We Won't Feel a Thing (22 page)

“We don’t need to know,” said Riley.

“Yes we do,” said Rachel. She tilted her head. “I mean, David—if Gannon’s incantations are too strong for WAVES, we can always—”

“All right!” David let out a tremendous sigh. “Step Five, in effect…transfers your attraction onto someone else. Temporarily, just to help you move on—but risky, very risky! There’ve been reports of terrible pain, hallucinations—”

“Has it been effective?”

“In past studies? Yes, extremely. However—”

“No howevers,” Rachel said. “What about Step Six?”

“Well,” said David. “Ah…”

“Just say it,” said Rachel.

David’s voice sharpened, as if he’d pulled the receiver close to whisper in a crowded room.

“Step Six makes you indifferent,” he said. “Numb to each other. You’ll still recognize each other, still be able to converse politely. But when you speak to each other, and you probably won’t by choice, you, ah…” David cleared his throat again. “You won’t feel a thing. Essentially, you’ll be like two people in an elevator, discussing the possibility of rain.”

Rachel stared into the WAVES equipment box. Riley took Bob and Athena from the nightstand and stroked them with his thumbs.

“Are we really that desperate?” David’s voice was gentle, measured. “You said you wanted to stay good friends.”

There was a bleak pause. Rachel’s eyes were unfocused. She ran a hand over the console in a steady circle.

“Excuse us,” said Riley.

He put David on hold.

“Rach…?” he murmured.

“We can’t put this back in the box, Ri.”

“The console?”

“This. Us.” Her hand stopped circling. She rested it on top of the console. Her voice was light and firm. “We’re never, ever going to be just friends again. It’s impossible. It would never stop being messy and weird and complicated.”

“That’s okay! I’m okay with messy and weird and—”

“I’m not.” Tears rimmed her eyes. She batted them away. “We need to start over, Ri. We need to be free.”

“That’s not what I want.”

She stood up. “When you’ve got your new life,” she said, “and you’re happy, really happy without me, you’ll be glad. I swear.”

Bob and Athena went cold in Riley’s hands. The crack in their joined hands seemed darker. A black vein.

“Rach.”

She moved for the phone. She reached for the hold button.

“Don’t.” He touched her arm.

She pressed the button.

“We are,” she said to David. “That desperate, I mean.”

***

Riley’s stomach plunged. He felt like he did during movie scenes when locked cars skidded off bridges and sank in dark water. He heard their voices, Rachel’s and David’s garbled together, plotting destruction in solemn businesslike tones.
Give me four days…all right, three…will need a new waiver…
Bob and Athena
tick tick tick
ed and Rachel jotted stupid notes with her stupid pen and Riley scrutinized her heartlessness, for the first time despising the sight of her making decisions.
How could she do this?
His teeth clenched.
Who does she think she is?

She hung up. He gripped Bob and Athena so hard his knuckles hurt.

“I did it for both of us,” Rachel said.

Riley said nothing.

“You know it wouldn’t be like your happy love speech. We’d pull each other off course and it might feel good at first but then you’d resent me and I’d resent you. We’d end up like your
parents,
Ri.”

Bob and Athena ticked louder.

“He said we’ll still
recognize
each other,” she said. “We can still talk! And look—we can totally retrain ourselves to be friends when more time’s gone by. When it’s safe.”

The clock dinged. A new hour.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She stepped close enough to touch. “I did what I had to do.”

He smelled apples and pencil shavings. She rested her hand on the mermaid clock.

“Riley,” she whispered.
“I had to—”

He barely felt himself do it. Later, in the downstairs guest bedroom, he would try to recreate the scene, try to decrypt the progression of neuron firings that moved his left hand that way. In the moment, all he absorbed was this: Bob and Athena were safe in his hands. And then a second later, they smashed against the sandcastle dollhouse and shattered.

Rachel cried out. Her hands flew to her mouth. Riley basked in the horror of what he’d done, satisfied he’d had his say.

Then he stalked out of their kingdom and slammed the door.

Chapter Thirteen

Downstairs, Riley was talking to the mirror.

In the first-floor office, he grasped Mr. Woodlawn’s five-pound weights and flexed shirtless before the filing cabinets.
“This is my town, Jack,”
he said to the MAN CAVE mirror.
“Everyone else just bleeds in it.”
He had spent three days here in a haze, watching and rewatching his father’s stash of DVDs and learning the secret language of leatherfaced cowboys, rogue starship captains, art thieves and gangsters and superheroes with dark sides. He pumped the weights smoothly, mouthing cocky exit lines. He tensed his hands. He couldn’t believe they’d ever made anything beautiful.
That one broke Bob and Athena,
he recited.
That one punched Chad.
Tonight he would punch the moon. He would wrestle three-legged dogs. He would get over her, all the way over her. And they would be free.

Just like she said.

Rachel, alone in a corner, had glued her thumb and index finger together.

She hunched on the floor on Riley’s side of the room, in the big empty space Laurie Semper had left when she picked up the finished mosaic. She had tried for the twentieth time to glue Bob and Athena back together, but it was no use. The superglue only stuck her to herself.

She picked her way across the room, clutching her glued hand. Her clothes were strewn. Her dresser drawers were open. She’d started packing a suitcase for New York as a gesture of hope, but only two pairs of socks and five books had made it in. Crumpled paper circled the suitcase, scrawled with failed sentence diagrams and doodles. The cracked clockface, no longer embedded in Bob and Athena’s stand, still emitted an eerie
tick tick tick
from the dollhouse, like fingernails that keep growing after death.

She hadn’t spoken to Riley in three days, sixteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes.

Rachel went to their bathroom sink and blasted hot water, stuck her hand underneath to loosen the glue. She thought of his face when he’d smashed the clock. Her stomach crunched. She decided she was glad David’s envelope hadn’t shown up yet. She would go downstairs, rush to him before the Semper ceremony, tell him Step Five was called off.

And then they would…
what?

She shut off the faucet. Cringing, she pried her fingers apart little by little. She got impatient at the end and yanked too hard; blood beadlets rose up on a patch of raw skin.

“Lunchtiiiime!” sang Mrs. Woodlawn, downstairs. “Everyone in the dining room!
Tout de suite!”

From their separate rooms on the first and second floors, Rachel and Riley made their way to the table: Rachel sticking a bandage on her finger, Riley attempting a swagger. The house was clean again. Everything ruined was gone now: the knickknacks, the particleboard shelves, even the white couch and Mr. Woodlawn’s armchair.

Rachel hurried over to Riley in the dining room doorway. She darted a look at his profile. He stared straight ahead.

Mr. and Mrs. Woodlawn sat across from each other at the table, glowing with hope and good health. In the glossy catalog between them, clean-cut families lounged in well-appointed rooms. Between two lit candles shone their silver wedding platter, crowded with generous slices of undercooked steak and large curds of overcooked eggs. Draped across Rachel’s and Riley’s chairs were two long black zippered sleeves that looked uncomfortably like body bags. Sniffles stood watch at the table’s far end, his nose pointed toward the front door.

“Bon dieu,”
said Mrs. Woodlawn. “You both look absolutely
funereal
. Don’t they, Ed?”

“You said you’d stop using pretentious words.”

“Yes, I did. Awful, then. They look awful.”

“Are you guys okay?”

“Fine.” Riley shrugged, sauntering to the table. “Just need to eat.” He stabbed three hunks of meat with his fork and slapped them on his plate.

“Excuse the catalogs,” said Mrs. Woodlawn. She wore a white satin robe with black tiger stripes and her hair was tightly wrapped in clear plastic. “We’re looking for a new living room set that expresses our authentic identity as a couple.”

“What are these things?” Riley grabbed his body bag and chucked it next to Sniffles.

“Your outfits for the Semper
soiree
.” Mrs. Woodlawn smiled, pouring a glass of red wine. “I bought them especially for you.”

“They look really nice. You’ll like them,” said Mr. Woodlawn.

“Rachel, I’m never sure of your size. There’s a sash you can tighten if it’s too big.”

“Thanks…” Rachel gave a weak nod and laid her bag on top of Riley’s. She perched on the edge of her seat and questioned him with her eyes. He ignored her.

“How ‘bout the Huntsman Plaid?” Mr. Woodlawn tapped the catalog.

“Ugh, no. Reminds me of your Uncle Clem. Horrible man. Always hated him.” Mrs. Woodlawn flipped the page, craning her neck. “Do we like the Royal Pemberton?”

“Way too fussy. It’s the white couch all over again.”

She sighed. “You’re right, Ed. I appreciate your honesty.”

“And I appreciate yours.”

Mr. Woodlawn poured a glass of orange juice from the plastic pitcher beside him, his hand wobbling slightly.

“We want to thank both of you for your patience,” Mrs. Woodlawn said to Rachel and Riley. “I know this hasn’t been easy on any of us, but DERT has been an absolute lifesaver. Ed and I have an entirely new understanding of each other. You’ll be pleased to know that our Extreme Impurification cycle is over, and we’ll be settling into a routine now.”

“Things’ll be more normal,” said Mr. Woodlawn. He scratched his chin. He appeared to be growing a beard.

“Well,” said Mrs. Woodlawn, “I wouldn’t say
normal
. We’re still committed to saying exactly what’s on our mind at all times, so our relationship stays honest and healthy.”

“Ah—” Mr. Woodlawn began, but then the doorbell chimed.

“That must be the Mindishes!”

Taking one last sip of wine, Mrs. Woodlawn tucked Sniffles under her arm and got up to answer the door. Rachel tried to catch Riley’s attention, but he was sawing his steak into jagged pieces and wouldn’t look up. Mr. Woodlawn raised his eyebrows at her in friendly concern. She scooped some cold eggs onto her plate and busied herself poking at them.

“…a wonderful job, really.” Ben and Ellen Mindish stood on the doorstep in matching Key West souvenir t-shirts, fussing over Sniffles. “And you did keep him in a separate room, then, like we asked?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Woodlawn. “We complied with your ridiculous request, because we wanted your fifty extra dollars. For the past hour, however, Sniffles has been in the dining room and his soul has been co-mingling with those of a dozen wild boars, owls, and ten-point bucks. I hope that’s acceptable to you. If your deceased dog starts to complain of nightmares, we’ll be happy to issue a refund.”

The Mindishes exchanged looks. At the table, Mr. Woodlawn put his head in his hands.

“Okayyyyy,” said Mrs. Mindish.

“That’s—fine, then. I guess,” said Mr. Mindish. He fumbled some bills from his wallet and held them out, along with a bulky white envelope.

“What’s that?” said Mrs. Woodlawn.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Mr. Mindish. “It was on your porch.”

Rachel kicked Riley under the table. He shot her a dark look and tossed his knife on his plate. The Mindishes made a hasty retreat.

Mrs. Woodlawn returned to the table, examining the special delivery.

“Anne,” said Mr. Woodlawn.

“WAVES?” she read, reaching for the wine again. “What do you two know about this? It’s addressed to you.”

Rachel opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Riley tilted his chair back and jerked his chin at her. “It’s a skin-care system,” he said. “She ordered it.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Woodlawn turned to Rachel. “Well, that’s probably a good thing. Your elbow tips look so rough already. Like little walnuts.”

“Anne,”
said Mr. Woodlawn.

“Yes?”

“What you said to the Mindishes…” He scratched his hair and sighed. “I mean—this has been great and all, but we’re not gonna do DERT talk all the time, right?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Mr. Woodlawn’s ears reddened. “I guess I—I don’t know. I thought we’d back off a little. Take down the Recovery Ring. Now that we’re—fixed.”

“Ed, in ten days, our world has transformed from dark to light. I’m happy.
We’re
happy.” She served herself some eggs. “I don’t want the lights out, ever again.”

“It’s all or nothing,” said Riley.

“Yes!” Mrs. Woodlawn pointed her fork at him. “Yes, it is.”

“I mean, it would be dumb not to keep going. You’ve come this far. Right?” Riley sloshed orange juice into his tumbler and drank it in three gulps.

“I…” Mr. Woodlawn watched him, squinting slightly. “Well, sure. I guess.”

“You know what I think is sad?” Riley waved his steak knife around. “This whole time, Mom, you’ve been in love with Arthur Seton. And Dad, you’ve been in love with Mrs. Semper, right? And both of you wasted so much time thinking they were
so super-special
and you’d never love anyone else that much, like you were in a stupid fucking fairy tale and the happy ending got messed up. When all this time, you really could have been happy with anyone.” He shoved a piece of steak in his mouth. “Even each other.”