Wishful Thinking (21 page)

I turned right. Hands grabbed me and pulled me into a hidden alcove behind a rack of periodicals. You wouldn’t notice the space if you weren’t looking specifically for it. There wasn’t enough room for Summer let alone me, but as she pushed me back against the brick wall I couldn’t say that I cared.
 

Summer snaked her hands around my neck, "I missed you," she said.

If anyone could see us I didn’t know, or care because Summer slipped her tongue into my mouth. Her lips were warm and tasted like cherry and vanilla. God she was hot. Why had I waited so long to apologize? Stupid pride.

Her skin felt soft and warm beneath her sweater. I gave her breast a delicate squeeze then slid my hands around to her back tucking her in closer to me letting her feel my need for her. “I missed you so much," I whispered in her ear before nuzzling along the side of her neck.
 

Growing self-conscious of someone seeing us, I flipped us so Summer was now pressed against the wall and my body blocked her from view. I didn’t want to share even a glimpse of her with anyone. I pushed her sweater back down and pulled away. "We can’t do this here."

“What? I thought—”

I placed a finger to her lips silencing her. Footsteps and voices were loud, close by. Two girls giggling, one said, “Where’d he go? Oh my god he was fine."

“You’re so easy,” said another voice.

“Whatever,” the first voice said. Their voices grew faint again until they faded completely. We decided then to leave. Summer held my hand as we walked away from the alcove laughing. “Oh my god you are so fine,” she mimicked.
 

My cheeks heated, “Shush.”

“You’re so easy,” Summer said slapping my arm.
 

The rain let up leaving a frigid chill. I snuggled Summer close to my chest as we walked to my car. She leaned her head back to look up at me, "Do you know what kind of car that is?"
 

I turned my head to see her pointing at a black Dodge Charger. I swallowed, "What about it?"

"Richard’s hooked on it, and my mom promised to get him one when he got better."

I tried to remain in the conversation but I couldn’t shake the chill creeping up my spine in spite of the cold.
 

"Your mom should offer him a Corvette instead."

"You know Richie, he’s not big on the flash, but speed and sound is another story."

It couldn’t be the same car I’d seen driving through my neighborhood everyday could it? No, I was being paranoid. I pulled Summer closer, "Come on, we have to hurry if you want to make visiting hours."

There had to be more than one black Charger in the city. Honestly, who would want to stalk me? Illogical or not, I couldn’t make my mind believe it was anything but the same Charger that crept through my neighborhood too.
 

The ride to Fifth General hospital had me checking my rearview at every light, or stop sign. I failed to see the black Charger, which lessened my panic but did nothing against my mounting paranoia. My logical half said I was nuts, but my illogical side kept saying you’re just not seeing them. Of course only nut-cases argued with themselves in the first place.
 

“Hello did you hear me." Summer said when we pulled up to another red light.
 

“Sorry what?" I said zoning back into Summer.

“They’re continuing rugby." She flipped up the visor and looked at me with one finger gliding over her bottom lip.
 

“What? How do you know, they haven’t announced their decision yet?"

“James, please, my dad’s a senator which can be useful … sometimes."

“How are things with your dad?" I asked. Not that I cared at all about the prick, but maybe it would offer Summer a chance to vent.

“Do you really want to know?"

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t." I forced a smile, I hated Summer’s dad. "Look, I know this talking thing is important to girls, to you and—"

“Okay, okay I get it, you’re trying, or whatever—thanks."

“I’m trying to apologize if you’d be quiet long enough to let me."

She laughed. "Please, continue."

I don’t know if the on and off again, on the rocks in our relationship changed something between us, but I felt closer to Summer. I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze and a kiss before letting go. The light turned and we continued.
 

“What about your dad, how is he?" she asked.

I had a juicy little tidbit about my dad, and I should share. "Missing make-out sessions with your mom."

“What?”

“My dad kindly shared with me that him and your mom, used to date and ‘neck’ a lot."

“Are you serious?" She was laughing now.
 

I nodded and smirked, "Yup, tried to give me the gruesome details, apparently Grandpa JoJo caught them in the barn."

“Wow, my mom was a real sophisticate. And here she is lecturing me on being a lady, and all the while she used to get naked in hay piles."

We were both laughing by then. "We could be brother and sister," Summer said when she stopped laughing.
 

"Don’t even joke about that," I said.
 

She squeezed my knee then moved her hand a little higher up my thigh. "Come on big brother," she danced her hand across my lap.
 

I slapped it, "Too far, babe, too far."

“Heehee, sorry.” She pulled her hand away and started digging through her purse, “You ready for end of semester exams?”

“It sucks balls and I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”
 
It wasn’t the entire truth but it wasn’t a total lie either.
 

“Didn’t you study?" she asked playing with the fingers of my right hand again.
 

“No.”

“Well duh. I know school comes easy for you, but you can’t totally skate by on what you can remember forever."

“Yeah, yeah, I know. God you sound like, Dean."

“Dean is very wise then."

“Nate said first round of acceptances went out, did you get yours yet?"

“Hold on," she said pulling out her phone. “Hey mom.”
 

Rita was on the phone. My dad made out with Rita. I couldn’t shake that disturbing image loose. “We’re heading there right now … what? … Are you serious, why not? … again ... yeah … Well, tell him I love him … okay … love you too, bye."

"What’s up?"

Summer threw her head back headrest, “Can’t visit Richard. He had a round of radiation today, and he’s to weak for visitors and …" she trailed off and started crying. I gave her hand a squeeze unsure what to say or do.
 

“I know he’s not gonna make it." Her voice was so low I almost didn’t hear her.
 

“Don’t say that."

“I have to. My mom can buy into the delusion he’s going to kick this again, but I can’t, beating it once okay, twice? That’s pushing it. Hope and faith are stupid because God is dead. Why else would my brother be sick again?" Tears continued to fall as she wiped at them. “And you know my father’s only concern is his campaign. My brother’s going to die and all he cares about is his state senate seat." She shook her head, “I hate him. Why couldn’t they trade places?"

I took the first turn off of Belmont I came upon, a neighborhood side street and pulled over. I turned to Summer, “Don’t talk like that okay.”

“My brother is participating in an experimental clinical trial, his doctors touted it would be the best course of treatment for him, but I see it for what it is, he’s a guinea pig. They’re always running tests which cuts into his visiting hours. The drugs weaken him, did you know he’s in this giant bubble like room? I hate going to sleep because I’m scared as hell he’ll be gone before I wake and I won’t have a chance to say goodbye. I can’t even hug my brother the giant bubble boy.”
 

“God you sound like me you know, all storm clouds, and glass half empty and broken. This world barely handles one of me there’s no room for two."

“I’m so scared. It actually feels like I can’t breathe sometimes. It’s always been the two of us I can't survive without him.”

All I could do was squeeze her hand, knowing that words served little comfort against the pain. She started banging her head against her seat, “Do you mind taking me home?"

“Are you sure it’s a good idea, you being alone?"

I didn’t want to take her home not in her current mood. While pulling back onto Belmont, I made sure to take the longest way to her house. As we drove I tried to convince her she shouldn’t be alone, but she continued to brush off my concern. When we pulled up to the front of her house I made one more attempt to get her to reconsider. She opened the door and paused.
 

She pursed her lips together and turned to me, “Come here."

I leaned across the middle console and she held my head between her hands, “I don’t want to be alone," she kissed my left cheek, “but my mom’s here,” she kissed my right cheek, “and my dad’s on his way home," she kissed my nose, "And he wants to have a family meeting. Otherwise you’d be coming inside with me and helping me forget my sorrows."

With her last word she kissed my lips, her hands slipping into my hair. She pulled her body closer to me, squeezed me tighter to her, holding me like I was her lifeline, kissing me like I was all that mattered. When she finally pulled away, we were both breathless. I gazed into her eyes and she gazed back. She wanted to say something, but bit her lip effectively silencing herself.
 

She gave me a light peck and said, "I’m okay—really. See you at school tomorrow."

“Yup, as long as I don’t get grounded for something else."

She slapped my arm, "Maybe if you tell him my mom still talks about what a great kisser he is, or how she’s experimenting with women now, he’ll lighten your sentence and let you see me."

“What?” She knew about her mom.
 

“I’ll tell you later.”
 

"You sure you’re okay?"

She gave me another small peck, "No, but I will be." She had that look again, like she wanted to say something, but was afraid to. "Good night," she finally said and got out.
 

“Night.”

She traipsed up the steps to her house, when she got to the top step she waved before disappearing inside. I hated seeing her like this. Her face was meant for smiles and laughs, not frowns and fits of tears. I knew the hopelessness and loneliness that came from watching a family member deteriorate. My mother’s suicide wasn’t what broke me, no, it was the years of her sadness leading up to her suicide that had. After her death the only emotion I felt was anger and a lot of it.
 

When I was younger I didn’t understand, didn’t know depression was a disease. I believed for far too long that she chose her sorrow, unwilling to be happy. I didn’t know that depression spread like cancer, poisoning your mind, weakening your will, until you begged for death, because the pain was so great.
 

Even now, though I understood her disease, I struggled to forgive her. My anger mutated into betrayal. There were doctors, and medicine available to her, and she shunned both, choosing suffering over healing, death over me. Her suicide was a giant middle finger.
 

Right on cue, rain returned forcing thoughts of my mother from my head and bringing back my sense of impending doom angst. The last few weeks turned me too melodramatic for my own tastes. I was acting like a major drama queen, but I couldn’t shake this awkward vibe. All of it circled around a little girl wearing a yellow dress and the names Jameson and Chloe Franklin.
 

My whole life I was plagued by this feeling of forgetting something important. This perpetual conviction an important detail of my life was lost to me. Like a piece of code that would take the ones and zeros of my brain, defragment them, and show me a picture of what I should be remembering. Of course, who was to say this forgotten memory was even relevant, that it could help me with my current situation, but that didn’t keep me from thinking it did.
 

Maybe it was the stress of graduating around the corner getting to me. I rubbed at the tension forming in my neck. Maybe not. When I returned home dad was in the loft upstairs watching a movie. He pretended not to notice my lumbering up the stairs and ignored my hollers for him.
 

I didn’t have to look at the television screen to know he was watching Diehard. One of the local channels was running a commercial free marathon as part of a money-raising event for charity. My dad shushed me before I could repeat, “I’m home," and patted the empty spot next to him.

“Popcorn?”
 

Dad slid a bowl across his lap towards me. Hopefully, Bruce Willis, car chases and bombs, could blow the anxiety and paranoia from my mind—at least until I went to bed.

During an intermission between the first-half of
 
Diehard my dad turned to me, “Junior, you’re home earlier than I expected. I thought we agreed on ten.”

“Richard had a round of injections today and he was to fragile for visitors. So Mr. Marshall rallied the troops to discuss strategy or something. Ass.”

“Won’t argue you there, he’s what do you kids call it, a-a moosecanoe?”

“Wow dad, it’s douchecanoe and he is so definitely one of those.”

“Douchecanoe? Such lovely language you kids use today.”

“And I suppose your parents thought bitchin was nice?”

“My dad had a mouth like a sailor.”

“Grandpa Jojo was a sailor.”

“Exactly, he used far more colorful words than bitchin.”

“Hey dad can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” dad said stuffing another handful of popcorn in his mouth.
 

“Do you remember when I was nine and we went to visit grandpa?”

“Of course, that was two months before he …” Dad went quiet and stared at the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

I couldn’t allow my dad’s sadness to distract me or the obvious discomfort what I was about to ask would do to him so I pressed on, “During that trip you were mad at Grandpa, mom said it had something to do with an unresolved issue you two couldn’t agree on … what was it”