Forever With You (Silver State Series) (44 page)

“So tell me, Kenna Aldridge,” he says suddenly.  “What were you doing here at – what was it?  8:27 last night?”  He pulls a pink slip of paper out of his pocket as if to verify the time.  “Don’t you have a boyfriend to go home to or something?”

“Nope,” I say, concealing an eye roll.  “Just a cat with whom I share a mutual dislike.”  I scoot my chair back in and resume typing.

He quirks an eyebrow at me.  “That’s sad,” he says. 

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from responding right away.  It’s clear he’s trying to aggravate me, and I’m determined not to become a loose cannon.  “Bite me,” I say.  I’m proud of myself.  It may sound juvenile, but it’s about seventeen times sweeter than my initial thought.

“Just say when,” he replies with an irritating wink.

I USED TO think, like the vast majority of the population, that weekends were never long enough.  Now they positively
drag
.  I’m not sure when the shift occurred.  During my postgraduate residency, which I finished just over a year ago, there were never enough hours in the day to accomplish everything I needed to.  Time was a valuable commodity.  It’s still common for me to feel that pressure during the work week, but now I refuse to take work home with me on the weekends.  Consequently, I often find myself sitting around my house, wondering how best to occupy my time.

I read a lot.  I do Pilates and practice cooking exotic dishes that call for unusual ingredients like saffron and chestnut flour and Goji berries, most of which I have to order online.  I also spend a lot of time with Ralph.  Today we’re at the farmer’s market.  I’m relieved to note that, so far, his mood seems to be on an even keel.

I’m sorting through a crate full of Freestone peaches when Ralph’s cell phone rings.  He still carries one of the older flip phones, so the simple, monophonic ringtone is instantly recognizable.  He checks the display, then holds up a finger as he works the phone open to answer it.  I watch as he wanders away and is swallowed up by the crowd.

From the peaches I move on to another fruit stand.  This part of Washington is known for its orchards, meaning there’s usually a vast abundance of apples, pears, cherries, apricots and plums available.  I hand over a crumpled fiver for a box of Bing cherries, thinking it might be fun to make a pie later.  Cherry is Ralph’s favorite.

By the time I’ve picked my way over to the tomatoes and string beans, Ralph is back at my elbow carrying a bouquet of purple and white wildflowers.  “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady,” he says, holding them out to me with a crooked grin.

“Did you pay for these?” I ask.

“Am I supposed to?” he says, blinking.  “I thought everything here was free.”

I laugh at his dry humor as I take the flowers from him and inhale their fresh scent.  “They’re very pretty, Dad.  Thank you.”

“Need some help?” he asks, nodding at the box of cherries tucked under my arm.  I lift my elbow as he slides his hand beneath the crate, relieving me of the burden.

“Who was on the phone?” I ask, knowing it could only be one of two people.  Ralph has three contacts in his phone, and one of them is me.

“Duff,” he replies.  Duff is his case manager who, for the past three years, has been actively appealing for state disability on Ralph’s behalf.  He’s also grown to become his one and only reliable friend.

I stop under a dark green awning to sample a slice of nectarine.  “Did you ask if he wants to come over later?”  For the past few months, spending Saturday nights with Ralph and Duff has developed into something of a tradition for me.  Typically I make dinner, and then the three of us play cards or watch old movies.

“He’s got a family thing tonight,” Ralph replies.  He swats a fly away from the back of his head.  His expression is hard to read, but I can tell from his tone he’s upset.

“That’s okay, right?” I say carefully.  “He’s allowed to be with
his
family sometimes.”

“Yeah, if that’s really what he’s doing,” Ralph mumbles.

“You don’t believe him?”

He shrugs.  “Seems like he’s been blowing me off a lot lately.  Whatever, though, you know?  I get that I’m not much fun to be around.”

I bite my lip as I fight to suppress the irritation flaring inside of me.  Ralph is a chronic over analyzer, and he’s also prone to spells of scathing self-pity.  I know he expects me to reassure him, but I’m not a therapist, dammit.  Most of the time it’s easier if I just look past his tantrums, but then I feel like a rotten daughter.  Sighing, I tell him what he wants to hear.  “I’m sure that’s not it, Ralph.  We had fun together last week, remember?  He’ll catch up with us again next Saturday.”

My voice sounds disingenuous even to my own ears, but it seems to have placated Ralph.  “Come on,” I tell him.  “Let’s go bake a pie.”

He nods, then plants a hard kiss against my temple.  “I love you, kiddo.  Never forget that, okay?”

“I won’t.”

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Ralph is snoring in the recliner while the closing credits roll on
Raiders of the Lost Ark
.  I made fettuccine for dinner, and I’ve just finished scrubbing the dishes.  The cherry pie has twenty minutes left to bake.

I lean against the counter, staring into space, lost in thought.  I think about work.  I think about Linus the Maintenance Guy.  And I think about Jeff.

Jeff and I became best friends in eighth grade when we rode the same school bus.  We remained inseparable throughout high school and kept in close touch for the first two years of college.  Jeff majored in computer science at State while I went for General Studies at UNC.  We spent every weekend together, studying or just hanging out.

Somewhere along the line – it’s impossible to pinpoint when – we began to see each other differently.  I can still remember with startling clarity the night I spent sleeping next to him in his bedroom in Raleigh.  Sharing a bed wasn’t anything new for us – it was something we’d done dozens and dozens of times before.  That night, though, there was a shift in the air.  For the first time, I became aware of a palpable, crackling electricity between us, and I felt the overwhelming desire to touch him in some way.  I was paralyzed with fear that night, partly because I’d been terrified my feelings were one-sided.  Looking back now, I’m sure that wasn’t the case.  In fact, I’m almost certain the transformation in our friendship was apparent to Jeff many moons before I caught on.

I close my eyes and try to picture Jeff as he would look now, six years older.  I envision him in one of those bulky headsets worn by pilots, with aviator sunglasses and that same boyish grin that stole my heart over a decade ago at the back of a rusty yellow school bus.

Seeing Ralph is still sound asleep, I leave the kitchen for the back of the house.  I slide open the closet door in my bedroom and push up onto my toes.  My hands reach instinctively for the shoebox I know is there, shoved all the way to the back of the shelf.

Once the box is in my hands, I stumble backward with it and lower myself onto the foot of my unmade bed.  I swipe my hand over the lid, mopping away the thick coating of dust.

The box is a time capsule.  It contains an assortment of mementos, reminders of the better parts of my past.  The light blue honor cord I wore on the day I graduated from high school.  A birthday card from Ralph.  A sand dollar and a conch shell from a trip to the Outer Banks.  A beaded friendship bracelet from Taryn.  A faded photo of Jeff…

I lift the photo from the box.  It’s faded and curled, having been exposed to heat and sunlight and moisture during the varying course of its lifetime.  I rub my thumb over the time stamp in the bottom right corner – February 17, 2006.  Jeff’s eighteenth birthday.  He’d just been accepted to NC State, and I’d gotten him a baseball cap with the black and red logo emblazoned on the front.  In the picture, he’s wearing the cap pushed far back on his head, and his left arm is wrapped around my shoulders.  My arms are cinched tightly around his waist, and I’m smiling up at him, my chin resting against his chest.  The grin on his face is radiantly happy, like he’s been caught mid-laugh.  I remember the picture was snapped by Jeff’s mom, Sara Lennox, as we were standing in her kitchen.  My memory of what we were laughing about has faded.

Linus

THE SOUND OF knocking is nearly inaudible over the drone of the electric clippers I use to trim my beard.  I flip the off switch and shake the clippers over the sink, then watch as they rain hair into the smooth basin.  When the knocking starts again, I pull my towel more snugly around my waist and cross the creaking wooden floors to the front door.  A quick glance through the peephole tells me it’s Toby.

“You’re early,” I say as I open the door and step back to let him in.

“By like five minutes.”

I check my watch – 10:07.  “More like twenty-five.”

“Need me to leave and come back?”

“No, but you’ll wanna turn your head if you don’t wanna see me naked.”

“Been there, done that,” he replies as he flops down on the sofa.

“Help yourself to a drink.”  I walk back into my bedroom and let the towel drop, then step into a clean pair of boxer briefs.  “What’s the name of the group we’re seeing?” I call out into the living room.

“Strangers With Candy.  They’re supposed to be indie alt rock or some shit like that.”

I chuckle.  “Like the name.  Did you say Joan knows ‘em?”

“Knows their drummer at least.  I think she used to date him.”

I laugh.  “Is there any man east of the Cascades she hasn’t dated?  Besides me, of course.”

“I think you’re the only one, man.”

I zip my jeans and jerk a black t-shirt over my head, then carry my boots and a rolled up pair of socks out to the loveseat across from Toby.  He sniffs the air.  “Are you wearing
cologne
?”

“Fuck no,” I reply, stuffing my foot in my left boot and yanking on the laces.  “That’s just my natural musk.”

“You naturally smell like flowers and cinnamon?”

“Jealous?”

He laughs and shakes his head.  “Oh!  Dude, guess who’s back in town.”

“Who?” I ask.

“I’ll give you a hint – her dad works for your dad.”

My heart judders to a stop.  I’m still bent in half, tying my right boot, but now my eyes are screwed to Toby’s.  “Seriously?  Jenn?”  He nods slowly, like he’s second guessing his decision to tell me in the first place. 

Jennifer Teller, or Jenn as her friends call her, is the only girl I’ve ever dated for more than two consecutive months.  We hooked up for the first time two and a half years ago, when she was here visiting her dad from Portland.  Stan Teller is the Service Manager for Redgrave BMW, and he couldn’t wait to show off his pretty, fresh-faced daughter at the company Christmas party.  She was nineteen at the time, three years younger than me.  Her short red dress and feminine curves had caught my eye, and she’d been fun and quick to laugh.  It was a good night.

We didn’t officially start dating until the following summer, when Jenn decided to take a year off from school to move in with Stan and work as a receptionist for the dealership.  We had four
really good
months together.  She was vivacious and funny, not to mention good in bed. 

Then, sometime after the start of fall, something changed.  She went from laidback to neurotic, from self-sufficient to clingy.  By Thanksgiving I felt like I was I was drowning in her constant presence.  Her relative youth, which had seemed endearing only months before, now struck me as childish.

I stuck it out through the holidays, but when she got wasted on New Year’s Eve and fucked Marshall Greer, I decided enough was enough.  I’d heard what happened from the other partygoers, but by that point I was about a million miles past caring.  I heard her out the following day, when she showed up on my doorstep in tears, but I didn’t sugarcoat the fact I considered us finished.

Jenn spent the following spring trying every trick in the book to recapture my attention.  On those rare occasions when she succeeded, I was more irritated than I was flattered, and finally I mustered the nerve to tell her so.  She’d retreated back to Portland, where I assumed she returned to school.  I haven’t heard mention of her in close to a year.

I heave a sigh, then double knot my laces and stand up.  “Ready to go?” I ask.  “Let’s go get a table.  And a drink.”

“She might be there tonight, man.  You know she got to be pretty tight with Joan.”

I dismiss him with a shrug.  “Don’t know, don’t care.  I’m not holding a grudge.  If she’s there I’ll say hi.”

STRANGERS WITH CANDY is midway through their first set when Toby nudges me and nods toward the bar’s front entrance.  I take a long swallow of my beer before turning to look.  Sure enough, there she is, dressed in the mini-est of miniskirts and the highest of high heels.  She looks good, just like she always did.  Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, leaving her shoulders bare.  As a guy, I can appreciate her feminine beauty, but I’m pleased to say I no longer feel the stirrings of any deeper attraction.

I turn back around and wait for her to come over.  It’s not a long wait.  Half the people at our table stand up to greet her with hugs and enthusiastic high fives, but I can feel her eyes on me.  When she works her way around to me, I reach up for an awkward one-armed hug, which she returns by pressing her tits into my shoulder and burying her face in my neck.  I notice she still wears the same sickly sweet perfume she did a year and a half ago.

“Good to see you, Linus,” she says in my ear before pulling away.

“You, too,” I reply non-committally.  “What brings you back to Brighthill?”

“I’m just here for the summer.  I leave for Rome in August – study abroad.”

“Wow,” I say, actually somewhat impressed.  I wouldn’t have guessed she had it in her to live in a different country.  The darker part of me wonders how long she’ll last.  “What is it you’re studying again?”

Her forehead puckers in a frown – apparently she’s pissed I forgot.  “Art history,” she replies.

Diana calls out then, gesturing for Jenn to take the empty seat next to her.  Thankfully it’s at the opposite end of the table.  Jenn shoots a pointed glance at me.  When I don’t argue, she skirts around the table to join Di and her deadbeat boyfriend Micah.