The Cranberry Hush: A Novel (5 page)

It was L-shaped and not more than twice the size of my
living room. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling. The check-out counter of
wood and blue Formica was opposite the entrance. New arrivals lined the side
wall on the left. Hardcovers and trade paperbacks were in an island of shelves
in the middle. Rows of long white boxes full of back-issues were stacked at the
back of the store. In front of the register hung a free-standing rack of action
figures; behind it was a glass case showcasing limited edition figurines and knickknacks
and several of the more valuable comics. Beside the door hung posters hyping DC’s
and Marvel’s upcoming summer crossovers.

It was like my second home.

“So you manage it?” Griff said.

“Sometimes I feel like I live here,” I said. “Simon comes in
on Wednesdays for new arrival day, which gets busy, and on other days he’ll pop
in and out. Aside from that it’s pretty much mine.”

“Is it just you and him?”

“No, there’s two college kids who work a couple afternoons.”
I told him about Marissa and Zane and how they both went to Cape Cod Community.
When Simon taught a comic history course there two years ago he came away with
sidekicks. “Marissa’s pretty angsty,” I said, “but when it comes to comics she
knows her shit. And Zane is... well, Zane’s Zane.”

“Your comic book
familia
,”
Griff said.

“I guess we are, a little bit.”

He smiled and strolled past the Indie section. I liked
seeing him here; it was a nice collision of worlds. “How’s the comic book business
these days?” he said.

“Hanging in there. Little ups and downs, but steady for now.
There will always be geeks.”

“That’s true,” he said. “Hey,” he added, pointing to an
Adam Strange
comic, “I know him. This
guy used to be in the
Mysteries in Space
comics my dad had a bunch of. You know him? He catches some kind of transporter
beam and gets whisked to another planet where he has a beautiful wife and goes
on amazing adventures. It was very spacey.”

“I like his ray gun,” I said. “It looks like it came from
the 1940 World’s Fair or something.” I made a gun with my fingers and fired at him.
“So are you about ready?”

“Oh, I thought we were going to hang out for a while?” His
eyes were earnest. If I imagined a chunk of gauze dangling from his lips like a
bloody stogie, he wouldn’t be much different from the kids who came in with
their moms.

“Oh. Yeah. Hang out? I guess I figured there isn’t much to
see.”

“Here,” he said, handing me the
Adam Strange
comic and then taking another one for himself. “Let’s
read comics.”

We sat down on the floor, our backs against the Marvel
trades, and it felt like a thousand different things might happen. But the only
one that did was that we sat and read the comics. He didn’t touch me or even
look at me in a way that made me think he wanted to. We just sat side by side
and I turned the sweet-smelling pages when he turned his, but I didn’t actually
read a single word.

We locked up the store and started back to the
parking lot. In the distance we heard the ominous screech of another plow, like
a huge beast making its presence known on the snowy savanna.

“You’ve been walking all over Massachusetts in the snow
today, haven’t you,” I said. I blew out a puff of white breath. Yes, the
visible breath coming from the mouth and nose did look cool, and that was why
there would always be smokers.

“This morning feels like yesterday to me, though,” he said,
“so not really.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you’re a whole consciousness period
ahead of me.”

“Which is probably why I’m so wide awake,” he said. And
then, pointing across the street, he added, “That Dunkin’ Donuts looks open.
Buy you a hot chocolate?”

I’d been in here almost every day for the past
year—summer days, winter days, in rain and snow and sunshine, with Zane,
with Marissa, with Melanie and with Simon—but it had never felt like this
before. I never expected to look across the table and find Griff sitting there,
licking chocolate from his lips.

As I sipped mine I remembered that tonight was the night I
was going to make Zane a hot chocolate and tell him how I felt. If all had gone
according to plan, he and I would’ve probably been in bed together right now.
But if it hadn’t, maybe I’d have been alone instead. The whole idea felt so
distant now, so odd in light of these new circumstances.

“So what’s going on in Griff Dean’s life?” I said. “Other
than the Beth stuff. Where are you working? What do you do?”

He looked surprised. Before answering he blew on his hot
chocolate and then took a long, slow sip. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m rich.”

“Of course you are. Did you buy stocks with all the money
you made sitting desk in college?”

He laughed, a nostalgic chuckle, and looked up, rubbing his chin
with one hand. “I was always sitting desk, wasn’t I? No, my grandmother died
last year.”

“Oh.” I lowered my eyes to the steam rising from his drink. “I
didn’t know that. I’m sorry, dude.”

“We weren’t close. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“Oh...”

“She and my mom argued like rabid badgers, so...”

I waited for more; it was beginning to dawn on me that maybe
he hadn’t been joking.

“She left my mom a hundred bucks.” He paused and then a soft
smile appeared around his eyes and crept down his cheeks to his chapped lips
and he said, “And she left me eight hundred and fifty big ones.”

“No way. Thousands?”

“Yeah.”

I recoiled as if shocked by a lightning bolt, my spine
knocking back against the plastic chair, and then started laughing so hard I
had to press my hands over my mouth to keep from making a scene. The amount of
money was absurd, of course—as ridiculous as a number like fifty
gazillion to a recent grad running a comic shop—but that wasn’t even what
struck me the most.

“She left you inheritance for
spite
?!”

“The old bird left me inheritance for spite,” he said, “yeah,”
shaking his head but looking like he was trying for all the world not to get up
and jump around the Dunkins.

“Spite money. Wow.”

“Can you believe it?”

I couldn’t. For what must’ve been close to five minutes we
laughed about his late grandmother’s final shaft. Finally, when we’d mostly calmed
down, I asked if he offered any to his mom.

“I did but she wouldn’t take a penny,” he said, wiping tears
off his cheeks. “She even donated her hundred bucks to the Democrats because Grandma
was a fierce Republican.”

“Your family belongs on a soap opera.”

“Tell me about it.”

My throat felt itchy from laughing so hard. “So what’s it
like having a million bucks fall into your lap?”

“It’s not a million.”

“Just about.”

“Don’t make it crazier than it is. It’s crazy,” he said. “Crazy
cool but crazy scary, too. Brings out the angel and devil on your shoulders
pretty fucking quick, let me tell you.”

“Do you ever feel like flying to Vegas and just blowing it
all on hookers and booze?”

He shook his head. “The opposite. I almost feel like it’s
some kind of exotic and poisonous fish and if I don’t consume it in just the
right way it’ll kill me. I want to save it for something, make it last. It’s so
much potential, you know? That’s what’s scary.” He smiled. “I quit my job.”

“What’d you do?”

“I made blueprints at an architecture firm. It sucked.”

“Why’d it suck? You used to like drawing buildings.”

“I did, but that’s not what this was. I just took other
people’s drawings and made big blue copies. With this special paper and this
giant machine.” He spread his arms wide to measure. “I went home reeking of
ammonia every day. But I knew the shit was hitting the fan with Beth and I’d be
bouncing soon. So a couple days after New Year’s I left for lunch and just never
went back.”

“Wow. And what now? Just living off your inheritance?”

“Not even. The interest.” He paused and seemed to be
watching me for a reaction, to see if I approved. I wondered how much crap he’d
taken from Beth about this, quitting his job and stuff.

“That’s awesome,” I said, and he smiled.

“I’ve got it all in this high-yield savings account thing,”
he went on. “I’m making more in interest than I did at the firm. Life is
fucking bliss.”

When we were putting on our jackets he realized he
didn’t have his phone. He looked around under the table and said, “I hope it’s
in the car.”

But it wasn’t, so we drove back across to Golden Age to
check there. Waiting to make the turn into the parking lot, I let a minivan
pass. The driver’s teeth were clenched and his hands squeezed the wheel at a
perfect ten-and-two. He looked like someone I’d once towed out of a ditch.

A plow had gone up Main Street while we were in Dunkin’
Donuts. I sped up to make it over the crest of snow at the edge of the lot. The
lot had been plowed a few hours ago; now, in addition to my first set of tire
tracks, there was a second set in the half-inch snow. I didn’t recognize the
car that had made them. It was parked at the back of the lot, a pick-up. Blue,
maybe black—I couldn’t tell in the dark. I pulled into a spot in front.
We got out.

“Looks like company,” said Griff, pointing to footprints
that ran up the walk amongst the ones we’d left.

“Tooth emergency, maybe?” I said. But when I looked up, the
second-floor windows were dark. “Probably Simon,” I added when it became clear
the new tracks led to Golden Age. Doubtful, but it was my only explanation.

The lights in the store were off and through the glass door,
between the sign that said CLOSED and the edge of a
Green Lantern
poster, I saw movement at the register. My pulse
quickened and my tongue tasted suddenly sickly. I had my keys clenched in my
fingers, ready to use as a weapon.

“Under the register counter there’s a phone,” I told Griff.
“If I get taken down, go for it.”

“OK, dude,” he said, patting my shoulder.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh... You know, maybe we should just find a payphone and
call the—”

“Fuck that—it’s my store.” I unlocked the door,
careful not to rattle the keys too much, and swung it open.

The bell jingled. There was a bump, a gasp at the register.
Two men. Light from the floodlight behind me illuminated a bare ass. Jeans were
yanked up over it. The second man jumped off the counter clutching at his own
jeans. Beside me, Griff stifled a nervous laugh. Someone else yelled
fuck
. I recognized the voice.

I flipped the row of switches by the door. The fluorescents
blinked on. The man, the one who’d been standing, or maybe he’d been on his
knees, spun around and threw his hands in the air. The other—

“Zane!”

“What the hell are you doing!” There was a
zoot
sound as he zipped his fly, and now
he was fumbling with his belt buckle.

“What the fuck, Zane!” I pulled the keys out of the lock. I
was shivering—no, shaking. My face grew warm. “You,” I pointed at the other
guy—a kid really, jockish, crew cut; his hands were still up, his eyes
wide—“you wait outside. Griff, give me a minute please?”

The kid looked at me and then at Griff. “You won’t tell
anyone, will you?” His voice was deep but quivered.

“Not if you cooperate,” Griff said, a little bit
theatrically, and shut the door behind them as they went out.

I put my hands over my face and sighed. “I refuse to be the
one embarrassed about this,” I said.

Zane clenched his teeth. He wore a white hooded sweatshirt
that accentuated his flushed cheeks. Was he red from what had been going on, I
wondered, or just from getting caught at it? His left ear was pierced with
three small silver hoops; his right ear had two. His eyes were pinched softly
at the corners—as easily the result of a cute cozy sleepiness as the DNA
influence of his Japanese grandmother.

“This isn’t your personal motel,” I said.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you already had a
reservation.” His voice was low, hard. Anger was hiding his embarrassment.

“Reservation?”

“Him.” He lifted his chin toward the door. “Hot stuff,
Vince.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

I stomped to the back closet, pulse throbbing, just to get
away from him, wondering what I should do next, wondering whether I should take
his keys away. I wanted to take his keys. How dare he embarrass me like this in
front of Griff? And be so disrespectful of this store? I paced around the
little closet. If he was still there when I went back out, yes, I’d take away his
keys. But only if he was still there. I started to go out but I wasn’t ready to
deal with it yet, so I stalled.
Who was
that guy?
I wondered.
Are they dating
or was he just a trick? I was going to make him hot chocolate!
I watched
snow puddles form around my boots. Finally I switched off the light.

He’d waited. He was still there.

“I’m sorry, Vince, I know, I know.” He was standing with his
hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “It’s just that he was nervous and we didn’t
have anywhere else to go. You know I can’t bring him to my house. My
parents—”

“Your homophobic parents are not my problem. Have a little
fucking respect.” I sighed and then actually said, “Give me your keys.”

He cringed. “...What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Don’t you have to talk to Simon first?”

“And what would I say, huh? By the way, Simon, Zane was
getting sucked off on top of your cash register last night. I’m sure that’d go
over well.”

“Give me a fucking break, Vince,” he said, jerking his head.
His earrings clinked together. “It’s bad enough that because of you I have
blue-balls now.”

“Sorry.” I held out my hand.

“Fine.”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a red carabiner looped
with key rings. He picked through the rings and slipped one off. He bypassed my
open hand and slammed the keys down on the counter. He walked to the door.