Temptation: A Novel (11 page)

28. Rolling in Something Else

I come back down to earth when I enter the cabin and smell the unmistakable smell of a party gone bad.

For a moment I check to see if Midnight is somewhere down here, laid out on the floor after getting into something she shouldn’t have eaten. But no—it’s as I thought. As I feared.

The stench comes from my mom’s bedroom.

I walk in and see the bathroom light on. For a second my heart and stomach drop, and I rush over to look at the sink. I open the cabinet doors and look at the piece of plywood at the back that I recently nailed shut.

It’s still there. Hasn’t been touched.

My heart is beating fast, and I go back into the bedroom. Mom is lying on her back. The sheets and comforter are all on one side of the bed, like she was wrestling with them. I pull them down and then see it.

See and smell.

Mom got sick and threw up on her bed. On herself.

I swallow and then shudder.

I think of a kid who did this back at our high school in Libertyville. The kid died on his own puke. A senior who had too much too soon and then choked in his sleep.

My hand reaches out toward Mom. I’m scared. I don’t want to touch her, not because it’s gross but because I fear the worst.

But she’s warm. Too warm, in fact. I see her mouth move up and down. It sounds raw and dry.

Now that I know she’s alive, I’m furious with her.

For a while I just stand there, thinking of what to do.

Leave her there to wake up in her own mess.

But I can’t. I can’t and I won’t.

I know I have to clean her up.

Even if she’s unconscious.

I see a bottle of vodka on the dresser. It’s empty.

I stand there and look at it. I look a long time.

Trying to understand.

Trying to fathom what exactly was in that bottle—in every bottle—that Mom is looking for so desperately.

I don’t have a future in the field of nursing.

Nope. Definitely not.

It takes me a very long and very hard hour to clean up my mom. She’s not dead, and I’m thankful for that—yes, I am—but she might as well be dead since she’s limp and totally gone. I call out to her and nudge her and then use a damp rag to clean her, but she doesn’t wake up.

I don’t change her—nope, can’t do that.

But I manage to wipe up the mess mostly. I pull the sheets and blankets off of her. Leaving her on a bare mattress that’s still a bit stained. I wipe off the mess as best I can, knowing she’s going to wake up with crusty clothes that she passed out in along with a crusty mouth.

She does manage to sip a little bottled water, but that’s it.

I find another blanket in the closet and put it over her, propping her up on the pillow she didn’t throw up on.

Then I toss the empty bottle of vodka into the garbage can and turn off the lights in her room.

In some weird way, this is normal. It’s not shocking, not like the quasi-date with Lily. It’s just the sad reality of my life.

I think of Dad and wonder whether it’s time to call him.

No.

But somehow, this life is not working out. Not for Mom.

Whatever she’s trying to do to herself—whatever she’s feeling—whatever she’s trying to run away from—
this
isn’t working.

And as hard as I can try to ignore it, just like I’m ignoring everything and everyone else, I can’t overlook this nightmare at home.

In my bedroom, holding Midnight by my side, I think of Lily. The memory of tonight makes up for the mess I came home to.

Even in my thoughts and dreams to come, I’m able to escape for a while.

Escape the darkness and downward spiral that wants to suck me under.

29. A Slice of Normal

I don’t know why I go.

Partly because I don’t want to see Mom when she wakes up.

Partly because deep down, I know I want answers. Answers to everything. Not just why my mom drinks, but why everything is so messed up. Why I have no idea what is going on.

I go because he has the answers.

I go to the church with the families and their children and all the people who seem real and happy. They seem normal. They’re not wearing hoods or upside-down crosses. They don’t have horns or 666 tattoos. They’re just normal people who probably didn’t puke all over themselves last night. Normal people going to church.

Pastor Marsh is there, and he looks normal and says normal things. He’s not normal—I know that. But to everybody else, he’s the pastor saying nice things like believe in yourself and fight the good fight and know there’s a reason for everything. He says these clichés, and they all seem very normal to me.

But I didn’t come here because I wanted a slice of normal.

I came here because I want the truth.

After the sermon, I wait for him. It doesn’t take long.

In some weird way, it’s like the pastor knows I’m here.

“Hello, Chris.”

Deep inside I’m shivering. At least it feels like that. But I stand firm and shake his hand and look him in the eye. “Good morning.”

“It’s a nice surprise to see you here.”

“I want to know.”

Jeremiah Marsh doesn’t look surprised or shocked. He nods, and then his eyes focus behind the narrow glasses. “I can understand one’s need to know. May I ask why now? On this particular beautiful summer morning?”

“I’m tired of just—of not knowing. Of living somewhere that just seems—really messy.”

Saying that makes me think of his house. The one I broke into while Poe waited. There was nothing messy about it, except his raving lunatic of a wife screaming at me.

“I can’t tell you everything at one time,” he says. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. It’s too much, too soon.”

“You said if I let things go—if I just asked. Well—the letting go part is already done. And I’m pretty good at that.”

“I know,” Marsh says.

“But I’m here—right now—I’m here to ask.”

His serious gaze focuses on me. “To ask for what?”

“I don’t even
know
what I’m supposed to ask for.”

He nods. “What is it you really, truly want?”

I think of everything in one brief heavy downloadable second.

Leaving Illinois and meeting the girls and the mysteries and the love of Jocelyn and the nightmare to follow and Jared and Poe and Kelsey and Mom and Dad and Lily.

“Relief,” I blurt out.

Because that’s true.

I just want to feel lighter. The way I’ve almost started feeling this summer.

The pastor smiles, and my skin grows cold and I shiver as he places both his hands on my shoulders.

“You’re going to get that and more. And then you’re going to thank me. For everything.”

30. Sun in Your Eyes

July 4 arrives with a clear sky and a refreshing morning sun. The rest of my Sunday was uneventful, including not seeing Mom at all. Part of me wonders if she even knows what I did on Saturday night. Part of me wonders if she remotely cares. But it’s 8:00 a.m., and she’s still asleep and thankfully isn’t messy.

Awaiting me on the table, lit by sun leaking through the blinds, is a box.

I get closer and see it’s an iPhone.

Just like the latest model I was looking at in Best Buy.

For a second I look around the room, then I glance at the door. It’s locked. But that doesn’t matter. Locked doors don’t matter in a place like Solitary.

I open the box, and instead of the phone being wrapped up in packaging, it’s ready to go with only a small sticky note on its black surface.

For a moment I think it’s from Mom. An apology of sorts, a bribe maybe. Something to make up for yesterday and the days and nights before.

But no.

I read the short note.

One less thing you have to worry about—being out of touch.

Your friend, J. M.

I pick up the phone and see that it’s charged. I slide it on and see that it’s loaded and ready.

Then I notice my hand shaking.

Throw it away toss it in the creek down below.

But I just keep holding it.

Sun streaks through the room, bright slivers making me squint my eyes.

I look and see that there’s a text from somebody.

I open it up.

RELIEF CAN ONLY COME WHEN YOU FULLY LET GO.

It’s from him, of course. From J. M.

What have I done?

I shut the phone off and slip it into my pocket.

The Chris from last month would have found the pastor and tried to make him eat this phone. But not today’s Chris.

It’s a phone. It’s a gift. And it’s mine.

I get my motorcycle keys.

It’s time to get out of here and see what kind of fireworks I can find.

Then I think of something else. I run upstairs and grab the phone number that Lily gave me.

The blurry, mostly blank snapshot still sits on my desk. It’s almost a reminder of a guy I used to be. Someone who slowly disappeared.

I’ll take a new snapshot today. One of Lily and me. And I’ll take it with this phone.

I head out.

31. Anticipation

SO YOU FINALLY GOT A PHONE?

The phone chimes when the text from Lily comes. I’m out of Solitary, feeling like I can breathe a little better, eating a sausage-and-egg biscuit at Bojangles. When I first came here not long ago, I made a joke about the name, but the food is no joke. It’s greasy goodness.

Buying breakfast and driving out here with little left in my gas tank reminds me that I need to get a job. Or rob a bank.

Maybe you can just get a wad of cash from your new benefactor.

I think for a moment about what to respond to Lily.

NOW I NEED A JOB.

I wait for her response. It comes quickly.

WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR TODAY?

I pop the last bite of biscuit into my mouth, then smile and wipe my hands. I drain my iced tea, which I’ve decided might be the best morning drink ever.

NOTHING MUCH.

Which is my way of saying I’m doing jack squat and I’m texting you because I desperately want to hang out.

WANT TO GO SIGHTSEEING?

For a second, I wonder if this is a joke. Her sarcasm.
Yeah, sure, let’s go look at some trees and rocks.

I want to text something like
every day in summer school there is a sight to see, and it arrives when you walk in the room.

But that is about the corniest line ever.

SURE
, I text.

DON’T SOUND SO EXCITED. I WAS GOING TO GET HARRIS TO GO WITH ME.

I type back, my thumbs not used to texting or this phone.

I’M SURE HARRIS WOULD ENJOY SEEING THE SIGHTS WITH YOU.

I wait.

I’M SURE YOU WOULD ENJOY IT EVEN MORE.

I smile.

I’M SURE I WOULD TOO.

THAT’S A GOOD BOY.

I just laugh. Breathe in. Feel alive. My mind taking it all in.

I’m her little pet.

WHAT TIME?
I text.

NOON.

OKAY.

CAN YOU WAIT THAT LONG?

Again I smile and shake my head.

I’LL TRY
, I say.

ANTICIPATION IS A MARVELOUS FEELING. ENJOY IT. SEE YOU AT NOON.

SEE YOU.

I stare at the iPhone. It’s only around nine, and I’ve got three hours to kill. Three hours to anticipate seeing her. Three hours before we go sightseeing.

Three hours before who knows what.

And yeah. It feels pretty marvelous.

32. A Great Day

I sit next to this girl who’s no longer a stranger as fireworks go off above us. She’s not draped in my lap in some romantic way that I would have liked. No, she’s just sitting next to me after a fun day full of laughter. At some point in the middle of the colorful display over Lake Julian, Lily pokes me.

“Relax, Chris.”

“What?”

She laughs and looks at me, and I smile.

Yeah okay fine.

Easier said than done. Especially now that night has come and … well, I don’t know.

A day of riding around and seeing some sights like a famous mountain and a cool bridge.

Everything’s happening so fast.

How’d I get here from

No stop not here and now.

So yeah, I stop. And listen to Lily. I let out a silent sigh and keep looking up, but I’m not paying the fireworks any attention. I’m keeping her in my peripheral vision. She watches and comments on the colors and claps and acts like a little girl.

It’s nice to see her relaxed. No—she’s always relaxed, but in a standoffish sort of way. Now she’s just free and easygoing.

Especially when she moves closer to me on the blanket.

We stay on that blanket after the show is over and let the crowd disappear and leave us alone.

Or at least that’s what I’m thinking and hoping.

“Summer of sixth grade. Running around with all my crazy cousins in Georgia. In the
country.
Shooting off bottle rockets and Roman candles and almost putting someone in a hospital.”

This is Lily’s fondest Fourth of July memory. She laughs at her own comment, not believing how crazy her family used to be.

“Do you ever see them?” I ask.

She shakes her head and doesn’t say more. She’s resting on her elbows while lying on her stomach, staring out at the dark lake in front of us. I’m doing the same, but I’m watching her more than anything else. Even in the dim light of night, I can see her clearly.

“You miss Illinois?” she asks.

“Every day.”

“I can understand. Maybe I need to come live in Asheville.”

“Too bad your grandmother didn’t live around here,” I say.

For a moment Lily looks at me, then she nods and smiles. “Yeah, too bad.”

I want to ask about us, what we’re doing and what this means and if there’s some kind of chance—

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“I see smoke coming from your ears.”

I laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“I see that mind spinning.”

“Sorry, it’s just—”

“
It
is fine,” Lily interrupts. “Relax. I mean it. Relax. I’m not going to bite. We’re not going to do anything tonight, and we don’t have to worry about anything. You don’t have to tell me how much I mean to you, and I don’t have to ask how you’re feeling and any of that nonsense.”

I kinda like that nonsense.

“I’m just a girl. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Once again, I crack her up. “What?”

“That was
so
unconvincing.”

“Sorry.”

She moves over and then moves her lips toward my ear. Then she bites me. Hard.

“Ow!”

I move and sit up on my knees, rubbing my ear. “Wha—”

Lily sits up as well, laughing with a playful look on her shadowed face. “I’m going to keep doing that until you just ease up.”

“I’m eased up—I’m relaxed.”

“Yeah, right.”

“That killed.”

“Good,” she says, then adds, “Oh, come on, be a man.”

I raise my eyebrows as if to say something, but she just looks at me, waiting.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t get you.”

“Join the club, pal.” She then slides up beside me as if we’re on a bus and have to cram next to each other. “You okay?”

“That really hurt.”

“Do I need to make it better?”

I look at her and so badly want to say that yes, she needs to make it better. I want to have the James Bond reply that has a double meaning, but I just can’t. I’m just way too nervous to say anything.

“You really are cute, Chris,” she says. “I’m not just saying that.”

“So are you.”

Her face grows serious, and she shakes her head. “No, Chris, I’m not. There are some things I am.
Many
things I am. But cute is not one of them. I was cute a long time ago. Not anymore.”

I don’t know what to say. As usual.

We sit there for a while and continue to look out at the lake. We don’t make out in outrageous passion, nor do we continue this playful back-and-forth. I picture it in my mind, but here and now we’re just sitting in the quiet.

“See, it worked,” Lily says eventually.

“What?”

“The bite.”

“What about it?”

“You look relaxed now.”

“Either that, or you gave me rabies and I’m slowly going unconscious.”

She just laughs. “This has been a great day, Chris.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She studies me for a moment. I wish I could read thoughts. Especially girls’ thoughts. Because I’ve never been able to figure out what they’re thinking.

She’s thinking something big, but I can’t tell what.

“Me neither,” Lily finally says.

Later, after dropping her off and receiving a sweet hug that was just that—a sweet hug—I’m back at home in my bedroom, and I can’t stop thinking of her.

Then it dawns on me. The text from Marsh. About relief and letting go.

He’s right.

This thought—these two words—terrify me.