Shelf Life (4 page)

And I just shit my pants. Should have known things were going too well.

CHAPTER six

“Hi, Jay,” Lindsey says and rolls her eyes.

“
Hiya, Lindsey. Lookin’ good.”

“Whatever. Do you mind?” She makes a shooing motion and bravely ducks past the massive bicep that flexes at eye level. Jay raises his hands as if to stop her.

My hands are fists and my fists are moving. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground with Jay’s meaty hand around my neck and I should be scared, but all I can think is,
Get your fucking paws off her
. That, and how his breath reminds me of an ashtray.

“Aw, Twig, that was cute. But if you ever try to hit me again, I’ll bury you out in the middle of my property where they’ll never find the body. Understand?”

“Your parents’ property. Not yours.”

“
You getting a smart mouth like your little buddy Lewis? Where is that dipshit, anyway?” That right there is why I need to learn to keep my trap shut. Lindsey’s eyes cut over to the drunken daycare. Then she realizes her mistake and they get huge. “Well, well, your baby brother passed out? How about we make this a party he’ll never forget?”

Lindsey crosses her arms and juts out a hip. “Cut it out, Jay.”

“What? All you had to do was be nice to me. I gave you a compliment. You gave me attitude and Pete attacked me. I don’t think I deserved it. Time for a lesson.” He sneers.

I look up from the ground at all the faces that have appeared around us. Most register curiosity, but a few betray their fear with tight lips and rapid blinks. None—including my sister, who’s mysteriously disappeared—move to stop Jay or help Lewis except Helen Miller, who pushes her way through the crowd.

“Jay Leaher, don’t you ruin my party!”

“Hey there, doll, I wouldn’t do that. I’m just providing some entertainment. Watch this.” Jay strides over to Lewis, pats his cheeks a couple times, and when Lewis doesn’t respond, throws him over his shoulder. Fire and ice thrum in my veins. Lindsey clings to my arm, the look on her face a mirror image of mine.

“Jay—” I tug on his arm, though I don’t know what I hope to accomplish. I can’t physically stop him. He whirls around, his face stopping an inch from mine.

“Do that again and I’ll make this a million times worse for your friend. Now shut up and pay attention.”

Jay strides over to the Millers’ barn and throws open the door while the rest of us follow closely behind. In the dark, I hear the gentle shifting of large animals. My eyes begin to adjust thanks to the dim glow from the bonfire outside the barn’s windows.

“
Gimme more light, Helen,” Jay demands. “I want everyone to see this.”

“Can’t we just go back outside?” she asks as the lights flicker on.

I count at least ten heifers, but tucked away in the far corner is a mama and a tiny calf, not more than a few days old. Both stare at the growing crowd with huge, dark eyes that seem to know things aren’t right. The mama gently nudges the little one behind her, further into the corner.

Jay flings Lewis down into a pile of straw, where he promptly throws up. At least he’s awake, but then I wonder if it would be better if Lewis were comatose for whatever’s about to happen. Lindsey and I move in unison to help Lewis clean himself up, but two of Jay’s giant football teammates plant themselves in our path.

All around us, our classmates turn their heads and avert their gazes. The cowards won’t even look me in the eye. I spot Lloyd Severn, a kid we’ve gone to school with since kindergarten who used to wear really thick glasses and shop in the husky department. Lewis and I were in FFA with him and ate lunch together in the cafeteria every day until sophomore year when he got contacts, began lifting weights, and decided he didn’t know us anymore. Tonight, he stares blankly at the back wall.

Next to him is
Chrissy Richards. She was Lewis’s first girlfriend in fifth grade. Her friend Elizabeth stands near the water trough. Her mom went to school with my mom and rode together to a ceramics class. Her grandmother was my Sunday School teacher. Tonight, she’s chewing her lower lip while petting one of the cows on the nose. Each one of them is a two-faced, backstabbing stranger. That includes Sarah, who’s magically reappeared near the entrance of the barn. She can eat shit and die as far as I’m concerned.

“Guys, bring him here.” Jay’s two henchmen each
grab an arm and drag Lewis over to the corner of the barn, where Jay’s managed to coax the tiny black and white Holstein calf over to the side of its wooden pen. The air in the barn takes on a charge as everyone holds their breath and shifts closer. My feet move forward with them despite the warning sirens blaring in my head. Lindsey’s death-grip on my arm makes my hand tingle, but I don’t dare say anything or even look at her. I’m sure I’d see her disgust at my cowardice. God knows I’m disgusted with myself.

Gasps fill the barn. My head snaps up just in time to see Jay pull down Lewis’s pants and shove him toward the calf. Nervous giggles reach my ears, along with a few low chuckles. Someone’s flash goes off, and a few others pull out their phones as well. Lindsey covers her face with her hands and I pull her to my chest.

“Don’t look, Lindsey. Keep your eyes closed.”

I am frozen. I am worthless. I am helpless as my best friend gets his cock sucked by a calf in front of the juniors and graduating seniors of
Crestlane High School.

***

When it’s over and Jay’s had his laughs, the crowd dissipates, keeping their eyes trained on their phones. I hope the bitches and bastards are relieved it wasn’t them in the spotlight this time. Jay dumps Lewis back into the hay pile. I push Lindsey away so I can go to Lewis, but she’s gone rigid, her hands glued to her face.

“
Linds? You okay? Shit.” She twitches a few times then seems to snap out of it. “Jay’s gone. I need to help Lewis. Can you stand by yourself?”

“What?”

“Just sit here.” After depositing her on the barn floor, I rush to Lewis. He’s curled up on his side, his breath hitching every couple seconds. “Hey, man. It’s over.”

In a small, flat voice he asks, “I dreamed it, right? I’m wasted.”

“You’re wasted, yeah.”

“Did it happen?”

After a deep breath, the truth spills out. “Yeah.”

He closes his eyes and nods. Lindsey crawls across the barn floor on her hands and knees until she reaches us, but Lewis pushes her away when she tries to put her arm around him.

“Lewis—”

“Don’t.”

The hay is warm and I’m exhausted. My hand finds Lindsey’s and even though I don’t deserve to touch her, she threads her fingers with mine. None of us needs to speak. We all know the world has shifted among the three of us—something horrible has been unleashed that I’m afraid will never be fixed or forgotten…or forgiven.

The barn is dark when I wake. The stench of Lewis’s vomit mixes with the animal smells in a perfect nausea cocktail.
Holy shit. That happened. It really happened.

Even though I know him better than nearly anyone on the planet, I have no idea what to do for Lewis. Should I try to comfort him? Pretend it didn’t happen? What I really want to do is help him plot a slow, painful death for Jay, hopefully involving pitchforks and blunt objects.
And what about Lindsey? I failed to protect her brother. My best friend. She’ll never want to see me again, let alone move forward with me. I can’t blame her a bit.

“Help me get him to the car?” Lindsey whispers in the dark. Her voice is tinged with something I don’t usually associate with Lindsey Linger: defeat.

“Sure.”

Lewis moans when we set him up upright. He vomits once more before getting to his feet and staggering toward the door. I try to take his arm but he shoves me off. “Don’t touch me.”

Okay, I deserve that. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Outside the barn, the bonfire has died down and only a few people remain. They don’t notice us shuffling across the field, or at least they do a great job of pretending. The Monte Carlo’s passenger door creaks when I open it for Lewis. “Look, man, you’re shaking. Let’s talk about this.”

With one hand on the door frame, he pins me with a stone-cold sober look. “What is there to say?” My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He’s right. What could I possibly say? “That’s what I thought.”

“Let me drive you home. Lindsey’s not supposed to drive.”

She snickers while Lewis gets in the car. “Like that’s stopped me before?” Her accusing tone hits me in the gut. The state wouldn’t give her a driver’s license because of her brain condition, but we’ve all looked the other way.

“Yeah, but you’re really upset.”

She throws her hands in the air. “And you’re fine? I’m sure as hell not staying here another minute. I can’t believe we fell asleep in there!”

“But—”

“But what?” she asks while planting her fists on her hips.

“Don’t get mad at me! I’m on your side, remember?”

“Doesn’t matter who’s on your side when the enemy’s bigger than all of us combined,” she says and disappears into the car. It revs to life, slicing the pre-dawn with twin beams of light.

My hands hang limply at my sides as my two closest friends in the whole world cut across the field and into the purple horizon.

CHAPTER
seven

T
he alarm on my nightstand breaks into a hundred pieces when I throw it against the wall. I’ve barely closed my eyes and it’s time to get up and milk the girls. The bed is warm, my eyes heavy, but then I remember the events of the past twelve hours. I’m tempted to lock my bedroom door and refuse to come out. Works for Sarah whenever she has a crisis.

Still in the clothes I wore last night, I shuffle out to the barn and begin my morning routine, but this time, I can’t bring myself to confess everything to Scarlett. Instead, we work together in silence, as if she senses my mood. Bennie sure does. She sits right next to me, her chin on my knee during each of the
milkings.

They say to always tackle the hardest thing on your list first. Going over to check on Lewis and Lindsey will be painful, but I won’t be able to shake off this sinking in my stomach until I know he’s okay. He would do the same for me, but I’m not sure how I’d react if the roles were reversed. Would I tell my parents or would they know something was wrong even if I tried to hide it? More important, how would I react to the look of pity on Lewis’s face? I wouldn’t have to worry about what Lindsey would do because I’d never look at her again, I don’t care how close we are.

Dodging Mom’s questions about the party and if Sarah and I stuck together—I don’t even know how she got home or what time—I find myself standing on the Lingers’ front stoop by seven. A light rap on the door gets no results, so I go around back and tap on Lewis’s bedroom window. The curtains are closed and there’s no response. I tap again, but still nothing, so I turn the corner to the side of the trailer and tap on Lindsey’s. Her pale face appears after the second try.

“What are you doing here so early?” she asks after sliding up the window.

“I wanted to see how Lewis was doing. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

“So. What do we do now?” I really hope she has an answer because I don’t have a damn clue.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you tell your mom?”

“Why would I tell her?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

She narrows her eyes, making her look much older than she is. “Go back to your happy farm, Pete. You’ve always had your head in the sand. Why stop now?”

She slams the window closed. The sound ricochets off the surrounding trees, which act as a thousand funhouse mirrors bouncing failure and rejection around inside my chest. Back inside the Explorer, I ponder what she means about having my head in the sand and what I should have done differently.

That night, I call their house. Mrs. Linger answers, but she doesn’t make much sense. “Can I talk to Lewis or Lindsey?”

“What do you want with them?”

“I just want to talk. Are they there?”

“Got things to do,” she mumbles.

“What?” But before I can ask for an explanation, the line goes dead. In a last-ditch effort, I text each of their cells, but it’s hard to say if they’re working or not. They can’t afford
iPhones or anything fancy, so they’ve got those pre-paid things. Sometimes they’ve got minutes, sometimes they don’t.

The next day I go over to their house at a more normal time and try again. Lindsey answers the door, shakes her head, and closes it in my face. Over the next few days, neither of them returns my
phone calls—which is why I don’t know if Lindsey’s still walking at today’s graduation ceremony.

My heart turns tricks when I see her familiar form outside the school stadium where one-hundred and six of us are scheduled to receive our diplomas. Her white gown is draped over her arm, but it’s obvious she doesn’t care that it’s wrinkled all to hell. Her phone’s pressed to her ear—my stomach drops knowing that it
is
working—while her mouth moves faster than I can lip-read. Suddenly, she shoves it in the front pocket of her denim skirt and blows past the gray-haired lady handing out programs.

The bouquet in my hand droops.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom’s been repeating that question nonstop since the party. Every time, I have to fight the urge to confess. She’d freak out, tell me
that’s what happens when you go to parties
, and proceed to interrogate me about whether or not there was alcohol, who was involved, where were Helen Miller’s parents, and is Lewis’s mom taking him to therapy.

Um, no
. Mrs. Linger works all the time to put food on the table, and when she’s not, she’s probably drunk. Lindsey works, too, so I imagine Lewis has spent the last week holed up in his tiny bedroom reliving the incident over and over. He could’ve let in his best friend, we’d crack a few lame jokes, I’d make him come with me to get apple pie a la mode at the Amish Kitchen, and he’d be fine. But no, I’ve been shut out as if the past ten years mean nothing, like I’m disposable. My ears begin ringing. I need to calm down, but if I do, I’ll feel guilty again for being angry at Lewis. I should be angry at Jay, and I am, but I don’t care what he thinks. I care about what Lewis thinks, and yeah, I definitely care what Lindsey thinks.

You want to know what’s wrong, Mom?
“Nothing. I’ll see you after the ceremony.”

“Hey, don’t I at least get a hug?”

I’m a bad friend
and
son.
“Of course.” Over her shoulder, I give Sarah a glare that says,
go to hell
.

Dad shakes my hand then continues his sniper surveillance of the premises. You know, because terrorists would love to bomb the graduation ceremony of a small, rural school in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio. He hasn’t had any more episodes since last week, but he won’t look anyone in the eye and can hardly stand still. Mom puts a calming hand on his arm and the tightness around his mouth relaxes a little.

“Guess it’s time for us to go, then,” she says. “Love you, Pete. I’m proud of you.”

I stare at my feet and attempt to swallow down the lump in my throat. She has nothing to be proud of. “Thanks.
Gotta go.”

The flowers go into the trash.

The ceremony lasts forever.

The only time I pay attention is when Helen Miller stands to give her speech as valedictorian. I watch in detached amusement as she describes how much she loves her school, her teachers, and the dear friends she’s going to miss when she ships out to Ohio State in the fall. It takes a Herculean effort to not stand up and yell out what a fake, disgusting cunt she is for standing by while Jay did what he did at her party.

A shudder works its way from my head to my toes despite the hot sun blazing down. I grow colder yet when I admit to myself that yelling at her would make me a giant hypocrite. My head snaps up when I hear Mr. Blackwell call Lindsey’s name. She stalks across the platform, grabs her diploma, and takes off across the football field toward the front exit without even shaking his hand. A couple students laugh while low mumbling works its way through the families in the stands. Mr. Blackwell blinks a few times but quickly plasters his smile back in place, grabs the next diploma, and extends his hand to the next student.

When the announcer finally makes her way to the end of the alphabet, I follow the student in front of me—I can’t remember his name for some reason—and wait my turn to walk across the outdoor stage. Lewis should be in the top row of the bleachers waving a sign and making lewd comments when my name’s called. Instead, “Peter Henry Wilson” is greeted with polite applause and a “
Yay, Pete!” from my mom.

Finally, it’s over. I don’t feel any different. There’s no party waiting for me afterward, no graduation presents, no group hug from Lindsey and Lewis—only the sinking feeling that things are changing
forever.

That evening, I call Lindsey. I call Lewis, too, in case Lindsey’s working, and leave the same message for both of them: “I’m coming over right now, and you’re going to let me in.”

Mom and Dad let me go after my evening chores are done. The Explorer rumbles to life and I roll down all the windows in an effort to let the muddy field smell escape. It reminds me too much of driving home alone after the party last week. The chick singing on the radio asks if we’re indestructible and couldn’t we brave it all. From where I’m sitting, that’s a load of shit. Our trio is falling apart and I don’t know how to fix it. Even worse, I can’t ask anyone for advice.

Every instinct I have screams,
tell someone
, but Lewis would never forgive me for betraying him. I can see the write-up in our local newspaper, then the Youngstown paper. Then it might make it onto the Youngstown TV news, and Lewis would probably die of shame if he didn’t kill himself first. Unlike me, he’s got another year until graduation. I can’t imagine how hard it’ll be to walk into school this fall.

I shudder and bring the truck to a stop in the Lingers’ driveway of their double-wide trailer. The light over the front door buzzes to life. My feet carry me up the two little steps to the door while my heart does a tap dance on my Adam’s apple. Thankfully, I’m still angry enough that I don’t lose my nerve. The door swings open, revealing the tear-streaked face that haunts my dreams at night, the one that materializes behind my eyes when I’m doing chores or driving or showering, the one I hoped would be
mine to touch if I said the right words.

“Can I come in?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not you, I promise. He just needs…I don’t know what he needs. Space. Time to sort some things out, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t come back here.”

“Lindsey—”

Her inability to look me in the eyes speaks volumes. I fucked up. One dumb incident that lasted less than five minutes cost me my best friend and the girl I’ve loved more than half my life, and I’m too much of a chicken shit to do a thing about it.