting.”

“Go. It’s okay.”

“See?” Ritchie
says, the light returning to his eyes. Apparently he’s caught his second wind,
and something has him unusually excited. “Even the old ball and chain wants to
get rid of you.”

“Give me a
minute,” I answer.

“We ain’t got a
minute, bro. This is a limited time offer. We gotta go. Now.”

“Then at least
give me a second,” I snap.

Ritchie frowns,
but nods. “Make it quick.” He turns his back and starts shuffling back down the
hill.

Kristie looks up
at me with those baby-blues. “I’m not mad,” she says. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” I
say. “Ritchie is Ritchie.”

“For better or
for worse.”

I smile.
“Right.”

“To be
continued?”

I kiss her,
savoring the leftover minty goodness of the Tic Tacs she’s been sneaking all
afternoon. “I’ll see you tonight,” I promise, kissing her forehead.

She shakes her
head. “My parents will be home. I’ll call you.” She smiles. “It’ll be late.
Probably after ten.”

“I’ll miss you.”

She giggles.
“You better.”

One more quick
kiss, and I scoop my books, shove them into my backpack, and trot down the hill
to catch up with my friend, spilling the ball cap he’s wearing as I pass by. He
swings carelessly. “Dumb ass,” he murmurs as he retrieves the hat. Together we
race toward the sunset, seemingly on a collision course with nothing.