Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (14 page)

“You scared me,
Joe.” Mom mumbled brokenly, her hands trembling up until they
touched my face. She looked so old. So frail. “So scared.”

“I know,
Mom.”

“Do you have
any idea what it was like, to have the police show up at my door at
three a.m.? Telling me that you’d been ….” Her face screwed up
again, she bit her lip.

“I … Mom, I
just.”

She pounded on
my shoulder with one tiny fist. It didn’t hurt at all save for the
pain in my heart. She hit me again and again as her tears fell.

I know what
that sounds like, but trust me - it wasn’t like that. It was never
like that.

I stood there
stoically and let Mom get her frustrations and fear out of her
system by reminding her that I was strong and hale and could take
whatever she needed me to take.

‘Cause that’s
what I do.

After a while
she exhausted herself and let me lead her back to the couch. My
stitches still ached like fury but I wasn’t about to say anything
in front of Mom.

Besides, I hate
taking pills.

I got her
settled in. Brought a glass of water for her medications and a mug
of coffee that she’d never finish, placing them on the table beside
her.

“Can I make you
anything? Are you hungry?”

Mom shook her
head weakly, just patting at the blanket near her feet. I complied,
sitting carefully on the far end of the couch.

Mom just stared
at me.

I had a
flashback to being nine years old and getting that look after
bringing my bike in the house and leaving dirty tire marks all over
the living room carpet.

Same look.

Like a coward I
looked away.

“Joe,” she
said. Her voice so tired. So weak. “What are you doing home?”

I gave her a
confused look. “Huh?” I articulated. Sorta expected a different
interrogation tact.

More of the
Mom-stare. “What are you doing home? All of the doctors and nurses
I spoke with over the phone and in person told me you were very
badly hurt.”

My shoulders
shrugged fractionally. “I guess.”

It was like she
didn’t need to blink, that’s how the Mom-stare worked. Sorta like
the Care Bears Stare, only with less bright lights and cuddly
bears. And more guilt.

What? I
was a child of the eighties. I watched a lot of cartoons. Not all
of them were cool like the
Thundercats
.

Let’s move
on.

“Joe. Did you
get discharged?”

I looked away
again. “Not exactly.”

If anything the
Mom-stare got more intense. And accusing.

“Look,” I said,
sighing. “I feel fine.”

“How can
you possibly feel fine after … After what happened?” It was clear
as a bell that she would never actually use the words
you got shot
at any point. It was
like they didn’t exist in her vocabulary. “What happened to you was
very serious, Joseph. You should be getting looked at
daily.”

“I was getting
looked at daily. Hourly for a while.” I shrugged again, my stitches
pulling slightly. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mom. I feel fine
all things considered.”

She tried to
keep the Mom-stare going, but it was clear that her energy was
fading fast. She took two of her pills and sipped water to get them
down.

She looked
scared.

I put my hand
on her blanket covered foot, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not
going away, Mom. I promise.”

She
blinked back tears. “You can’t go back to that job, Joseph. It’s
clearly too dangerous.”
I tried to hide a grimace. My mind imagined paying the bills
without the extra cash coming in from
Cowboy Shotz
. I didn’t like the way the numbers
added up in my head, and I knew damn well how they added up on
paper.

Unrealistic at
best.

I squeezed her
foot again, comforting her with my small smile. “Try to get some
sleep, Mom. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She blinked her
eyes a few times, made a small sound in protest. But sleep was
already taking her.

I got up from
the couch, creeping away to the dining room and sat down at the
table putting my aching head in my hands.

I wanted to
weep, but I wouldn’t let myself. The last time I cried was at Dad
and Donald’s funeral and I wasn’t about to break down now.

In the back of
my head I could still feel a small tingle, causing the headache I
was dealing with to pulse in time with the beat of my heart. My
fingers gripped painfully hard into my matted hair. I welcomed
it.

Pain lets you
know that you’re alive. If I am hurting, I am breathing. And if I
am breathing I can deal with whatever’s put in front of me.

Mantra
complete.

I leaned back
in the old wooden dining room chair. It creaked under my weight as
it always did.

On the table in
front of me was the usual mass of newspapers, bills and miscellany
that accumulated there over the course of a week. Mom reads the
complete newspaper every day without fail, even if it takes her a
few days to get through all the articles. So they tend to pile up
here, collecting dust until she get to them. Almost all of them had
some variation on the Sun’s front cover story about the shooting,
save for the ones talking about missing girls and the Jets missing
the playoffs. Again.

I pushed them
aside and tried to take stock of the bills.

No surprises
there. Hydro and the cable company wanted their pound of flesh. The
house insurance was coming due in a few weeks and MasterCard wanted
to know why I hadn’t made a payment since January.

I wanted to
know why I needed a new MasterCard every three months. Damned
things always crap out on me, leaving me hanging like a nitwit
trying to buy groceries and staring at the clerk shamefacedly as
she hands back my inoperable card.

It wasn’t too
bad overall. I had to pay a visit to the bank, sign a few forms for
the Blue Cross folks and get a hold put on my mortgage payments
until the insurance kicked in. That’d make everyone happy and keep
the house from being taken away. A few weeks of no mortgage
payments actually gave me a chance to get caught up on other
bills.

Again. I
shoulda got shot months ago.

My stomach
rumbled. I stared down at it in surprise as hunger once again added
it’s two cents to the complaining areas of my body. I glanced up at
the wall clock. Cathy had only dropped me off an hour before and
I’d had a full meal less than an hour before that.

More rumbling.
It pulsed in accord with my head and body aches.

“Okay, okay “ I
muttered under my breath and headed into the kitchen.

Salami. Bread.
Mustard. Cheese slice.

Heaven.

I nommed my way
back into the kitchen when I saw a familiar sight rumble into the
driveway through the big front street windows.

My beat up Ford
Windstar chugged its way to a stop amidst its familiar billow of
dark exhaust fumes. All rusty, banged up and with cheap mismatched
tires. Through the cracked windshield I could see Mark fiddling
with the gear shift, clearly unfamiliar with my baby’s particular
needs in the transmission department.

Jamming another
big bite into my mouth as I minced through the kitchen, I slipped
on my sneakers and quietly went outside.

My van
shuddered again and went silent as Mark hopped out, a stunned look
on his face.

“You crazy
motherfucker,” he said stepping forward. We smacked hands and did
one of those single armed, shoulder to shoulder bro hugs that show
male friendship without being weird. Belt buckles clearly twelve
inches apart. He clapped my back hard a few times making me
wince.

“Easy, easy!” I
choked out with a laugh. “I just got out of the hospital,
dammit.”

He stepped back
a wild grin on his face, hands up on my shoulders. “What the fuck,
man? What are you doing here?”

“I live
here.”

“Dude, a week
ago I saw you lying unconscious in the hospital with a million
tubes going in and out of you.” He looked me up and down, shaking
his head with a wry smile. “For real, man. This is
unbelievable.”

“Maybe I should
buy a lotto ticket?”

“Hell no,
must’ve used up all of your luck by now. I’ll buy the lotto
ticket.”

“Bastard.”

We laughed
together, my aches and pains suddenly not feeling as bad.

“My girl been
treating you good?” I asked motioning towards the van.

Mark glanced at
me quickly, an odd look in his eyes before he answered. “I don’t
know how you drive this thing, man. Seriously, it is the clunkiest
and most temperamental beast I have ever gotten behind the wheel
of.”

My hand went
over my heart in mock horror.

“For shame you
should speak of my baby like that.”

“Your van’s a
piece of shit, Joe. Just admit it.”

“I admit
nothing.” Then I blinked in thought. “How’d you end up with the
van, anyways?”

Mark shrugged,
looking over at my baby in her rusty glory. The van made her usual
clicking and rattling noises while cooling down. Made me smile a
little to hear it.

“I went
to grab your coat after we’d cleared everyone out. Your keys were
inside. Figured you didn’t need to get towed on top of everything
else.”

“Huh.
Thanks.”

“You should
thank Tamara.”

“Huh?”

“Tamara?” Mark
prodded, still looking at my van. “You know. Your friend? Hot
little thing training to be a massage therapist? Red librarian
glasses?”

I bumped his
shoulder. “Yes. Thank you, dumbass. But why should I thank
her?”

He shrugged
slightly. “I had no idea what you drove. When I asked around she’s
the only one who knew. Helped me find it too.”

“Huh.” Tamara.
Shit. I hadn’t spoken to her. “You’re right, I do need to thank
her.”

Mark nodded.
“Good. You should give her a shout soon. She’s been worried.
Especially since we heard you skipped out of the hospital.”

“Between the
two of you and my mother this guilt trip is …” I paused, my brain
tying thoughts together. “Wait. Are you banging, Tamara?”

“What? No!”
Mark blustered, turning back to face me. His expression more than a
bit shamefaced.

“You sure?
Cause you seem awful familiar talking about her.”

Mark held up
both hands in front of him, same as I did to my mother not half an
hour earlier. “I swear man, no banging.”

I gave him the
eye for a moment, nowhere near as good as the Mom-stare. But still
effective.

“For real,”
Mark crossed his heart dramatically. “No banging.”

“Well. Okay
then.”

“We just made
out is all.”
“What?”

“It’s not a big
deal.”

“I get shot and
nearly die in front of the whole city and you go make out with
Tamara in my own van?”

“No man. Not in
your van.”

“Not in my
van?”

“No way. In her
apartment.”

I stared at
him.

Mark shrugged
his shoulders.

I ran my
fingers down over my face, shaking my head.

I could hear
Mark shuffling his feet. “I didn’t mean to make this weird,
man.”

“No, it’s all
good.” I sighed. “ I can totally see how this could happen.
Stressful situation. You give her a lift home. Your tongue falls
into her mouth. Total accident.”

“Look,” Mark
said, a bit of anger starting in his voice. “Tamara was really
upset. And shit man, so was I. She helped me find your ride and I
drove her home. I went in to use her washroom to clean some of the
blood off my hands.” I winced at that, guilt beginning to supercede
my aggravation. “We had a drink. She started crying, still worried
about you. Next thing I know ….”

I wanted
to be angry out of some Neanderthal impulse. Check that, I was
angry
because
of some
possessive Neanderthal impulse. Which of course made me angry with
myself. I am many things, but a Neanderthal shouldn’t be one of
them.

Mark cooled
down himself, lowering his palms. “Look,” he said. “It happened,
and we stopped it. I didn’t want things to go too far. She’s your
friend and I didn’t know if there was anything going on there.”

Which of course
was the ten thousand dollar question.

“Is there
something going on there? Tamara didn’t seem to think so. But still
…”

God my head
hurt.

“No man,
there’s nothing going on.” I said clearly, though my guts wanted to
kick me in the balls as I did. My guts apparently knew something
the rest of me didn’t. “Tamara’s cool. I’m just … I was just
surprised is all.”