Rumble (31 page)

Short week or no, it’s a crap

four days till the weekend rolls

around again. The few bright spots

I found all revolved around the girl

who loves me (she promises), but

who I can’t quite accept as mine.

I’m not sure what it is. Not looks.

Alexa is striking. Not intellect.

She’s smart, but not in a show-offy

kind of way. More like she understands

every off-the-wall reference you throw

at her. Definitely not the sex. That one

night was incredible, on many levels.

I crave that kind of intimacy

again, although maybe I’m afraid

of it, too. Because if love sans sex

could eclipse me so completely,

then annihilate me when it’s taken

away, imagine the sheer power of love

coupled with passion, raw exchanges

of energy. A give-and-take of life force.

Scary, and Anyway

I’ve got some healing

to do—hard seeing Hayden

every day but not being

able to talk to her, or touch

her, or inhale her perfume.

Alexa understands that,

but she’s also insistent

about walking next to me

if we share a hallway, or

sitting with me at lunch

if I hang out on campus.

They say puppies are good

for mending broken hearts,

she joked once.
Woof, woof.

You can pet me if you want.

The only other person

I’ve talked to is Marshall,

but he’s so wrapped up in

his new girlfriend, Holly,

about all he was good for

was a semi-impersonal,

There’s a better one out

there, man. Go get her.

By Saturday

I still have no desire to go get

anyone or do much of anything.

But I can’t lie around the house,

feeling sorry for myself and trying

to avoid my computer. I mostly

managed it last week, but every

now and again, curiosity tugged

me over to that screen, and Hayden’s

posts. Believe it or not, she found

a way to blame God for the breakup.

Status update: single. God spoke

to my heart and told me I’ve been

distracted. My relationship with

Matt weakened my dedication

to the Lord, and made me forget

what he expects of me. I’ve been selfish!

Selfish? Duh. But I seriously doubt

she’d see things that way without

some outside counseling. Considering

the rest of her confession, I have no

doubt who’s been playing therapist.

Hayden hears God when Judah speaks.

Can’t Stay Here

Obsessing about it. Might as well

go out to the range, see if Uncle

Jessie could use some help.

I didn’t ask for pay last week and

I won’t ask this week, either. But

maybe it could work into a summer

job. I’ve been lucky up till now.

Mom didn’t want me to work.

Concentrate on school,
she insisted.

So she might have saved up a nest

egg. But all I’ve got in the bank

is birthday money and allowance.

On a whim, and a strange one, I pick

up the phone and call Alexa. “Hey.

Did I wake you? Good. Just wondering

if you want to work on your shooting.

I’m headed that way. Only caveat

is we might be tied up most of the day.”

She jumps at the chance, and the half

of me who’s scared warns the happy

half that I might have just made a mistake.

Turns Out

She’s nothing but great

company.

We talk about school,

past, present, and,

perhaps, future.

She’s set on the media

arts program at Lane

Community College.

I tell her I have no clue

where I’ll be post-summer.

I mention my parents’

implosion, omitting

the ugly “whys.”

She says her parents

would rather fight

to the death

than admit defeat.

We gossip about people

we know, including

Marshall and Holly,

an unlikely pair,

but seeming very happy

enmeshed in coupledom.

We avoid the subject

of Hayden and her posse.

But then Lainie comes up,

which reminds me of Vince,

and I think maybe Alexa

could offer me advice.

I give her the main talking

points. “I was positive

it was his fault, and now

I totally feel like an asshole,

you know? Do you think

I should try to apologize,

or just leave it alone?”

She’s so quiet I can almost

hear her brain working.

Finally, she says,
If you get

the chance to try and make

something right, you should

take it. What’s the worst

that could happen?

“He could dislocate my jaw?”

Or he might be relieved

that you finally know the truth
.

File That Under

“Things I Never Even Considered.”

Perspective is an amazing thing.

Sometimes it takes distance to find

it, and when you’re not used to

looking very far beyond your invented

walls, it might take a fresh pair of eyes.

Speaking of eyes, when we go

through the office, Uncle Jessie turns

his away from his customer long

enough to notice who’s with me.

He smiles and winks, and I shrug.

If it makes him happy, I’m happy.

The indoor range is hopping today,

almost every lane in use. We wait

a half hour until one clears, and I

spend that time reminding Alexa

of the basics, and hammering her

on safety, shooting this close to others.

When she’s all set up, I watch her

for a few minutes. Her innate ability

is impressive. I tell her to stay as long

as she likes, I’m going to see if Uncle

Jessie needs any help, and I leave her

to her own devices. She’ll be fine.

It’s Been Almost a Week

Since I left Uncle Jessie

sweating under a sofa throw.

He should look better and

I suppose he does, but only

marginally. “Still got that bug?”

He’s sitting in an office chair,

and I don’t think he wants to

get up unless he has to.
Don’t

know what’s wrong with me.

Just getting old, I guess.

“This may be an off-the-wall

suggestion, but have you seen

a doctor? They get paid to tell

people what’s wrong with them.”

Screw that. I’d have to go all

the way into Eugene. No time

for that. Not for a couple little

ass aches I can fix with aspirin.

“Well, keep it in mind. And

if you need someone to watch

the place, I can take a day off

school. And while I’ve got you

on that subject, let’s talk about

employment. Spring break’s

coming up, and summer’s not

far behind. You said something

about an employee, and I could

use a job. I know the ropes—”

Hey. I didn’t pay you for last

week, did I? Goddamn if I’m not

getting senile, too.
He pushes

down on the armrest to stand,

wincing in pain with the effort.

“Sit. I don’t need pay for helping

out for a couple of hours. But if

you hire me, you can toss a few

bucks my way. The Department

of Labor frowns on slavery.”

Smart-ass. I think we can work

something out. Especially if you

bring that girlfriend to work

with you every once in a while.

I don’t correct him. She may

not be my actual girlfriend, but

she’s the closest thing I’ve got,

and that’s good enough for now.

It’s Close to Six

By the time I drop off Alexa

and make it home. It was a good day.

I got a job—will work weekends

and holidays, paid, for my uncle.

I made a decision to apologize

to Vince, damn the consequences.

That was encouraged by the girl

I’m starting to like a whole lot.

Why did I have to lose my heart

to Hayden, and when will I get it

back to give away again? Why is life

so damn complicated? Dad’s car

is gone, but when I go inside the house,

I hear someone moving around

down the hall in one of the bedrooms.

I exit quietly, go to my truck, retrieve

the Glock. Hoping the intruder

isn’t a better shot, I move stealthily

toward the noise, which is coming

from Luke’s room. I hold the gun

in front of me, release the safety.

One. Two. Three. I rush through

the door. “Stop what you’re doing,

or I will shoot. Do. Not. Move.”

The woman screams, but freezes.

It’s Lorelei. When I lower the gun,

I notice my hands are shaking.

“What are you doing in here?”

But once I get the chance to study

the room, it becomes obvious.

Sorry I freaked you out. I’m just

packing up your brother’s stuff.

“No you’re not. You have no right.

In fact, get the fuck out right now.”

Listen. Your dad and I discussed

this and he told me to go ahead.

Adrenaline

And more than a weak shot

of anger have skyrocketed

my heart rate. “My dad? Why?

And where is he?” Before

she can answer, it hits me full-bore.

“I could have shot you,

you know. Somebody else

with his finger on this trigger,

you might be dead. What the fuck

were you thinking?

What the fuck was
Dad
thinking?

Why would he leave you alone

here? And why are you messing

with Luke’s stuff?”

I lift the Glock and her eyes

go wide. “Don’t be ridiculous.

I’m putting the safety on.”

Take a deep breath, okay?

You’re hyperventilating.

Your dad should have told

you already. . . .

Déjà vu.

Apparently

Lorelei is moving in.

Her husband got their house.

She’s been living in an apartment.

She and Dad feel ready to cohabitate.

Luke’s room is a shrine.

Everything in it is a reminder.

No one can move on like this.

Luke would want us to stop grieving.

Lorelei needs an office.

She’s a medical transcriptionist.

She works from home, so, yippee!

She’ll be here most of the time.

Dad went into Eugene.

To get more packing boxes.

To buy paint, rollers, and brushes.

He should be back any minute.

Lorelei can’t stand mauve.

My Good Day

Disintegrates like dry manure.

She has already boxed most

of the clothes from Luke’s closet.

But the bed is intact, still made

up with the same sheets it had

on the day he died. The clock

on the wall blows its whistle.

Six o’clock. “Will you leave

the rest until tomorrow? I want

to sleep in here tonight.” I need

to say a final goodbye whether

or not any specter of him is here.

She actually lowers her eyes,

a renegade wolf seeking her place

in a new pack.
Of course. Did

you have dinner? I can fix you

something. I’m a decent cook.

Your dad bought groceries.

“Yeah, I know. I happen to live

here.” At least, for the time being.

“Look, Lorelei—”

Call me Lori. Everyone does.

Lorelei is such a mouthful.

Three syllables are a mouthful.

“Please don’t interrupt me.

I’m going to tell you the truth,

Lorelei. I think your relationship

with Dad is contemptible. I know