Spud (11 page)

Can I really believe, too, that she’s done with that jerk, Mike? Well, she wouldn’t
lie. Wow. This is a lot to consume. I look around the library and notice it’s packed,
quietly packed. Lots of people, from the old ladies and their husbands, reading the
papers and looking at the romance novels, to the little kids pouring over the puzzle
table and the section of picture books. Teenagers are goofing off near the magazines
and hiding in and out of aisles, like kids, but whatever. Everyone is taking advantage
of the free air conditioning, and even the comfortable plaid chairs around me are
filling with middle schoolers reading random books or flipping through magazines.
I recognize a couple of girls that Zoë knows, but nobody else, really. I guess I
spent so much time with Spud I didn’t really care to know too
many other people.
Not on a “friend” basis, just as classmates. Huh. Maybe I should have branched out
more, and then I wouldn’t feel quite so alone.

I wonder where Zoë is. How is she spending this afternoon? Has she decided to go
back to the pool yet? How is she keeping cool in this ungodly heat? Certainly not
in the stuffy house? I realize I haven’t really talked to her at all. I’ve been in
this funk. Each day at either this library or bare-chested outside, taking walks,
and/or lying around in my room. Pretty much been a bum. Something has got to change.
Maybe, it’s time to venture out of my little cocoon, escape this little world of
my own and plummet back into the one around me, the one where my family lives, where
Deena lives.

We need rain, too, I realize as I glance at the glaring sun outside the library doors.
Okay, I guess I already knew that, but damn, where the hell is it? And what am I
doing? Am I going to just slug along forever? Why did this happen? Things have got
to get going again. This can’t keep up. It can’t. What a mess. Time to try to fix
some stuff.

Chapter 13

I decide to start with Zoë, after I’ve left the library this afternoon and taken
a walk around town, just to get a sense of what’s out there, what I’ve missed. Turns
out, I have not missed not much. Little, energetic tykes enjoying summer break with
their backyard pools and running through sprinklers. Older people trying desperately
to keep up their gardens and illegally watering their lawns. Lots of humming air
conditioners. City trucks parked on random streets working on the regular summer
road and sidewalk repairs. High school students who landed awful summer jobs painting
yellow curbs for the city or pulling weeds. Nah, doesn’t look too appealing. Great,
that’s probably my fate for next summer, especially if I want to save for a car and
stuff. Painting curbs in horrid heat. Can’t wait. Then again, the prospects for a
great tan and muscles are certainly promising. Hmmm.

So I walk back into the house after an hour or so trudging around, come through the
front door, none the smarter from my trek and ah, the AC is certainly a relief. I
find Zoë sitting at the kitchen table with Mom, their voices hushed, when they see
me. Dad is on a truck trip, has been gone since this morning, and will be for two
more days. They look at me, their faces solemn and sad, signs of recent tears, when
I walk in. Mom seems different. My god, she’s been crying hard, her poor red eyes.
From my high with Deena, I’m now brought back into a low, that crushing panic again
in my chest. Now what?

“What? What happened?” I ask, alarmed and readying myself for more bad news. I look
from one cheerless, tear-stained face to the
other. Zoë turns her down head from
me, pretends to look through a magazine she has in front of her. Mom glances down
at a cookbook.

“What?” she asks, like nothing’s up.

“That’s what I said. You look like you’ve been crying. Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little heart to heart, hun. Just talking. Girl stuff. Don’t
worry. I better start dinner.” Mom gets up and goes to the fridge, takes out some
pork chops and begins to open the package at the counter. Still not too happy looking.
I simply stare.

“Zoë?” I ask.

“What?” she doesn’t look up.

“Come on, what’s going on?”

“Not everything’s about you, Jack.” And she gets up, pushes in the chair and goes
out the back door, to sit on the porch and stare at the brown grass, I guess. I’m
not going to prod Mom right now, as I don’t need any lectures, but I am going to
go after Zoë. That was my original plan, was it not?

Stepping from the air conditioned house onto the porch after Zoë is a shock in itself.
Like a world of temperature difference, from seventy degrees into ninety-five, like
walking into hell. Will this end, please?

“Zoë,” I say, sitting myself beside her on the hard, cement porch, and my butt is
quick to burning. Suck it up, Jackson.

She’s staring at the brown grass in the yard, at nothing.

“What happened?” Maybe she’ll talk. Like I deserve it, though. My own actions haven’t
been the most inviting. Haven’t talked much to them.

“Jack, Spud died, that’s what happened. You aren’t the only one this has hurt, and
your little departure from all things family isn’t helping. Spud was like a son to
Mom, and she’s hurting, but you
aren’t easing her pain. It’s like she lost two sons
since you ignore all her efforts. Dad feels guilty about being strict with how and
when you hung with Spud, and he feels responsible in a way. I don’t know why. You’d
know more about that stuff than me. I guess ‘cause he let you all get away with going
to that park bridge, of getting into that habit. And I, well, you know how I feel.

“God, Spud, everyone is hurting so much, and you shut us all out, which makes us
all feel like you’re blaming us all the more. Dang. I wish,
we wish
, we could go
back and change things, but that’s not possible. Mom cries, and she and Dad hardly
talk. Nobody knows what to say, and nobody wants to piss you off. It sucks. And each
day just drags on, like we’re all waiting for something, and nobody knows what. It
ain’t like Spud’s gonna come running in the door, mischievous smile on his tanned
face, asking what’s for dinner. What are we waiting for? Will this ever get easier?”
She’s almost monotone now, still not looking at me, her hands on the sides of her
head, looking down at the magazine plopped on the ground between her feet, but not
reading it.

“I hope,” I say, stunned. “I mean, I hope it gets easier. I think it’s starting to.
I’m really trying now, Zoë. I guess I should pay more attention. I didn’t think about
how you all must feel. God, this is so messed up. I’m sorry. Spud’s death … Spud’s
death was nobody’s fault but fate, I guess. It happened. It was his time or whatever.
I don’t know. Nobody should blame themselves.”

“Then you need to quit acting like you think it’s all our fault, Jack. It hurts.”
Now, she is looking at me, with light tears in her eyes. “And think, too, about Spud’s
parents. My God, they lost their son. Have you talked to them? They’re beside themselves.
They have no idea how to cope.”

“Is that what you think? I certainly don’t blame any of you.
I mean, I was a little
mad because you all kept saying sorry even though you weren’t as close to Spud, even
though you would be rude. Dad would be too strict. Mom would let him get away with
anything. I guess I was mad about those things, but I don’t blame anyone. I’m sorry.
This is hard. And, man, yeah, his parents. Geez. And you all have been so great to
me. Really, I appreciate it. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it, been more friendly. I
hold nothing against you all. Needed time. Hard to deal with. Wow. Sorry, for real.
I’m really gonna try to shape up, change a bit. Working on it.”

“I know. Maybe you should tell Ma, though, you don’t blame her and that you realize
she must be hurting too. She’d like at least one son back, Jack.”

My goodness, she’s right. Mom must feel awful, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my
own world of pity that I never though how hard this whole thing must be for everyone
else, too.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I get up, give Zoë a brotherly pat on the head,
and go back inside, where I find Mom putting pork chops on a plate to take out to
the grill. Too hot to cook inside. “Mom?” I ask as I sit at the table, “Can we talk?”

She’s staring out the window, mechanically working with the meat, as she’s done it
so many times she doesn’t even need to look at what she’s doing. “Hmmm?” she asks.

“I’m sorry. I know you must be sad about Spud, and I’m sorry I’ve been rude and distant
and in my own world. It’s so hard. Sometimes, I can wrap my head around it all, and
it’s something I can accept, and other times this all seems like a big nasty joke
and doesn’t make one lick of sense, and I just can’t deal. Like now. And I don’t
know if things will ever get better.”

“Oh, Jack,” she looks at me. I’m standing right next to her. “It’s hard; I miss him.
His life was hard with his mom and step-dad,
and I just wanted to make him feel loved.
And he was so sweet, such a gentleman. I mean, he wasn’t perfect, and I worried about
the choices he made, but it’s so sad he had to suffer a death , a death like that,
then I think about how he was into things, like drinking and smoking, and I know
he would steal. I didn’t want you around him really, and then I feel so guilty… like
a hypocrite. Oh, I’m so sorry. He was just a kid. Needed direction, structure. And
it’s so hard for you, losing your best friend and how can I possibly make you less
sad? I don’t know what to do.” Tears come again, and she wipes her eyes on her forearm,
as her hands have been touching the meat. I grab a paper towel and dab her eyes.

“It ain’t your fault, Ma. You were so good to him and to us, and he loved coming
over. He’s lucky you were here for him, and so am I. Thanks for all you did. And
I’m sorry to shut you out. It’s not personal. I just needed time. I’m sorry, but
thanks, for everything. Can I help with anything?” I give her a kiss on the head.

“Nah, but thanks. It’s an easy dinner night. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
She smiles and turns on the faucet at the sink to wash her hands. “Also Jack, I know
this brief bit of conversation was good and helpful, for both of us, but soon we
should really sit down, when, well, when we’re both ready, and really talk this out,
okay?” She’s a great mom.

“Yeah. Okay.”

I love her.

“Let me at least slice the tomatoes. I know I’m no Julia Child, or Childs or whatever
her name is, when it comes to cooking, but I’m sure I can manage a few slices that
look edible,” I say and grab a tomato from the bowl on the counter. Mom hands me
a plate from the dish drainer.

“Thanks, Jack. That would be fabulous.” She kisses my cheek
and heads out to get
the grill going.

Slicing tomatoes is not too challenging, and I set the finished plate of them on
the table and decide to head up to my room and wait until dinner. There’s been way
too much emotional stuff around here for one afternoon, and I need to get away for
a bit.

When Mom comes up to tell me the chops are done and she even threw some fresh corn
on the cob on the grill, I realize I have been sleeping deeply this past hour, exhausted
by all this thinking. But after the earlier conversations, I’m not ready to chance
more emotional stuff, especially given that dinner will be with the two ladies: Mom
and Zoë. Plus, I’ve just come out of a horrible dream that I did marry Nina Patton,
and she was throwing tomatoes at me because I couldn’t slice them right. Shivers!

I’m hungry, especially with her mentioning the grilled corn, which I love slathered
in butter, but I decline. I don’t want to face more deep talks right now and may
be better off grabbing leftovers later. Mom is saddened by that, I can tell, but
I need a tad bit more time. I know I’ve had my good cry, and that we’ve started to
have some breakthroughs, but I don’t know about all this talking. And these women!
They love to talk about feelings. Sheesh! I need a little bit more time before that.

Chapter 14

“Catch!” Deena gently tosses me a can of Coke, and I catch it just in time. She looks
lovely, walking toward me at her family barbecue in a very sweet yellow sundress,
her hair in a ponytail, barefoot. There are quite a few people at this party, and
I only just arrived moments ago, still taking in the scene from my perch at one of
the wooden picnic tables outside. It was a quick, but hot, stroll over, and I’m glad
to be seated.

There’s about ten tables, all spread among the massive back yard, various groups
of people sitting at random tables. Plus, some people are milling around, chatting.
There’s a volleyball game in the distance, some people in the huge pool that is located
near the back entrance to the house, with a massive deck, as well, and a game of
horseshoes is taking place in another section of open back yard. Looks to be about
four adults, maybe uncles, tossing that game, holding bottles of Miller in their
hands. A few cousins holding various drinks are standing around chatting here and
there, cups from a keg, bottles of Miller. Some aunts and Deena’s mom’s friends are
sitting at a table nearby nursing glasses of wine and what looks like bottles of
wine coolers. They know how to have a good time out here, that’s for sure. Lots of
laughter, music in the background, currently sounds like some Rolling Stones tune,
but I can’t quite recall the title.

The yard is not only massive, but well-landscaped, with huge apple trees that allow
for a welcoming fragrance, a fire pit, and different areas decorated with flush garden
flowers and plants. I can’t describe that in too much detail because, well, I’m no
plant expert. Let’s just say there are a lot of rose-looking things and lots of red,
purple, and yellow. Quite pretty. However, they also have lilac bushes on the sides
of the yard, and those I know because Zoë loves lilacs and always points them out,
whenever we happen to be near one of those fragrant lilac bushes. I guess they do
smell good. The gals sure do love those lilacs around here.