The Other Sister, page 19
I bite back my first reply. “So, I take it you heard Robbie’s graduation present went missing?”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Did Robbie tell you?”
He drinks more coffee, which is pretty much all the answer either of us needs.
“Okay. Yes, I have some money that is all mine, and no, none of it is the two thousand I brought up to give to my nephew. Dad’s got that stashed somewhere.”
I give him time to digest this.
When I was teaching, there was always some student who asked why in the stories the townspeople never went up to the mysterious castle to chuck the monster out. Why’d they always wait around for the hero? They only ask that because they’re young, and they don’t understand that when you’ve got a job and a family to think of, you’re a lot less willing to make trouble.
People in Whitestone like the fact that there are jobs and houses and Walmarts and Meijers. Dad has made sure he gets the credit for all that. The way this town sees it, as long as Dad isn’t disturbed, he’ll just stay in his castle, and their lives can go forward mostly how they’re used to. This gives him power.
So, to take that power away, I’ve got to convince the town that they don’t know their particular devil at all. That takes a new story. A better, more interesting story. Or, at least, a more awful, unstable one.
I’ve spent a lot of today in town. I’ve been seeing and being seen. It’s important people have a chance to exclaim over the fact that I’m back and, of course, the black and blue ruin of my face.
I fell, I tell them. No big deal.
Not one of them believes me. They know something’s wrong. That means they’ll listen a little more closely when they hear the next story.
I feel guilty about using David to move the plan forward, but I’m not going to stop.
As usual, David’s first instinct is to be decent. He’s more willing to talk home repair than theft. “If you need roofers, I know some guys. I can make a call, if you want.”
“Thanks. And since it looks like I’m not going to be smart and leave, have you got any ideas about what should I do about security?”
We both stare down the beach while he considers his answer. There’s the remains of a bonfire a few feet down the stony slope, with some dead bottles clustered around it. A twinge of resentment tightens my shoulders. Is that because somebody else was using this place I consider mine, or because they didn’t invite me?
“Well, if you were a client of mine, I’d recommend an alarm system. But what’ll really help is lights, and fixing the place so it looks lived in as fast as you can. If it’s just shenanigans, whoever’s doing it will find someplace less risky to hang out.”
“It’s not just shenanigans.” I rub my forehead and wince because I get too close to my healing scabs.
“If you think it’s some drug dealers wanting their squat back, you should call the police.”
“It’s not dealers, David. It’s Dad.”
His rounded jaw works back and forth. There’s something in this silence I can’t read.
“Not really Martin’s style.” David gestures vaguely toward my eyes.
“You sure about that?” I do not mention my uncle, but then, with David, I don’t have to. “It’s kind of weird how this happened right after I hinted that some accounting friends of mine might get all up in his business.”
“You ‘hinted’?” He makes the air quotes with his free hand. “That was not smart, G.”
“I got mad. I am notoriously not smart when I’m mad.”
David mutters something under his breath. I pretend not to hear.
“I’m going to find out what he’s up to, David. Will you help?”
That raises an actual laugh. “Help blow up the mighty Martin Monroe, who just happens to be my boss? Not real fucking likely.”
“What if I said this isn’t just me stirring the shit pot? What if I told you Marie thinks something’s wrong, too?”
The decent guy evaporates. David’s eyes go hard and sharp. This is the security guard beside me now, who’s used to being on watch for trouble.
“Marie’s been calling me for months, trying to talk me into coming up to help her.” This is the thing I need him to hear, whether either of us likes it or not. “She thinks Dad’s really in hot water this time. Some deals haven’t worked out the way they were supposed to, and it’s messed up the cash flow and it’s starting to come back on him.”
“And you think this…” David sketches a circle around my face. “This is because you’ve decided to take full possession of one ratty old house?” I face him fully, and he answers his own question. “You own it, and he wants to sell it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there’s something a little…easier to hide. I went to talk to Walt this morning about getting a copy of the title and any other papers, and he really, really did not want to give them up.” I rub my hands on my worn jeans. “I think Dad maybe had Marie do something with the house. Use it as collateral on a loan or something, you know, without bothering to tell me.” There’s all kinds of things you can do behind a house and its mortgages. A lot of them come under the heading of money laundering. But David knows this, too.
Our silence, the waves, and the wind swirl around for a while. David takes another swallow of coffee. It must be stone cold by now.
“Dad’s done some hinky shit with his houses before,” I remind him.
“Which everybody knows.”
“Including Marie, and you, David.” I let that sink in. “And before you say we’re overreacting, you should know Marie also says Dad was leaning on the development commission to try to get the house condemned, which would get me kicked out, if I don’t decide to leave on my own.”
But David doesn’t say a thing about overreacting.
“Look at me, Geraldine.”
I do. I’m ready for him to ask for details about the guys who did such a number on my face. But I’m wrong again.
“Did Marie really ask you to come back?”
This is when it hits me. David still loves Marie. After all I did, and she did, he still loves her.
I don’t know whether to cry, or laugh in his face. I settle for telling him the truth. “We’ve been talking about it for maybe six months, maybe a little longer.”
“Jesus.”
The waves in front of us rush forward and the traffic behind us rushes away. The wind catches up all the noise and adds its own.
“Geraldine,” says David finally. “You know Marie’s not okay, don’t you?”
I shrug. “Marie’s never been okay.”
“I mean really not okay. Like, clinically not okay.”
I sit still for a second, waiting for his words to start making some kind of sense. “What are you talking about?”
“She sees things, Geraldine. Secret signs, in the carpet and in the trees. And she talks to ghosts.” He pauses and he looks at the confusion in my eyes. “You didn’t know?”
No. I did not know. I never knew.
“But, she, I…are you sure?”
“I slept next to her for ten years. Yes. I’m sure.”
And I slept next to her for seventeen. And I didn’t see anything.
Did I? No. He’s wrong. Marie is my sister. Not even David knows all the shit we’ve been through. I know her like I know myself. Even when she’s closed herself off from every single other person. I can still see through.
“If…if that’s what’s going on, why didn’t you do anything?” I mean it as a challenge, but it sounds like a plea. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
And just like that, I realize David knows what I did. He knows how I gunned the engine and aimed the car straight at my mother, and how she stood there and let me to do it. He knows that’s why I got drunk and screwed him, and why I sliced my ankles with a shard from a broken bottle and walked into the water after I sent him on a beer run. He’s known for years. Maybe since he threw himself into the water after me.
Does he know the thing I missed? That if I’d really hit Mom, there should have been a dent in the bumper. The rain would have washed the blood away, but there should have been a dent. Like when you hit a deer.
But there wasn’t.
But we’re not talking about me, about then. We’re talking about him, and now, and our words are bitter.
“You really can’t figure out why I stay?” he says. “You think I don’t know your dad’s got my balls on an anvil? I feel that hammer come down every fucking day. I stay because it’s the only way I can even get a look at my son, or be close when he needs somebody. And I stay because I’m a complete fucking idiot, Geraldine. Because some part of me keeps hoping that someday I’m going to wake up and find out Marie’s come to her senses just enough to pack her bag and we can all drive off into the sunset together and maybe I can finally get her some kind of help.”
If it had been anybody else in front of me, I might have grabbed that cold coffee and thrown it right in their face. But this is my sister’s ex-husband, and Robbie’s father. There’s a chance, just a chance, that he’s telling the truth.
A truth I missed.
David is unfolding himself, getting ready to leave. I look up at him, mute and pleading. For what, I have no idea. He can’t help me. He has no idea what his words really mean, or how many foundations he’s just kicked out from under how many plans. I knew I could only trust Marie so far, but I did trust her. It took me years, but I finally understood that Marie was playing a part to keep herself safe. To keep her son safe. And me.
That was why I came back. That’s what I’m seeking forgiveness for. For all those years when I didn’t understand.
But what if I’m wrong again? What if she’s not playing? What if living with Dad has just taken away her mind?
My tongue is thick with thirst and confusion. “Does Robbie know?”
“No.”
“Does Dad?”
“You think she’d still be walking around loose if he did?”
No. Of course not. Dad does not allow for flaws in the fabric of his life. If things around him aren’t perfect, something will be done to bring them into line. The old county asylum he threatened me with was closed down years ago. But I’ll bet there’s a whole string of doctors at the new medical center willing to sign off on the form saying Marie is a danger to herself and others so Dad can commit her. He’s probably already wined them and dined them and whispered his concerns about his poor daughter. Setting up the story of his tragic, beloved family in case he needs it.
Just like he did when it was his poor sister-in-law.
And his poor wife.
I don’t want to see the expression on David’s face as he looks down at me. “You want to kick over the anthill, Geraldine, I can’t stop you, but I sure as hell am not going to help.”
He leaves me there, but I do not watch him walk away.
Marie. I missed it. Jesus H. Christ. Robbie. I missed it.
What else have I missed?
2.
The lake is still here, and it still doesn’t ask any questions. I strip down and step into the water up to my ankles.
GOD! That is COLD!
It shocks every nerve to life, and despite everything, I laugh. This is real. The water laps at the tops of the straight, white scars on the inside of my pale calves. I’m up to my knees, then my waist and my breasts. I duck my head under and toss my hair back. I throw myself forward and I start swimming. Cold washes like a blessing over the cuts and bruises on my face.
I am crazy. Marie is crazy. I am frightened. Marie is terrifying. I am bad. I am lonely. I am doing awful, terrible selfish things to people who have never hurt me. I am breaking open my fragile sister because she has asked me to, and because inside, I hope to find my forgiveness.
The water doesn’t care.
At last, when my lungs are gasping, I roll over onto my back and float and spread my arms and legs out starfish style. My body is my own. Nothing can touch me here. I am clean and cold, and I am strong.
I roll over onto my belly and start swimming toward shore. The sand seems farther away than I remembered, and the cold is starting to hurt, but I wash up eventually, clumsy and heavy, struggling through the breakers.
There’s somebody there. My eyes are full of lake and I can’t see clearly. It’s a dark, blurred human shape. A man, I think.
The silhouette takes a cigarette from its mouth and tosses it into the sand. I shove my hair back and knuckle the water out of my eyes.
It’s not David. It’s a ghost. Or a dream.
Because it cannot really be Tyler standing here.
3.
No. Impossible. Tyler Prescott is in Chicago. He is not here, grinning at me, handing me a towel from the trunk of my Outback. I never did remember to make him give me back his spare key.
I’m going to kill him.
“What the hell?” I say.
“I wanted to see you,” he answers.
“How’d you even find me?”
“It’s a small town. I asked at the gas station.” He’s from a small town, too, so he knows how it works. You find the oldest place. That’s where the locals are sure to be. You talk about the weather and the roads to establish you’re an okay guy. Then you get around to asking the real question.
“Then, I got lost,” he said. “But I saw your car on the shoulder. You told me about how you guys used to go swimming.” Tyler steps toward me. His fingertips trace my cold cheek, outlining my bruises. “This looks bad.”
I am going to fucking kill him and ship his lifeless corpse back to Northwestern with a note attached saying they shouldn’t let their little boy lecturers out after dark.
I’m going to break down crying.
I’m going to do something, anything, other than what it is I am doing, which is standing here, dripping wet in my bra and bicycle shorts letting him touch me.
“I told you to stay away.”
“Yep. I am a bad, bad, stalker-style boyfriend. And there’s nothing cute or appropriate about any of this.”
His fingers gently brush my stringy wet hair back from my forehead so he can see the cut there.
No one was ever gentle with me. Not my other lovers, not my family. Only this man. This is what undoes me, every time. I know how to fight back against so many kinds of cruelty. Gentleness is beyond me.
The goose pimples come out so fast they hurt. Memories come just as fast. Laughing and dancing and walking together with Tyler under the glare of the lights on the Vegas strip. Hiking through the woods and laughing about wolves and Red Riding Hood and finding a meadow carpeted with wild strawberries.
Waking up in a tangle of sheets and pillows. The ache that comes from wishing this didn’t have to end. The surprise in finding that maybe it doesn’t.
“You should dry off.” Tyler touches the corner of my mouth. “You’re turning kind of blue.”
“You are not the boss of me.”
He grins, that stupid, gorgeous grin that makes him look about seventeen. “Want me to wait by the car?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
And as suddenly and as simply as he arrived, he leaves me alone on the beach with my heap of clothes and the towel he brought me.
Goddamn you for not giving me anything to fight against. Goddamn you for always being where I need you, not where I want you.
I towel myself off, trying to rub away goosebumps and need and failing. I pull my clothes on over my still-damp underwear. There is no way he’s watching, because Tyler wouldn’t do that, but I am not ready to be naked for him even at a distance.
Sure enough, when I climb over the guardrail, Tyler is leaning on the back of his antique blue station wagon, watching the pines, the crows, and the clouds. Not the beach. Not me.
He straightens up as I march past him to the Outback. “So, where are we going?”
“My house.” It hits me that this is the first time I’ve said it like that out loud since I got back. My house.
“Great. You lead.”
I will. And as soon as we’re there, I’ll remember what really brought me up here. I’ll find the right words. Not the truth, just the right words.
Standing in the old house, I’ll be able to send him away again.
4.
We pull into the parking area. I’ve got some flat-pack furniture from Walmart—a couple chairs and a table in the back of my car. Tyler carries boxes so my hands are free to wrestle with the door. We don’t even talk about it. It just happens.
He leans the boxes against the living room wall and surveys my empty domain.
“Needs work,” he says.
“It’s got potential.”
“Definite potential,” he agrees. “Got anything to drink?”
I nod toward the kitchen. He finds the Diet Coke and the plastic bag with the cups and plates I pulled out of their box earlier today. He does not comment on the rum, or the snack trays.
It’s getting warm in here. I wrestle the windows open. I’m going to have to get new screens.
Tyler pulls out his Swiss Army knife and starts slitting furniture boxes open.
I don’t even bother telling him to stop.
We don’t talk much. We don’t need to. I don’t want to. We wrestle with Allen wrenches and stupid directions, and by the time we’re done, there are a couple of uncomfortable chairs and a lopsided table in the rapidly dimming living room. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I glare at him and he shrugs and heads outside to blow smoke at the crows. While he’s gone, I stand on one of the new chairs to screw a lightbulb into the overhead fixture.
Tyler comes back in with a handful of daisies. He fills one of the plastic cups with water and sets the flowers on the table.
“You’re secretly gay,” I say when he comes back in.
“Caught me. All that crazy-hot sex is an act.” He sets the jelly jar on the table, sliding it back and forth a couple of times to find the least sloping spot. “What’s in the other building out there?”
“That’s the old store. We used to sell sandwiches and pie and stuff to the tourists.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Did Robbie tell you?”
He drinks more coffee, which is pretty much all the answer either of us needs.
“Okay. Yes, I have some money that is all mine, and no, none of it is the two thousand I brought up to give to my nephew. Dad’s got that stashed somewhere.”
I give him time to digest this.
When I was teaching, there was always some student who asked why in the stories the townspeople never went up to the mysterious castle to chuck the monster out. Why’d they always wait around for the hero? They only ask that because they’re young, and they don’t understand that when you’ve got a job and a family to think of, you’re a lot less willing to make trouble.
People in Whitestone like the fact that there are jobs and houses and Walmarts and Meijers. Dad has made sure he gets the credit for all that. The way this town sees it, as long as Dad isn’t disturbed, he’ll just stay in his castle, and their lives can go forward mostly how they’re used to. This gives him power.
So, to take that power away, I’ve got to convince the town that they don’t know their particular devil at all. That takes a new story. A better, more interesting story. Or, at least, a more awful, unstable one.
I’ve spent a lot of today in town. I’ve been seeing and being seen. It’s important people have a chance to exclaim over the fact that I’m back and, of course, the black and blue ruin of my face.
I fell, I tell them. No big deal.
Not one of them believes me. They know something’s wrong. That means they’ll listen a little more closely when they hear the next story.
I feel guilty about using David to move the plan forward, but I’m not going to stop.
As usual, David’s first instinct is to be decent. He’s more willing to talk home repair than theft. “If you need roofers, I know some guys. I can make a call, if you want.”
“Thanks. And since it looks like I’m not going to be smart and leave, have you got any ideas about what should I do about security?”
We both stare down the beach while he considers his answer. There’s the remains of a bonfire a few feet down the stony slope, with some dead bottles clustered around it. A twinge of resentment tightens my shoulders. Is that because somebody else was using this place I consider mine, or because they didn’t invite me?
“Well, if you were a client of mine, I’d recommend an alarm system. But what’ll really help is lights, and fixing the place so it looks lived in as fast as you can. If it’s just shenanigans, whoever’s doing it will find someplace less risky to hang out.”
“It’s not just shenanigans.” I rub my forehead and wince because I get too close to my healing scabs.
“If you think it’s some drug dealers wanting their squat back, you should call the police.”
“It’s not dealers, David. It’s Dad.”
His rounded jaw works back and forth. There’s something in this silence I can’t read.
“Not really Martin’s style.” David gestures vaguely toward my eyes.
“You sure about that?” I do not mention my uncle, but then, with David, I don’t have to. “It’s kind of weird how this happened right after I hinted that some accounting friends of mine might get all up in his business.”
“You ‘hinted’?” He makes the air quotes with his free hand. “That was not smart, G.”
“I got mad. I am notoriously not smart when I’m mad.”
David mutters something under his breath. I pretend not to hear.
“I’m going to find out what he’s up to, David. Will you help?”
That raises an actual laugh. “Help blow up the mighty Martin Monroe, who just happens to be my boss? Not real fucking likely.”
“What if I said this isn’t just me stirring the shit pot? What if I told you Marie thinks something’s wrong, too?”
The decent guy evaporates. David’s eyes go hard and sharp. This is the security guard beside me now, who’s used to being on watch for trouble.
“Marie’s been calling me for months, trying to talk me into coming up to help her.” This is the thing I need him to hear, whether either of us likes it or not. “She thinks Dad’s really in hot water this time. Some deals haven’t worked out the way they were supposed to, and it’s messed up the cash flow and it’s starting to come back on him.”
“And you think this…” David sketches a circle around my face. “This is because you’ve decided to take full possession of one ratty old house?” I face him fully, and he answers his own question. “You own it, and he wants to sell it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there’s something a little…easier to hide. I went to talk to Walt this morning about getting a copy of the title and any other papers, and he really, really did not want to give them up.” I rub my hands on my worn jeans. “I think Dad maybe had Marie do something with the house. Use it as collateral on a loan or something, you know, without bothering to tell me.” There’s all kinds of things you can do behind a house and its mortgages. A lot of them come under the heading of money laundering. But David knows this, too.
Our silence, the waves, and the wind swirl around for a while. David takes another swallow of coffee. It must be stone cold by now.
“Dad’s done some hinky shit with his houses before,” I remind him.
“Which everybody knows.”
“Including Marie, and you, David.” I let that sink in. “And before you say we’re overreacting, you should know Marie also says Dad was leaning on the development commission to try to get the house condemned, which would get me kicked out, if I don’t decide to leave on my own.”
But David doesn’t say a thing about overreacting.
“Look at me, Geraldine.”
I do. I’m ready for him to ask for details about the guys who did such a number on my face. But I’m wrong again.
“Did Marie really ask you to come back?”
This is when it hits me. David still loves Marie. After all I did, and she did, he still loves her.
I don’t know whether to cry, or laugh in his face. I settle for telling him the truth. “We’ve been talking about it for maybe six months, maybe a little longer.”
“Jesus.”
The waves in front of us rush forward and the traffic behind us rushes away. The wind catches up all the noise and adds its own.
“Geraldine,” says David finally. “You know Marie’s not okay, don’t you?”
I shrug. “Marie’s never been okay.”
“I mean really not okay. Like, clinically not okay.”
I sit still for a second, waiting for his words to start making some kind of sense. “What are you talking about?”
“She sees things, Geraldine. Secret signs, in the carpet and in the trees. And she talks to ghosts.” He pauses and he looks at the confusion in my eyes. “You didn’t know?”
No. I did not know. I never knew.
“But, she, I…are you sure?”
“I slept next to her for ten years. Yes. I’m sure.”
And I slept next to her for seventeen. And I didn’t see anything.
Did I? No. He’s wrong. Marie is my sister. Not even David knows all the shit we’ve been through. I know her like I know myself. Even when she’s closed herself off from every single other person. I can still see through.
“If…if that’s what’s going on, why didn’t you do anything?” I mean it as a challenge, but it sounds like a plea. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
And just like that, I realize David knows what I did. He knows how I gunned the engine and aimed the car straight at my mother, and how she stood there and let me to do it. He knows that’s why I got drunk and screwed him, and why I sliced my ankles with a shard from a broken bottle and walked into the water after I sent him on a beer run. He’s known for years. Maybe since he threw himself into the water after me.
Does he know the thing I missed? That if I’d really hit Mom, there should have been a dent in the bumper. The rain would have washed the blood away, but there should have been a dent. Like when you hit a deer.
But there wasn’t.
But we’re not talking about me, about then. We’re talking about him, and now, and our words are bitter.
“You really can’t figure out why I stay?” he says. “You think I don’t know your dad’s got my balls on an anvil? I feel that hammer come down every fucking day. I stay because it’s the only way I can even get a look at my son, or be close when he needs somebody. And I stay because I’m a complete fucking idiot, Geraldine. Because some part of me keeps hoping that someday I’m going to wake up and find out Marie’s come to her senses just enough to pack her bag and we can all drive off into the sunset together and maybe I can finally get her some kind of help.”
If it had been anybody else in front of me, I might have grabbed that cold coffee and thrown it right in their face. But this is my sister’s ex-husband, and Robbie’s father. There’s a chance, just a chance, that he’s telling the truth.
A truth I missed.
David is unfolding himself, getting ready to leave. I look up at him, mute and pleading. For what, I have no idea. He can’t help me. He has no idea what his words really mean, or how many foundations he’s just kicked out from under how many plans. I knew I could only trust Marie so far, but I did trust her. It took me years, but I finally understood that Marie was playing a part to keep herself safe. To keep her son safe. And me.
That was why I came back. That’s what I’m seeking forgiveness for. For all those years when I didn’t understand.
But what if I’m wrong again? What if she’s not playing? What if living with Dad has just taken away her mind?
My tongue is thick with thirst and confusion. “Does Robbie know?”
“No.”
“Does Dad?”
“You think she’d still be walking around loose if he did?”
No. Of course not. Dad does not allow for flaws in the fabric of his life. If things around him aren’t perfect, something will be done to bring them into line. The old county asylum he threatened me with was closed down years ago. But I’ll bet there’s a whole string of doctors at the new medical center willing to sign off on the form saying Marie is a danger to herself and others so Dad can commit her. He’s probably already wined them and dined them and whispered his concerns about his poor daughter. Setting up the story of his tragic, beloved family in case he needs it.
Just like he did when it was his poor sister-in-law.
And his poor wife.
I don’t want to see the expression on David’s face as he looks down at me. “You want to kick over the anthill, Geraldine, I can’t stop you, but I sure as hell am not going to help.”
He leaves me there, but I do not watch him walk away.
Marie. I missed it. Jesus H. Christ. Robbie. I missed it.
What else have I missed?
2.
The lake is still here, and it still doesn’t ask any questions. I strip down and step into the water up to my ankles.
GOD! That is COLD!
It shocks every nerve to life, and despite everything, I laugh. This is real. The water laps at the tops of the straight, white scars on the inside of my pale calves. I’m up to my knees, then my waist and my breasts. I duck my head under and toss my hair back. I throw myself forward and I start swimming. Cold washes like a blessing over the cuts and bruises on my face.
I am crazy. Marie is crazy. I am frightened. Marie is terrifying. I am bad. I am lonely. I am doing awful, terrible selfish things to people who have never hurt me. I am breaking open my fragile sister because she has asked me to, and because inside, I hope to find my forgiveness.
The water doesn’t care.
At last, when my lungs are gasping, I roll over onto my back and float and spread my arms and legs out starfish style. My body is my own. Nothing can touch me here. I am clean and cold, and I am strong.
I roll over onto my belly and start swimming toward shore. The sand seems farther away than I remembered, and the cold is starting to hurt, but I wash up eventually, clumsy and heavy, struggling through the breakers.
There’s somebody there. My eyes are full of lake and I can’t see clearly. It’s a dark, blurred human shape. A man, I think.
The silhouette takes a cigarette from its mouth and tosses it into the sand. I shove my hair back and knuckle the water out of my eyes.
It’s not David. It’s a ghost. Or a dream.
Because it cannot really be Tyler standing here.
3.
No. Impossible. Tyler Prescott is in Chicago. He is not here, grinning at me, handing me a towel from the trunk of my Outback. I never did remember to make him give me back his spare key.
I’m going to kill him.
“What the hell?” I say.
“I wanted to see you,” he answers.
“How’d you even find me?”
“It’s a small town. I asked at the gas station.” He’s from a small town, too, so he knows how it works. You find the oldest place. That’s where the locals are sure to be. You talk about the weather and the roads to establish you’re an okay guy. Then you get around to asking the real question.
“Then, I got lost,” he said. “But I saw your car on the shoulder. You told me about how you guys used to go swimming.” Tyler steps toward me. His fingertips trace my cold cheek, outlining my bruises. “This looks bad.”
I am going to fucking kill him and ship his lifeless corpse back to Northwestern with a note attached saying they shouldn’t let their little boy lecturers out after dark.
I’m going to break down crying.
I’m going to do something, anything, other than what it is I am doing, which is standing here, dripping wet in my bra and bicycle shorts letting him touch me.
“I told you to stay away.”
“Yep. I am a bad, bad, stalker-style boyfriend. And there’s nothing cute or appropriate about any of this.”
His fingers gently brush my stringy wet hair back from my forehead so he can see the cut there.
No one was ever gentle with me. Not my other lovers, not my family. Only this man. This is what undoes me, every time. I know how to fight back against so many kinds of cruelty. Gentleness is beyond me.
The goose pimples come out so fast they hurt. Memories come just as fast. Laughing and dancing and walking together with Tyler under the glare of the lights on the Vegas strip. Hiking through the woods and laughing about wolves and Red Riding Hood and finding a meadow carpeted with wild strawberries.
Waking up in a tangle of sheets and pillows. The ache that comes from wishing this didn’t have to end. The surprise in finding that maybe it doesn’t.
“You should dry off.” Tyler touches the corner of my mouth. “You’re turning kind of blue.”
“You are not the boss of me.”
He grins, that stupid, gorgeous grin that makes him look about seventeen. “Want me to wait by the car?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
And as suddenly and as simply as he arrived, he leaves me alone on the beach with my heap of clothes and the towel he brought me.
Goddamn you for not giving me anything to fight against. Goddamn you for always being where I need you, not where I want you.
I towel myself off, trying to rub away goosebumps and need and failing. I pull my clothes on over my still-damp underwear. There is no way he’s watching, because Tyler wouldn’t do that, but I am not ready to be naked for him even at a distance.
Sure enough, when I climb over the guardrail, Tyler is leaning on the back of his antique blue station wagon, watching the pines, the crows, and the clouds. Not the beach. Not me.
He straightens up as I march past him to the Outback. “So, where are we going?”
“My house.” It hits me that this is the first time I’ve said it like that out loud since I got back. My house.
“Great. You lead.”
I will. And as soon as we’re there, I’ll remember what really brought me up here. I’ll find the right words. Not the truth, just the right words.
Standing in the old house, I’ll be able to send him away again.
4.
We pull into the parking area. I’ve got some flat-pack furniture from Walmart—a couple chairs and a table in the back of my car. Tyler carries boxes so my hands are free to wrestle with the door. We don’t even talk about it. It just happens.
He leans the boxes against the living room wall and surveys my empty domain.
“Needs work,” he says.
“It’s got potential.”
“Definite potential,” he agrees. “Got anything to drink?”
I nod toward the kitchen. He finds the Diet Coke and the plastic bag with the cups and plates I pulled out of their box earlier today. He does not comment on the rum, or the snack trays.
It’s getting warm in here. I wrestle the windows open. I’m going to have to get new screens.
Tyler pulls out his Swiss Army knife and starts slitting furniture boxes open.
I don’t even bother telling him to stop.
We don’t talk much. We don’t need to. I don’t want to. We wrestle with Allen wrenches and stupid directions, and by the time we’re done, there are a couple of uncomfortable chairs and a lopsided table in the rapidly dimming living room. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I glare at him and he shrugs and heads outside to blow smoke at the crows. While he’s gone, I stand on one of the new chairs to screw a lightbulb into the overhead fixture.
Tyler comes back in with a handful of daisies. He fills one of the plastic cups with water and sets the flowers on the table.
“You’re secretly gay,” I say when he comes back in.
“Caught me. All that crazy-hot sex is an act.” He sets the jelly jar on the table, sliding it back and forth a couple of times to find the least sloping spot. “What’s in the other building out there?”
“That’s the old store. We used to sell sandwiches and pie and stuff to the tourists.”
