Savage Lane (21 page)

Ignoring the giggling, he was pouring a glass of Pepsi in the kitchen when his mother came in. She was forty-six but looked more like sixty. A few years ago she found out she had breast cancer and had to go through chemo, radiation, all that shit, but it wasn’t the cancer that was sucking the life out of her—it was living with Raymond, putting up with bullshit every fucking day. Even before she was diagnosed, she’d looked older, thinner, more stressed out than other moms. Her face especially looked old—she had permanent wrinkles on her forehead and she looked like she was making a sad face even when she wasn’t.

But now she was sad—crying, her face wet with tears.

“I hate him,” she said. “I hate him so much.”

She went to the door leading to the deck in the backyard, like she was going to go out, but she just stood there, staring out.

Owen gulped down some more Pepsi, then said, “So leave him already.”

Her mother didn’t turn around or answer, but Owen heard her crying. He also heard Deb giggling, but the crying was louder.

“I’m serious,” Owen said. “It’s time already. What’s he going to have to do before you walk out, kill me?”

“Stop it,” she said.

“Or kill Kyle?”

“I said stop it.”

“You know it’s gonna happen,” Owen said. “It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened already. And what about you? How much more abuse can you take?”

Now she turned, whispering but it seemed like she was yelling, “Keep your voice down.”

“What, you’re afraid he’s gonna hear me?” Owen said. “Ooh, I’m so scared, Big Bad Raymond’s gonna beat me up. See, I don’t have to run away from him anymore. I used to be weak, but I’m bigger now, I’m stronger. I can stand up to him now, and you can too. You can say, ‘Enough,’ and do what you should’ve done years ago. Kick him the fuck out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “You just do it, don’t even think about it.” He whispered, “When he’s out of the house just change the locks, the fat fuck won’t be able to get in. If he comes back you get a restraining order. He won’t be able to hurt you or us ever again.”

“I’m sorry, Owen.” Sobbing, his mother came over and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. It was weird, freaky—he couldn’t remember the last time his mother had hugged him and it was shocking how skeleton-like her body was.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said, still sobbing.

His mother never apologized to him before for anything, and he didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. It was silent except for his mom’s crying and Deb’s giggling.

Finally, feeling nothing, Owen said, “I’m sorry too, Ma. I mean I want to forgive you for everything you did to me, for not being there for me all the times I needed you, but I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

More silence, then his mother said, “That’s not why I’m sorry.”

Owen was confused. “It isn’t?”

“No,” she said. “I mean I’m sorry about that too, but now I’m sorry that…” She waited then said, “I’m sorry that you… that you have to move out.”

Now Owen was completely confused. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“It’s for the best, it really is,” she said. “It’s causing too much trouble for all of us with you living here. It’ll be better for me, it’ll be better for Kyle too.”

Owen felt a rush of pain, of hurt, and he didn’t know where it was coming from or what it meant. All he knew was that he’d felt this way before, and he was feeling this way again, and that it sucked.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he said, feeling like he’d asked this question dozens of times before, because he probably had.

“Please don’t make this any harder, just try to understand,” she said. “I did the best I could, I tried to protect you, but things are different now. You’re working now, making money, and you can find something else over the winter. You should have your own space, be independent.”

“Bullshit.” Owen’s face was hot. “This isn’t about me, it’s never about me. It’s about you, you and that stupid asshole. You’re afraid of him so you take it out on us.”

“Quiet,” his mother said.

“Fuck you.” Owen sprayed spit in his mother face. Deb’s giggling was suddenly louder, and he shouted at her, “Shut up!” and then back to his mother, “You don’t care about me or Kyle. You’re the worst mother in the world cause you don’t give a shit about your kids.”

“I only want to do what’s best for everybody,” she said.

Owen was maybe five years old, throwing a bowl of macaroni and cheese at his mother, the bowl shattering on the kitchen floor, and then he was back in the present, saying, “So this is
your
idea for me to move out? This is what
you
want?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed her bony arm. “You’re full of shit. He told you to do this, so you’re doing it. You’re like his fucking pawn. You have no life of your own.”

“That isn’t true.”

“You have no idea how much I hate you,” Owen said, and then he smelled Raymond’s reeking sweat as Raymond grabbed him by his arm from behind and yanked him away. Owen let go of his mother’s arm, knowing that he’d need to defend himself, but it was too late, Raymond had already hit him in the nose. There was a crunch but the pain didn’t hit yet. Then Raymond hit him again, in the cheek, and Owen lost his balance. He reached back with his hands, trying to brace his fall, but he was going down too fast, and his head slammed against the stove. Dazed on the floor, he couldn’t tell if the back of his head hurt or not because his nose and face hurt so much it was hard to feel anything else.

Raymond was over him saying, “…out of this house tonight, you hear me? I see your face around here again, I’ll break the rest of it.”

Owen was squirming on the kitchen floor, touching his face, feeling all the blood, then seeing it on his hands. He was groaning in pain, but telling himself that he couldn’t cry, he couldn’t give Raymond the satisfaction. He wanted his mother to hit Raymond, or at least scream at him, but when he looked up his mother wasn’t even there. She’d probably gone upstairs, and left him alone with Raymond, the way she always did. He’d once heard Raymond tell his mother, “The boy needs a man’s discipline.” Now Raymond was standing over him, hands on hips.

“Come on, get up,” he said. “You’ve got some packing to do.”

The pain in his nose was still out of control, but he struggled to his feet. Raymond hadn’t budged, his big gut sticking out, and Owen cocked his fist and tried to hit him in his stupid face, but Raymond moved out of the way at the last second and the punch totally missed and, worse, Owen lost his balance again and fell back on the floor.

Then he was up again, but this time he didn’t get up on his own. Raymond had grabbed him and was pulling him, by the hair, through the kitchen, out toward the front door. Owen was practically running to keep up and not get a big chunk of hair of his hair pulled out. Then Raymond opened the door and shoved Owen out of the house. Owen stumbled off the stoop and fell hard onto the stone path leading up to the house.

He struggled, finally got up. The door was closed, but Owen had his keys. He could try to go back in, but Raymond had probably put the chain on; then he thought, why bother? He’d had it with Raymond and his mother and he just wanted to get away from them. But this time he wouldn’t just go into the city for a few hours. This time he’d stay away forever.

He got in the Sentra and sped away. Blood was dripping over his mouth, down his chin, and some went onto the steering wheel. For a while he was too busy cursing Raymond and just wanting to get the hell away that he didn’t bother to wipe up the blood. Finally, at a red light, he checked the glove compartment, looking for some napkins or some shit to wipe himself with. Nothing, so he reached under the front seat and grabbed an old rag he used sometimes to check the oil. As he drove, he pressed the rag against his face, not caring that he was barely soaking up the blood and smearing himself with oil. Deb’s giggling was bothering him now, and he occasionally screamed “Shut up!” or “Shut the fuck up!” but it didn’t stop.

He realized he didn’t know where he was going—on Route 684, weaving through traffic, but with no destination. He didn’t have to get to work for another hour and wasn’t far from the car wash place on North Bedford Road.

There was no line, so he pulled right up and got out. By the way one of the workers was looking at him, he knew his nose was still bleeding or at least had a lot of blood around it.

“Fender bender,” he said.

He didn’t think the guy would believe this when there was no damage to the car, but he didn’t really care either.

After he wiped down the steering wheel with the rag the best he could, he watched as a couple of guys vacuumed the inside of the car, trying not to think about what had happened at home or Deb’s giggling. He had to stay positive, think about the future, not the past, and the future was going to be awesome. The car would be clean soon, and there wouldn’t be a speck of Deb left.

He needed to see Karen, right now, so he took out his phone and played the video from the country club yesterday. Jeez, look how sexy she was, wrestling with Deb. It was hot watching these two older women,
his
two older women, fighting on the floor like animals. It reminded him of all the wild times with Deb, and Karen was so into him already it would probably only take a couple of days before they were a couple and then—like Deb—she’d get addicted to him. She’d realize how she’d been wasting her time with those old dudes she’d been hooking up with and how awesome it was to have a hot, young boyfriend. And then, because she was a single mom and had nothing holding her back, she’d invite him to move in with her. He’d say yes and bring Kyle with him, get him away from Raymond. They would be such a happy family—Owen, Karen, Elana, Kyle, and Elana’s little brother, Matthew. Matthew and Kyle were about the same age, and Kyle would love having a step-bro, but what would Elana say when she found out that Owen was going to be her
stepdad
? Owen laughed, thinking it could turn into an even cooler situation when Elana got older. Yeah, he wasn’t into her now, but years from now that could all change. When Owen was an old man, like fifty, Elana would be forty-eight, and she might be hotter then, more MILFy anyway. Karen might be too old then, so he could trade her in for Elana. Or if Karen still had it going on, Owen could have both of them. That would be so awesome, having threesomes every night.

The inside of the car was done and the mechanical brushes were scrubbing the outside.

Later, driving to work in his clean car, Owen was still thinking about his happy future with Karen and the kids. Maybe they’d have another kid together. Karen was old, but not
too
old; she could probably still squeeze out one more. They’d call the kid Owen—Owen Jr. Owen had never really thought about being a dad before, but he knew he’d be a great father. He couldn’t wait to teach Owen Jr. how the world worked, and do whatever else dads did with their sons. Then, someday, he’d have grandkids. Grandpa Owen. Yeah, he liked the way that sounded.

Then the giggling started again. Maybe the machines at the car wash had blocked it or he’d been too busy thinking about other stuff. But, wait, there was something different about it now, or something he hadn’t picked up on before anyway. It was familiar, yeah, he’d heard it before, but it wasn’t Deb, he was sure of it. He knew who it was, though; it made so much sense.

Shit, he should’ve known.

M
ARK THOUGHT,
Okay, seriously, what´s up with Karen
?

He’d understood why she didn’t feel like talking or texting last night, but he didn’t get why she was still ignoring him this morning. Okay, it was only 8:32 on a Sunday and there was a possibility she was sleeping, but this didn’t really make sense since he’d decided that she hadn’t called him last night because she’d gone to sleep early and, besides, she was an early riser. She’d told him lots of times how she woke up every day at dawn, “like a rooster,” to do yoga and shit. She’d probably been up for about two hours already, and she must’ve seen his text from last night. Mark wanted to believe that she was working out, running, doing work for her job, involved with the kids, but he knew that only one explanation made actual sense—she was blowing him off.

Mark was in the kitchen, contemplating what to do, when Justin came down.