Trying the Knot (41 page)

“Not exactly monogamous.”

“Even if we’re in relationships with other
people, we always manage to end up with one another.”

“Is it love?”

“It’s deeper than that, it’s more like
incest,” Ben said, and Chelsea’s eyes widened with increased
interest. His relationship with Evangelica was the greatest bond he
had ever felt with another person, but it was problematic. He was
unsure how to verbalize his ambivalence in such a way as to do
justification to his deep abiding feelings. “We know one another so
well, we joke sex is like masturbation.”

“Sounds intense.”

“She calls me her psychic twin and mentor,”
Ben said laughing. “It’s been mostly good times with her.”

“And the bad?”

“You know, she has borderline personality
disorder. I can tell when her mood is about to change, even before
she can.”

Chelsea poured him another beer and seated
herself next to him. They positioned the bar stools, so they were
facing one another with his knees on either side of hers. She
observed, “It must be difficult loving a person like that.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes the hardest people to
love need it the most.”

“Still, Ben, the mood swings must be
difficult to deal with.”

“Here’s the thing, it never feels like I’m
dealing with some big crisis,” he explained. “Her moods are on a
natural cycle that fluctuate like the seasons.”

“Or PMS from hell.”

“Magnified,” Ben stressed. “She has a really
irritating way of being apologizing if you spend any time with her,
it’s like she feels sorry for you having to deal with her. I always
wondered what happened, to make her feel like such a burden to the
world?”

“Maybe it was because her father killed
himself,” Chelsea suggested, “or because her mother married five
different times.”

Ben silently stared into his beer for a few
reflective minutes, “She called me last night.”

“And—

“And I didn’t even bother to pick up the
phone.”

“Ben, you didn’t know.”

“I heard her crying out for help, and I did
nothing,” Ben said without emotion, and he swallowed the last drop
of his beer. “But she called me like that all the time, and she
always claimed it was life-threatening, and I always rushed to her.
Except this one time when she needed me most.”

“There was no way for you to know,” Chelsea
said, placing her hand over his. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“What I blame myself for is her messing
around with Nick,” Ben said. “Lately, things between us had become
pretty tense, with the pregnancy and all, and this wedding. Also,
Vange was sort of jealous at times of your mom, and then when she
saw me hitting on Kate’s bridesmaid at the bar last night –

“She went a little crazy.”

“The weird thing is, I think I was trying to
feel closer to Kate.”

“By sleeping with her matron of honor?”

“By being with someone from her world.”

“It was a callous thing to do, and Vange
slept with Nick to get back at you,” Chelsea said, trying to
comprehend the inner politics of their dysfunctional relationship.
“Ben, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not? Our whole relationship doesn’t make
any sense.” Playing with his empty mug, he said, “It’s like we’re
both too stubborn to admit that we really care for one another, and
now it looks as if she doesn’t mean anything at all, but that’s so
not the case.”

“Benjamin, it sounds like you were both doing
the same thing,” Chelsea said. Her attention shifted from his
downcast eyes to his hands, which were in an odd sort of tug-o-war
with a tattered napkin. “You can’t blame yourself. She made the
decision to take those pills. It was her choice, and if you ask me,
it was a pretty shitty thing to do. It’s seems so weak.”

“She’s the strongest person I know, but she
counted on me to save her,” Ben said flatly. “I let her down, time
and time again.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“All I know is if she happens to, well, you
know. If that happens, then I’ve lost the one person who’ll always
mean more to me than everyone else. And I don’t have anyone to
blame but myself.”

“I don’t know,” Chelsea said and sighed
sadly. She empathized with his pain, and she felt compelled to give
him a hug, but he remained dry-eyed and inconsolable, distant and
unreachable. “You can’t carry this guilt around with you for the
rest of your life.”

When she let go Ben rose to his feet and
brushed his hair away from his battered face. It was time to go.
She insisted on giving Ben a ride to his bike. From the foyer, he
watched her pull the linen nightshirt over her head and let the
tablecloth fall to the floor. Then she stepped her strong runner’s
legs into the ratty jogging pants.

They left the lounge arm-in-arm.

Main Street was desolate and dimly lit for as
far as they could see, and if they had wanted to, they could have
rolled a bowling ball or shot a cannon through the middle of it. By
the time Chelsea parked her car outside the newspaper building
behind his bike, Ben’s hand had already reached for the door
handle.

“I’m sorry— this probably wasn’t the most
ideal one night stand.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. It’s not as if
she necessarily desired a meaningless late night encounter.

“Um, thanks for putting up with me,” he said,
lost for words. He gave her a slight peck on the cheek with his
lips; in return, she abruptly kissed him full on the mouth and
inadvertently bumped his sore nose.

“Oh, my nose.”

“Sorry.”

“I can’t believe Nick clocked me so hard,” he
said, rubbing his watery eyes. “Maybe it’s broken.”

“I think so, but I’m no doctor,” Chelsea
said, and they sat quietly for an uninterrupted moment. “You should
really come with me to California. I’ve decided to skip the wedding
reception and leave right after the ceremony tomorrow.”

“In your bridesmaid dress?”

“If need be.”

“Well, it looks like you’re all packed,” Ben
said, glancing at the luggage and boxes that filled the backseat.
He had never imagined her to be so carefree as to throw caution to
the wind and follow her bliss. For as long as he had known Chelsea,
it always appeared her life was consumed by too many obligations.
It did not leave much room for any sort of freedom, which generally
afforded the luxury of choices.

“I’ll finish packing when I get home,” she
said. “I have to leave away from here, Ben, and it looks to me as
if you could use a vacation yourself.”

“I don’t know, Chels, it doesn’t sound very
feasible.” He explained, “We start painting a new house Monday. All
those people are depending on me, and what about Vange? I can’t
just skip town with her in a coma.”

“Thad had a long list of excuses too,” she
said disappointed. “But for the life of me, I can’t remember what
they were.”

“They’re not excuses, I think they’re called
responsibilities.”

“Well, whatever you call them, there will
always be plenty of reasons to keep you stuck here in this town
forever,” she said solemnly, and waited for him to exit the
car.

Ben made no effort to leave the quiet
sanctuary of her Malibu, and he imagined her working as a waitress
in California, flirting with surfers and hanging out. He pictured
himself sticking it out in Portnorth while working away and
occasionally having sex with her mother. Chelsea’s thoughts
mirrored his, except it seemed unfair that her mother should enjoy
such fantastic bedroom encounters with Ben, and she wished he would
abandon his life for an excursion with her into the setting
sun.

As Ben opened the car door, the interior
light flashed on. In their dimly lit confines, he leaned over and
gave her a good-bye kiss on the cheek. Seizing one last ditch
effort to persuade him to change his mind, Chelsea grabbed hold of
the back of his head and crushed her mouth against his neck. Her
index finger toyed with his pierced nipple, and her mouth traced a
wet path over his jutting collarbone.

“Chels, it’s way late,” Ben pointed out.

Tossing her fierce dignity to the wayside,
along with her nylon pants, she insisted, “I don’t care. Fuck me
again. You’ll never have to see me again after tomorrow.”

“What, no-strings are supposed to make it all
the more tempting?”

“Just shut up and unbutton your pants,” she
ordered.

Chelsea climbed aboard his lap, and her eager
hands gripped his wiry forearms for support. He raised his hips,
lifted his butt off the seat and allowed her to tug his black jeans
down to his knees.

“We’re right in the middle of town, almost
under the red and green light,” he protested pointlessly to her
small round breasts, which peaked through her nightshirt.

“What about yellow? Everyone always forgets
about yellow, but Portnorth is the kind of town where a yellow
light means slow down, not speed up,” she rambled. “Remember me
always, Ben. Think of me, promise, whenever you slow down for the
yellow light.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. When he felt her hand
maneuvering him inside of her, he reminded her, “We don’t have
another condom.”

“So what, or are you HIV positive?” she
asked. She couldn’t imagine anyone in Portnorth having AIDS, and
she figured Portnorth was probably such an incestuously small town
it easily could be wiped out by plague or petulance.

Ben shrugged, indicating he was safe as far
as he knew. She laughed and chided, “Then I don’t care if you get
me pregnant, our baby would be beautiful.”

“Okay, just watch out for my nose. If it
weren’t for my shirt, Nick wouldn’t have gotten in so many good
punches,” Ben said, and she placed an index finger over his
mouth.

Chelsea gasped when she felt herself engulf
his member in its entirety. As she slowly moved him in and out of
her, her forehead pressed into his collarbone while her bobbed hair
bounced against his bare chest. Sliding closer to him, one of her
knees dug into the vinyl seat, and the other slapped against the
door causing the interior light to flick on and off. His hands
encircled her tiny waist, and he supported her rocking hips while
his fingertips massaged the small of her back. His streaming black
hair brushed anxiously against her breasts.

Headlights temporarily flooded the car, and
Chelsea surged forward as the rising waves of satisfaction lulled
against her inside. She faded against him, jolted by the jerking
spasms of his moist thighs beneath her. The seat was slippery with
their sweat, and she felt his wetness seeping from her. She
remained straddling him while gazing deeply into his pleased, dark
almond eyes.

“I love fucking you,” she said breathing hard
into his ear.

“You’re not so shoddy.”

“Am I better than my mother?” she asked, and
he grew rapidly flaccid inside of her. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help
it.”

“Forgiven,” he said, and he generously kissed
her frowning lips several times.

“Will you think of me next time you’re with
her?”

“You don’t quit, do you?” he asked, smiling
tiredly. Then he informed her it was probably time they said
goodnight. Once again, headlights shone into the car, and he was
graced with an up-close and personal view of her small athletic
frame.

Chelsea climbed off of him, and she did not
bother putting on her pants. Instead, she watched him pull up his
black jeans, and while he buckled his belt, she leaned over and
kissed his neck below the ear. Although her mouth lingered on his
wet lips, he pulled away and left her sitting alone under the
traffic light. She watched him mount his bike, wave casually and
drive off in the direction of the highway.

For a long while, Chelsea sat there feeling
strangely satisfied and yet hungry with longing. She regretted not
having any excuses or responsibilities to tie her down in the place
she loved more than any other in the whole entire world. The great
wide open was hers to discover and conquer in solitude, but all she
really longed for was a person to attach herself to, preferably one
from her adopted little hometown where nothing ever changed, and
everything remained comfortably the same.

chapter twenty-one

The hospital room was dimly lit from the
outside streetlamps. Leaning against the window, Nick’s shadow
loomed over Evangelica’s bedside. Jack dozed in a chair, and one of
his scrawny arms lay across Vange’s waist. Their labored breathing
sounded in unison throughout the room.

In the darkness, it looked as if Vange was
sleeping so soundly that she would wake up in the morning
fresh-faced and dewy eyed. Jack sat with his face in his arms on
the bed, and his downward position concealed his many lacerations
and bruises. Nick’s weary eyes roamed from Jack to the chair at the
foot of the bed, where Kate sat stiffly gripping the arms. She
remained fixed in this position ever since leaving Jack’s side.

Earlier, Nick found her protectively maternal
suspended over her younger brother. While watching Kate run her
fingers through Jack’s stringy blond hair, he saw a sense of
nurturing responsibility stirring within his future wife. It
occurred to him Kate, Jack and Vange all shared a common
world-weary toughness; however, Jack and Vange’s matching hospital
gowns served as testimony to their defeat, whereas Kate’s
disheveled appearance was the hallmark of a true survivor.

Kate had not even glanced at Nick since he
invaded the hospital room with a change of clothes for her, and she
refused to offer a response whenever he quietly whispered her name.
She continued sitting statuesque in the chair with her eyes
downcast. Under the dim lights, the spots of her dress that were
still white leapt out from behind the dried mud, blood, and wine
stains. She looked like a ghostly corpse who had been mowed down by
Mack truck.