The Cake House (27 page)

“I don’t hate anybody,” said Aaron with a shrug. Then he smiled. “I’m a lover, not a fighter. I’m all about the love, man.”

Tom looked at Aaron like he was crazy but gave a short laugh, and the weird tension passed. Aaron would insist on being happy forever, for every day of his life, until the earth
died. Tom settled back with his magazine. “That’s what worries me,” he said, then closed his eyes.

Aaron watched Tom for a moment, his happy façade slipping away.

“Can I show you something?” I asked, not understanding what had passed. From my backpack I took out their Christmas presents, two photographs, each stapled to thin balsa wood. “I made these for you. One for each.” My voice was small and quiet, afraid they would think the gifts stupid.

They were shots of Aaron and Tom that I took on the day we skipped class. In the one I’d given to Aaron, he was carrying Tom on his back and they were both laughing, the edges of the picture blurred, but their faces were in focus. In the second picture, Aaron and Tom sat side by side on the hood of Aaron’s station wagon. Aaron had an arm flung across Tom’s shoulder, laughing at something, his entire face lit up bright like his hair, leaning over, whispering in Tom’s ear, and Tom’s mouth was split in a rare full smile, head tilted to one side.

Neither Aaron nor Tom spoke for several minutes, both staring as if they’d never seen photographs of themselves before. “Thanks,” said Aaron, although he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Tom took a moment longer before he handed his gift back to me. “You keep mine,” he said. “Keep it safe.”

I felt as if I’d blundered into a private moment.

Maybe to diminish the unease that settled between us, Aaron poked around in my book bag, finding my collection of photographs developed over the holidays. “What else have you got?”

“Just more pictures.” I had brought them to show Aaron and Tom, wanting to share this with them.

Aaron went through the photographs, giving me a sly look each time he stopped at a picture of Alex.

“You need better subjects,” he said, then stacked all the photographs together. I tried to take them back, but Aaron raised the stack over his head. “I’m available for modeling,” he said with an eyebrow waggle.

I started laughing, still trying to get the photographs back. He bopped me on the nose, and I wrestled him to the ground. He let go of the stack, and the photographs fell in an untidy heap. A strong breeze blew around the corner, lifting the photographs off Aaron’s lap. He tried to gather them to his chest, but they fluttered away, out to the field, dozens of faces taking flight as if it were their one chance for escape. Faces on the wind. Aaron and I ran across the field, chasing photographs like chickens on a farm. He dropped back down next to Tom, panting and grinning like a clown with his arms full of faces and bodies and rooms of the Cake House. “This one’s been in a puddle,” he said, still breathless. “Are they ruined?”

“It’s okay. They’ll dry out,” I said with a laugh. The photographs were crumpled, bent and creased. “Or maybe it just makes them more interesting, soggy and smeared.”

Aaron put his hand on my head. “Very wise, Grasshopper,” he said in mock solemnity.

Tom wasn’t paying attention. He held a photograph, the only one he’d caught. It was one of Tina, turned in profile, her petal eyes searching the distance with such longing. He handed it back to me.

The end-of-lunch bell rang, and the field and courtyard emptied slowly as the students disappeared into the buildings.

Tom kept his arms to his sides as if cold. “Aaron,” he said, rubbing at his face, pleading in a language I couldn’t
understand, asking for something I didn’t want to know about.

Aaron nodded, picking up both his and Tom’s bags. “Okay, kid. Let’s go.”

A sad smile, a quick hug, and they left me standing with my arms holding unbound photographs, creased and muddied and bent backward.

ALEX STARTED JOINING ME IN
the darkroom, but only when Claude was out of the house. On Saturday, he knocked and asked to be let in. He brought his guitar and sat on a stool in the corner, strumming along with the radio. It was an old battery-operated AM/FM radio with a broken antenna and poor reception of a static-filled Christian talk radio station. I learned how much Jesus loved me and how he would gladly save my soul if I only took him into my heart, but sometimes the neighboring golden oldies station overpowered the preacher’s words, giving me a bebop sermon, a rock-and-roll prayer.

Sprawled on a chair, legs up on boxes, Alex sang along with the radio, strumming
—“Johnny Angel, how I love him, he’s got something that I can’t resist”
—while I made memories come alive out of chemicals and paper.

He stuck his foot out as I tried to walk past, tripping me so I stumbled into the photographic supplies. “Quit it,” I said with a laugh, hopping over his feet. Quit it. Do it again.

“Trying to get you to fall,” he said.

“That’s not very nice.”

“Not at all,” he agreed, playing at being the bad-boy rock star. “Come here.” He set aside his guitar. I straddled his lap, feet dangling, his hands on my hips.

The radio prayed for salvation. Pray for forgiveness at Heartbreak Hotel. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Rolling Stones.

He stripped my clothes away like plucked petals from a flower. I gripped his shoulders hard enough to indent my fingers into his flesh, to leave red marks across his pale, white skin—skin like a blank page of photographic paper ready to be imprinted, ready to be transformed.

Claude’s voice rang through the house, calling for both of us. He banged on the door. “Rosie, let me in,” he said. He opened the door before I had my shirt completely over my head. Alex stood bare chested, jeans unzipped and loose around his waist.

I braced myself for Claude to drag Alex from the room by his hair, or slap him back into the trays of chemicals, everything crashing to the floor. Instead, he did nothing but look at us, his shock replaced by flat, hard anger. Claude gripped the door handle, stepping aside to reveal Deputy Mike standing in the entryway with his familiar calm expression.

“Alex, get dressed. The deputy wants to speak with you,” Claude bit out, and then left.

My fingers shook as I tried straightening my top, ashamed to have Deputy Mike see me so unclothed. Was he here to arrest Claude? Was he finally here to shake the house free of its secrets? But Claude had said Deputy Mike wanted to speak with Alex.

Alex zipped up his jeans and picked up his shirt from the floor, then just stood there, ready for anything.

“Out here,” said Deputy Mike, taking a step back.

Alex followed Deputy Mike to the front room. As I closed the door of the darkroom behind me, Claude’s hard expression was like a slap to my face.

My mother pinched my upper arm and dragged me over to the sliding doors, as far from the front room as possible.

“Please tell me you haven’t—” she started.

“Yes, we did. We were careful.” She looked as if I teetered on the edge of a cliff. Maybe it wasn’t so much my falling that frightened her, but that I fell alone.

She brought the back of her hand to her mouth, and the small lines around her eyes showed. “All right,” she said, with a clear attempt at calmness. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Why is Deputy Mike here?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He and Claude showed up together. They said something about an accident.”

I left her by the sliding doors and went closer to where Deputy Mike sat with Alex, so that I could hear what he said. He spoke in a quiet, almost monotone voice. Once Deputy Mike started talking, Alex didn’t move. He sat still and quiet and listened with his entire being. He didn’t even appear to breathe.

Friday night a group of teenagers from the high school made plans to go to a club in Hollywood where one of them knew the bouncer. The group was comprised of two couples and three more girls, two of whom were Tina Myers and Joey Robinson. They started drinking at Sammy Bolger’s house, before they left Canyon Country. Around nine o’clock, they piled into a car, four in the back and two sharing the front passenger seat, leaving Joey to drive.

They made it to the club, and the bouncer, true to his word, let them in. One of the girls said she went to the bathroom and found Tina snorting methamphetamine.
After leaving the club, they stumbled to a nearby twenty-four-hour Denny’s to have breakfast and sober up before the drive home. It was two o’clock in the morning. But Tina didn’t feel well and went to the bathroom. When Joey went to fetch her, she found Tina on her hands and knees, hyperventilating. Her eyes were unfocused and she was sweating. Afraid Tina was really sick, Joey called the others for help. They carried Tina to the car, arguing whether to take her to a hospital or not, but Tina protested and insisted she was fine. They decided to take her home. Around three in the morning, they began the drive back to Canyon Country. Joey said she was sober and took the keys. Timothy Holden sat with Tina in the front seat.

When Deputy Mike questioned Joey, she was crying so hard he couldn’t understand everything she said. She thought she maybe fell asleep at the wheel. She didn’t know exactly what happened. She kept saying she only had a little to drink. They were almost home, driving on Soledad Canyon Road, when she closed her eyes for a second. In that second, she didn’t see a man step into the middle of the street. He appeared like a ghost, she said, coming out of nowhere. She tried to swerve to avoid hitting the man but lost control of the car, and it crashed into the curb. The car flipped over, then collided with another parked car and a lamppost before coming to a stop.

“Tina’s parents didn’t know she’d gone out,” said Deputy Mike. “She went into her room earlier in the evening and they guess she slipped out the window somehow, or they just didn’t see her leaving.”

I didn’t know what to say. Last night Alex had made me come for the first time. Listening to Deputy Mike, near to
Alex, I could feel the tiny quivers of energy shooting through my whole body. We might have been together at the same time as the car accident.

Deputy Mike sighed, looking at all of us then back at Alex. “I’m here because several people think Tina may have acquired the methamphetamine from you, Alex—” He held his hand up when both Claude and I protested. “Did you have anything to do with it?” he asked, looking directly at Alex.

Alex’s gaze had become distant and unseeing, but he focused on Deputy Mike when he spoke to him. “You’re asking if I gave her the drugs?”

“Did you?” asked Deputy Mike.

“No.”

I should have felt relieved at his denial, but instead the tension in the room tightened.

“Do you know who did?”

A thousand tiny needles pierced down my spine. I remembered so many months ago when Alex had both Tom and Tina in his bedroom, the way Tom had lit a joint for her, and the way he’d stayed by her side. I remembered the day before when Tina talked with Tom at school, the way she’d asked him for something. In an alternate universe, Tom might have gone with them. He might have been in that car when it crashed. But he’d said no; then he’d called her back and had taken her hand in his. Both of his hands over hers, pressing them together.

Alex and Deputy Mike continued to stare at each other, as if the rest of us no longer existed. “Answer the question,” said Deputy Mike. “Do you know who supplied Tina with methamphetamine?”

“No idea,” said Alex.

Deputy Mike narrowed his eyes, then turned to me. “What about you? Do you know anything about it?”

I was surprised to be questioned. “Sorry,” I said. “They’re not my friends. I just know them from school. I don’t know what they’re into.” My face grew warm from my lie, although in many ways it wasn’t a lie. I knew Tom was not innocent, but I didn’t want to say that, and I didn’t know for sure. And I didn’t know how Alex was involved, but he was, somehow. I’d learned to lie with the truth, the same as Claude, the same as Alex. “How bad was the accident?” I asked.

Deputy Mike’s dark eyes were my answer. It was bad.

“Besides Joey, no one was wearing seat belts,” he said. “Timothy Holden went through the windshield. He died on the way to the hospital. The others are in critical condition, but they’ll be fine, eventually. Joey was unharmed.”

“And Tina?” I asked.

He paused before answering. “She’ll live. But she hit her head pretty hard. She’s lucky she didn’t break her neck. The rest of her is banged up as well. That’s all I know.”

Abruptly, Alex got up from his chair and headed for the front door.

“I’m not done yet,” said Deputy Mike, and it scared me how powerful and loud his voice got.

Alex didn’t stop, but Deputy Mike was quicker than he was and reached the door just as Alex fumbled with the handle. Deputy Mike gripped him hard and made him turn around. Claude followed but was blocked by Deputy Mike, holding his hand up to stop him in his place. Alex, face flushed, his eyes wide and red, turned away from Deputy Mike, but it wasn’t in anger. I watched, horrified, as Alex
began to cry. Deputy Mike stepped closer and blocked my view. I could no longer hear what he was saying.

“Were you friends?” my mother asked softly.

I jumped at the sound of her voice, having forgotten that she was there. I shook my head, knowing she was asking if I had been friends with Tina. No chance for friendship between Tina and me, although I would have liked that if things had been different.

After Deputy Mike left, Alex remained in the front room, sitting with a blank, alien expression, so devoid of emotion that I almost failed to notice his balled-up fists. I expected him to run and barricade himself in his room with his music, but he didn’t move from his seat, and I knew something was very wrong.

Claude made himself a drink, then sat across from me in the living room, the glass held with his right hand. He appeared relaxed, but I didn’t think he was. Ice clinked in his glass. It was unusual to see him with a drink. For all the shady and questionable activities Claude took part in, he wasn’t much of a drinker.

“I thought I could trust you,” he said.