100 Days
Authors: Mimsy Hale
© Mimsy Hale, 2015
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 13: 978-1-941530-29-0
Published by
Interlude Press
http://interludepress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
All trademarks and registered trademarks are the property of their
respective owners.
Book design
by Lex Huffman
Cover Design
by Buckeyegrrl Designs
Front cover concept
by Abbi Lawson
Photo Credits:
The following photos were used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License (CC by 2.0), and were accessed September 30, 2014.
Desert Road II by picturesofyou, http://bit.ly/1pJCcK5
Times Square Crossing by mssarakelly, http://bit.ly/1mWHcQH
Laser Hands In The Air by Gadgee Fadgee, http://bit.ly/1CHRbNL
Grand Canyon, South rim (Yaki point) by Deepti Hari, http://bit.ly/1xHNCao
Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas by djfpaagman, http://bit.ly/1xHNW8Q
Welcome to Florida - The Sunshine State by Tournament Committee, http://bit.ly/1BCBNj8
Elvis Has Left the Building by Jamie/jbcurio, http://bit.ly/1E6pgJ5
Lantern Floating Festival 2013 by Kyle Nishioka/ madmarv00, http://bit.ly/1vBJXIE
Françoise et Richard à la plage by diogo86/ Yuri, http://bit.ly/1rBt8gZ
Additional cover photo credits:
©Depositphoto.com/ svyatoslavlipi/ Rangizzz/
Chapter header photo credit:
©Depositphoto.com/ jentara
View full art listing at: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B422KYO8oC15VUEwWmtLS2RFX28/view?usp=sharing
Contents
“The road must eventually lead to the whole world.”
—Jack Kerouac,
On the Road
Opening Credits
Saturday, September 15, 2012
“Well, if I didn’t know how much you hated Maine before…” Jake Valentine trails off and glances up at Aiden, who drinks deeply from
a bottle
of water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I don’t hate it,” he says, setting the bottle down next to Jake’s and leaning back against the table. The sticky, weathered wood is entirely characteristic of The Cannery, their local bar; everything in it is worn and in dire need of replacement. “I’m just done here.”
“I know you are. It’s time we both got out.” Jake runs a hand through his mop of thick blond hair; the product is long gone in the mid-September humidity. “For good this time, not just for a year across the pond.”
“I still wish you could have come with me,” Aiden says, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head and adds, “That’s exactly why I’m happy we’re doing this, though. But first, I have a gig to finish. Two more songs, I promise.”
“Okay. But Aiden—”
Jake stops abruptly when Aiden places a finger across his lips and fights the childish impulse to stick out his tongue and lick.
“They’re good ones, I swear,” Aiden tells him with a wink that Jake would consider flirtatious had it come from anyone else. But this is Aiden, his best friend of sixteen years; and despite the crush on Aiden that Jake tends to harbor whenever he finds himself single, he would never think of acting on it. They have so much shared history and so many unspoken boundaries in place that help keep them exactly what they are to one another. It is nothing more than an occasional, harmless crush, perhaps even some bastardized version of hero worship. Jake never spends too long thinking about it.
He watches Aiden walk back to the stage under the low lights and takes in the sight of his broader shoulders, darker brown, taller hair and the new confidence in his walk and thinks,
He looks different.
Jake has lost count of how many times he has made this observation since Aiden’s return from London.
Aiden takes his place amongst the other members of his old college band—The Spinning Cogs, reunited for one night only—and shoots Jake a grin. For the past hour or so, the band has been performing songs about getting out, taking off, breaking free. Some of them Jake remembers Aiden writing between classes and others he’s never heard before, but either way the message is difficult to miss.
“You’ve got it bad.”
Jake almost jumps out of his skin; his knuckles are white on the edge of the table and his breathing is ragged as he glares at the girl folding her willowy frame into a seat across the booth. April Matheson, Jake’s other best friend, looks innocently from beneath thick, red sideswept bangs and smiles.
“April, I swear to god, if you keep on about that…”
“Aw, Jakey, come on,” April cajoles, nudging his foot underneath the table. “You know they say you tell the truth when you’re drunk.”
“Okay, one: I wasn’t drunk,” Jake says, entirely sick of this conversation. It’s been playing on a loop for the past three weeks. “Two: I was speaking
objectively.
Of course Aiden’s hot, have you seen him? I mean, you’d have to be blind. But I don’t think of him that way. It’s
weird.”
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt,” April quips, giving him one of her patented mind-reader stares. His grip tightens on the edge of the table and he fights not to clench his teeth.
“And old clichés are not going to make me start spilling my guts to you about my feelings for Aiden,” Jake retorts, appending, “or lack thereof.”
They stare each other down for a long moment before finally cracking up and dissolving into a fit of laughter.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving
tomorrow.
You know I’ll miss you, right?” April says, taking his hand across the table.
“Of course I do. But it’s only three months,” Jake reminds her. “And anyway, you’ll be leaving soon, too. You’re taking your own band on tour, remember? It’s not like you’ll be stuck in Brunswick with nothing to do. We’ll see you in Michigan and Texas and Alaska, and then we’ll all be back here after New Year’s.”
“You’d better be coming back. It’s bad enough that you’re skipping town on your birthday. And ‘only three months?’ You’re my best friend, what’s gonna become of me without you?” April asks, sighing dramatically with the back of her hand to her forehead. “I swear, the next time you see me I’ll be sporting only the very best Happy-Mart couture.”
“Ugh, please don’t talk about Happy-Mart,” Jake groans. “We’ll be parking the RV at one too many for my liking. Can you catch bad taste through proximity?”
April snorts, and they lapse into a comfortable silence to enjoy the end of the band’s set. It’s the last song of the last performance that The Spinning Cogs will ever give, and Jake catches himself thinking,
It’s almost comforting, the way one thing can end and something new immediately take its place.
It doesn’t always happen—and sometimes when it does it is far from comforting—but even as Aiden belts the last note, he and Jake stand at the beginning of a road, about to embark upon a journey that will take them to every state in the country.
The band winds up the song with a huge crescendo that rings in Jake’s ears, and as the bar erupts in applause and cheers he watches Aiden hug Jeff, Stuart and Phil in turn. Then they begin to pack up their things, and a sense of closure seems to settle upon their slumped shoulders.
Soon, Aiden bounces over to Jake and April with his guitar case in tow, still running on his performance high. He bends down, wraps an arm around April’s shoulders and presses a lingering kiss to her cheek before straightening and turning to Jake.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
Jake nods, gestures to the guitar case and asks, “That’s coming with us, right?”
Aiden glances down as if only just realizing what he’s carrying. Brow furrowing over his chocolate brown eyes, he says, “I didn’t think we’d have room.”
“We’ll make room,” Jake tells him. The sunny smile that breaks over Aiden’s face is worth sacrificing a little closet space. He turns to April, squeezes her hand and says, “Thank you so much for throwing us this party. I’ll miss you too, you know.”
“You’d better, or else what have you got to come back for?” she teases, but her hazel eyes swim. She purses her lips and then all but bursts out of her seat to pull both Jake and Aiden into a tight hug.
“You’re always my favorite girl in all the world,” Jake says, and squeezes her so tightly that even
he
is a little short of breath.
“Okay. Go, before I take you hostage,” April says, stepping back and waving a hand between them. “Be careful, be safe, and look out for each other. Get back here in one piece.”
“Promise,” Aiden says, and gives her another brief hug. “Later, Flower.”
They remain quiet on the short drive back to sleepy Merrymeeting Road. Aiden lets Jake out and parks his beloved green Honda in his mom’s garage, where it will remain until they come back.
Jake takes his brief window of alone time inside the house to run his fingers over the corners of uneven walls and the wavering mantel over the open fireplace that he’s always hated for all of its ugly imperfection; now he feels inexplicably fond of it. He wanders almost aimlessly through the living room, past his parents’ empty chairs and the sagging couch and into the den.
“You’re going to miss this place. Admit it, Valentine,” Aiden says. When he turns around, Jake’s breath catches for a tiny measure at the sight of him as he leans casually against the doorframe, dressed in a white T-shirt, tight, dark-wash jeans and a leather jacket. He has the looks to give any classic greaser a run for his money—he’s only missing the 1950s’ hairstyle, turned-up cuffs and a pair of combat boots. The spare key from beneath the mat catches the light as Aiden turns it between his fingers.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jake replies, coming back to himself, and reminds him, “it’s not like we haven’t left home before.”
“But we came home most weekends. It’s different this time,” Aiden says, pushing off the frame and placing the key on the mantel before settling onto the arm of the couch. He looks entirely at ease in his own skin, a quality that Jake has envied as long as he can remember. “What time’s Charlie back?”
“Late, I think. She mentioned something about Martin taking her to a Hitchcock retrospective at the Frontier,” Jake says offhandedly, beckoning for Aiden to follow him into the kitchen, where he starts pulling ingredients from the pantry and setting them down by the stove.
“She’d never sit through Hitchcock for someone she wasn’t crazy about, would she?” Aiden asks carefully.
Jake exhales sharply and opens his mouth, but says nothing.
“Are you really going to leave without at least trying to make things right? She’s your sister, Jake.”
“She’s dating a professor who made it his mission to make my last semester of college look like hell would be a vacation.”
“She has self-worth issues,” Aiden says, shrugging.
“You took
one
psych class. And anyway, why am
I
the one who has to make things right?”
“Because she’s your
sister,
and she’s all—”
“All I have left now that Mom and Dad are gone?” Jake interrupts, rounding on Aiden, who holds up his hands in surrender.
“Okay, sorry. I’m leaving it alone.”
Jake sighs. “It’s fine.”
“So… it’s our last night,” Aiden says brightly, parting the tension like Moses facing down the Red Sea. Bumping their hips together, he sidles close, rests his head on Jake’s shoulder with an adoring look and asks, “What’s for dinner, honey?”
Jake elbows him away and conceals the grin he isn’t yet ready to give in to. “
You
are making my favorite, because it’s my birthday tomorrow and it’ll be a consolation for whatever awful shirt you got me this year. And I’m making
your
favorite because you were great today and I was proud of you.”
“Good,” Aiden says, grabbing a mixing bowl from beneath the sink and setting to work on his famous Aztec couscous. They move around one another in the kitchen with a near-silent, practiced ease that comes from years of learning one another by heart.
When everything is ready, they take their bowls of couscous and the large pan of cornbread out to the backyard, set themselves up in the Adirondack chairs on the deck and count fireflies between bites.
Jake knows that neither of them has quite learned who he is, yet. They didn’t find themselves amongst the term papers and library stacks, nor in the space between their dorm beds where they held hands every night for the first week of freshman year to anchor each other in a sea of homesickness. They are both—especially Aiden—chasing elusive threads of a life that seems to be hiding around every corner, ten steps ahead and always just vanishing out of sight.
“This is going to be awesome, right?” Aiden asks, setting his plate aside and wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. Jake takes a sip of water and nods. “It’s the start of something really, really great?”
“It’s going to be incredible,” Jake replies, putting his hand over Aiden’s and curling his fingers into the space above Aiden’s thumb.