Infinite Repeat (4 page)

Chapter 5

April 5, five years ago

T
he day came at me like a train collision, one you could see approaching for miles but couldn’t do anything about. My dad wasn’t just dead anymore. He’d been dead for an entire year. And my mom had picked today to tell me about her new boyfriend, as if she had suffered through a waiting period for replacing Dad and was relieved that it was finally over.

She stared at herself in the hallway mirror as she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. “Dave and I won’t be out too late.”

Dave. The guy who lived downstairs and always “accidentally” bumped into Mom and me at the mailboxes. He wore cop sunglasses and called me “buddy.” Probably listened to country music. I did not like Dave.

“I can’t believe you’re going out tonight,” I said. “It’s not right.” I pulled the brim of my Cardinals cap down low over my eyes. I couldn’t even bear to watch my mom fussing over her looks to impress some other guy. Trinity sat next to me on the couch, her pale face impassive and unreadable.

“Dr. Harper would disagree with you,” Mom said.

Our shrink visits had dried up a couple of months ago, insurance covering only enough sessions for Dr. Harper to offer us mood-stabilizing drugs and pamphlets on grief. I had quit taking my meds about two weeks after I started. I figured Trin probably had too.

“The timing is unfortunate, but he has ballet tickets that are only good for tonight,” my mom continued. “I offered to do something as a family, but no one was interested, remember?”

She had a point. I had straight-up refused to go to the cemetery or to go see the remaining members of Dad’s band play without him. Either activity would emphasize just how gone Dad really was. How was that supposed to make me feel better?

Mom’s voice softened. “I don’t want to abandon you two if you want me here. Would you rather I reschedule for a different time?” She ducked into the bathroom. I heard her plug in her hair-straightening thing. Wow, she was really going all out for Dave. Suddenly, I hated him even more.

“I would rather you reschedule for never,” I said.

“Well, this isn’t up to you,” she snapped, returning to the living room. “I’m trying here, Micah, but I’m allowed to have a life. Your father would want me to be happy.”

“He’d want you to have higher standards.”

“You need to watch your tone, young man.” She glared at me. “There’s nothing wrong with Dave.”

“What about that story you used to tell? How you met Dad at a concert when you were only seventeen. How you knew before you graduated that he was your
one true love.
” My voice was drenched with sarcasm. “Did you tell that story to Dave yet?”

“Can I go to my room?” Trinity’s face was still a stone mask. Even her voice was granite.

“Me too,” I added.

My mom sighed. “Fine. Go. But Micah, are you going to watch your sister or do I need to call a sitter?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Trinity said. She shuffled off toward her room.

“We’ll be fine,” I added. “Just the
two
of us.” It was a hurtful thing to say, but Mom was doing hurtful things, so I didn’t care. Besides, she had Dave to console her.

She ducked back into the bathroom, but not before I saw her face crumple. Her voice wavered as it floated through the open door. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.” I followed Trinity down the hallway, slammed the door to my room behind me, and punched the lock. I didn’t come out until I knew for sure my mom was gone for the evening.

Trinity didn’t come out at all.

I tried to distract myself—I tried music, I tried TV. I even tried to do some homework. But there was no escaping what today was. My whole room was practically a shrine to Dad—his four guitars lined up against the wall and all his old punk CDs still scattered across my dresser. I had other things too, which my mom didn’t know about—notebooks full of guitar tabs I couldn’t begin to play, the newspaper article from the day after he died. One tiny column on page four. That was what my dad’s life was reduced to.

I slipped the thin piece of paper out of a shoebox, but I could read only the headline, “Local Guitarist Killed in Robbery,” before tears blurred my vision. I shoved the box back under my bed, but Dad was still everywhere. The room started to feel like it was running out of air. I had to get out of the house. Flinging open my bedroom door, I hurried down the hallway and knocked on my sister’s door.

She opened it a crack. “Yeah?”

“If I go for a bike ride, will you be okay?”

Trinity lifted her sharp chin and glanced up at me with her big hazel eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

“And you won’t tell Mom?”

She shook her head quickly. “Maybe when you get back we can play Flat Cat?”

Flat Cat was this old board game my dad had found at a garage sale. It had this doghouse and you had to roll a die and turn the doghouse so many clicks and occasionally a giant pit bull would come racing out and knock over your game piece. We never had much money for toys and stuff, but Dad was great at finding used games and movies for Trinity and me.

“Yeah, we can definitely do that,” I said.

“Okay. If Mom calls I’ll tell her you’re in the bathroom and then call you on your phone.”

“Thanks, Trin.”

My sister gave me a wan smile and then closed her door.

Grabbing my bike from the storage locker in the basement, I took off down the street, heading for the nearest park. Two girls from school were kicking a soccer ball around. They both looked up at me as I rode past, but neither of them spoke. That was my world since last year. Everyone looked at me but no one said anything. I was surrounded, but alone.

The suburbs of Hazelton where I lived grew dense, the apartment buildings and ranch-style houses with their green lawns giving way to strip malls and brick houses tucked tightly together. The sun had almost completely disappeared, and I realized it had to be after nine o’clock. I didn’t know how long my mom would be on her date, but I figured I still had an hour, at least.

A redbrick house loomed in front of me, its windows boarded over, a notice on bright yellow paper pinned to the door. I hopped off my bike for a closer look.

CONDEMNED
, the notice read.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
. I can’t remember why I wanted to go inside. I think maybe I just wanted to be alone in my aloneness for once. No one staring. No one judging.

No one pitying.

There were deep gouges in the front door where someone had jimmied the lock. I tried the knob and the door creaked open. Activating the light on my phone, I scanned the room: water-stained walls, threadbare carpet. The living-room floor was dotted with pieces of broken wood and shards of glass. I crept across the carnage into a kitchen where half of the appliances had been ripped out, leaving only a tangle of hoses and wires behind. At the corner of the kitchen, a door hung crooked on its hinges, a set of stairs beyond it.

They led to an unfinished basement littered with broken beer bottles and the remains of a fire, as if someone had squatted there recently. I wasn’t afraid of homeless people, but I wasn’t in a hurry to cross paths with any of them either.

I headed back up the stairs and through the kitchen, pausing in the doorway leading into the living room. I hadn’t seen it when I first entered, but one entire wall was made of mirrored tiles. I reached out to touch them, staring at the way my face distorted in the faint light from my phone. Before I even knew what I was doing, I picked up a piece of broken wood and swung it with all my might at the mirror.

If only we hadn’t stayed for the headlining band.

My reflection shattered into tiny fragments. I swung the board again.

If only there hadn’t been traffic.

And again.

If only I hadn’t been thirsty.

I wound up like a baseball player and took swing after swing at the mirror. Ten times. Twenty times. Each time the warped wood slammed into the glimmering surface, I felt a little better.

Until the cops came bursting through the front door.

At least they didn’t use the handcuffs that time.

Chapter 6

S
omeone coughs and I jump. I realize I’ve been staring down at this bowl of quiche custard for a very long time.

It’s Lainey. She peeks over my shoulder, the ends of her reddish blonde hair nearly ending up in the bowl. A smile plays at her lips. “You lose a contact in there or something?”

“Sorry. I kind of zoned out for a second.”

She leans in close to me, so close I can see the freckles hiding under her makeup. “Are you high? Your eyes are red.”

I step back. “No, I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep. I—”

Lainey cuts me off with a flick of her wrist. “Save it, Stoner Boy.” Her smile widens. “I don’t need an alibi. Just need another pan of Caribou Cookies for up front.” She rests her elbows on the prep table and leans back while she waits for me, managing to show every millimeter of PG-rated skin possible.

“One second.” I slide into the cooler where we keep the extra cookies and return with a tray of painted sugar cookies shaped like little caribou. The whole coffee shop is done in an Alaskan theme. Besides the cookies, which are our most popular item, we sell things like Death-by-Chocolate-Moose Brownies, Alpine Slammer Sandwiches, etc.

Lainey takes the tray out of my hand, spins around, and heads for the front. Halfway through the prep kitchen, the toe of her left sandal hits a crack in the floor and she almost drops the entire pan of cookies.

“Way to go,” I say, the beginnings of a smile forming on my face for the first time today. “I thought jocks were supposed to be coordinated.”

“Whatever, Two-Hour Quiche Custard,” Lainey retorts. She glances back at me before she turns the corner. “Better hope I don’t drop them or your prep list just got longer.”

My eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She smiles impishly, and for a second I see a flash of the girl I used to know. The girl she used to be back before life changed both of us.

A few hours later, my shift is over and I’m waiting in line behind Lainey at the time clock. I pull out my phone and start to text Amber. Then I change my mind and decide to call her. As the phone rings in my ear, Lainey flips her hair back over her shoulders and strides off in her insanely tall sandals. I think about her almost dropping a whole tray of cookies and laugh under my breath.

Amber picks up on the fourth ring. I can hear Eli playing drums in the background.

“Sorry,” I yell into the phone as I punch my employee number into the computer. “I forgot you were practicing all day.”

There’s thumping and then the squeak of a door and then, thankfully, silence. “It’s okay,” she says. “I can talk.”

“Look, I was really out of it last night.” I head for Denali’s exit. “Obviously, since I didn’t invite you to come in.”

“So come to Chicago,” Amber pleads. “We can have a whole night alone together—no sisters, no sneaking around.” She pauses. “And it would help to have you there. This is all kind of scary for me.”

“You? Scared? You just got back from recording an actual album. You’re legit now.”

“Maybe.” She pauses. “But it’s easier to do studio stuff. Onstage there’s no redos, and this is our first show since we got the deal.”

“I’ll try to find someone to work for me.” I pause as a convertible Mustang backs out of a nearby spot and almost clips me. It’s Lainey and her boyfriend. Figures. I don’t really know him, but he seems oblivious most of the time. I resist the urge to give him the finger as he drives by. “But what about before then?” I ask Amber. “Your parents probably still don’t let you go out during the week, huh?”

“No. They’re demanding even more family time than usual since they know I’m going to be touring soon.” She sighs. “But tonight could work if you want to come by. Janne wanted us to work on a couple of songs, but we’re sounding pretty good. We should wrap things up by six.”

“Cool.” Hanging out with Amber at her parents’ house probably won’t mean much quality alone-time, but at least I’ll get to see her and make up for last night. “Don’t eat, okay? I can stop by Sub Station on the way to your house.”

“Ooh, delish!” She pauses. “Will you bring me one of those chocolate chunk cookies they sell? Janne was like the Diet Police in Cali and I am dying for chocolate.”

“I can probably handle that,” I say.

“Perfecto. See you in a little while.”

Right as I get to my car, I get a better idea. Turning around, I jog back into the coffee shop and nearly bump into Ebony on her way out. She’s got an army-green messenger bag slung over one shoulder and a to-go cup full of soda in her other hand.

“Where’s Mr. Mitchell?” I ask.

“He’s in the office doing the orders.”

“Do you think he’d let me cook some stuff here to bring to Amber?”

“Aww.” Ebony pats my cheek with her free hand. “Such a quick learner. I’m sure he wouldn’t care as long as you pay for what you use.”

“I might need a favor from you too,” I say hesitantly.

She arches her pierced eyebrow. “I’m not going to play waitress. Sorry.”

“No. I need some white wine for a sauce I want to make.”

“Oh, sure. I think I have a couple of bottles in my purse.” She fakes like she’s going to pull wine out of her messenger bag and then turns back to face me. “Sorry. I guess I drank them at lunch.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, I say, “I was thinking maybe you’d buy me some.”

Ebony cackles. “You have got to be the only kid in the history of ever who asks someone to buy him booze so he can
cook
with it.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m lame. Whatever. Will you do it?”

“Why not?” She’s still chuckling under her breath. “Will one of those little single servings work? And you can dump what you don’t use? I’m sure an adult beverage would go great with whatever you’re planning, but I don’t want you driving around with an open container.”

“No worries. I only need a little for the sauce and Amber doesn’t even drink.”

“A rock star who doesn’t drink?”

“She’s far from straitlaced, but her dad’s a recovering alcoholic,” I say.

“Ah.” Ebony nods. “Well, yeah, I have time to hook you up. But find out from Keith if it’s okay first.”

Even though Ebony is technically my boss, she’s only about five years older than me and she jokes around like we’re equals, so I feel comfortable talking to her. It’s a little different with Keith—Mr. Mitchell. He seems like a nice guy, but he doesn’t chat much with his employees—especially not the kitchen crew. Sometimes I wonder if he’s afraid of us, or if he’s back there in the office googling our criminal records instead of processing payroll and ordering supplies. I guess with all our tattoos and piercings (and C-4’s foot-long beard), we might look a little intimidating to the average dad, but hey, he let Ebony hire us.

I stroll into the office, doing my best to look nonthreatening, reminding myself that it’s no big deal if Mr. Mitchell says no. I can always just get the Sub Station food as planned, and it’s not like Amber will be disappointed.

He’s sitting in front of his computer, which is so old it still has a disk drive. I knock on the door frame and he looks up at me. “Everything okay, Micah?”

“Yeah.” I tuck my hands into my pockets. “I was wondering if I could cook something here. Uh, it’s a surprise for my girlfriend. I want to take it over to her house.”

“Something off the menu?”

“Probably not.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “I mean, the menu is great and all, but I was thinking about stuffing chicken breasts and making a white wine beurre blanc to go on top. And then if it’s okay, I wanted to do a chocolate mousse cake for dessert? Kind of like one of our brownies, only amped up a little.”

“Wow,” Mr. Mitchell says. “That’s an elaborate meal. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s a congratulations thing. Her band just recorded an album.”

“Impressive.” Mr. Mitchell takes off his glasses and polishes them on his shirt. “Well, we don’t have wine, of course, but you’re welcome to help yourself to some chicken and whatever else you need. Just make a list of what you use and I’ll charge you the wholesale price.”

“Awesome,” I say. “Thanks a lot. I’ll use the prep area and stay out of everyone’s way.”

“Are you going to need help with anything?” Mr. Mitchell asks.

“Nope. I got it. I found the dessert recipe online last night and it’s pretty straightforward.”

“Nice. Let me know how it works out. I’ve been meaning to update the menu someday.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Be sure to clean up after you’re done.”

“Will do. And Ebony said she’d get me the wine. But only for cooking,” I add quickly.

“Right. Only for cooking.” Mr. Mitchell smiles wryly. “I do remember what it was like to be young, you know.”

“Yeah?” I fiddle with my barbed-wire bracelet. “I mean, of course you do. You’re not that old.”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Good to know.”

Shit. Did I just call my boss old? “Thanks again,” I say hurriedly. “Bye.”

I duck out of the office and start gathering everything I’ll need before Mr. Mitchell can change his mind. I’m going to make tonight a do-over of last night. First, I will rock Amber’s world with an amazing dinner. And afterward I’ll tell her about April 5th, about why I was so weird, hopefully without her phone blowing up a thousand times during the conversation.