Crossing (14 page)

Eugene to Salt Lake to Denver to Midway later, and Dad is tossing a handful of coins from the jar he keeps between the seats of the Blazer into the toll machine. We go another two miles on the shitty, pothole-dented road and then plow through a slushy puddle driving up the exit ramp toward home.

I shiver, my body more acclimated to constant pissing rain than the bitter cold that is Illinois in December.

Dad reaches over and cranks the heat up higher and fans open the front of his parka. He chuckles at me. “You’ll have to borrow one of Mom’s coats.”

I nod and shiver again.

“And probably her hat with the ear flaps.”

“Never!” I grin at him, though. We both hate that hat, which is why my mom insists on shoveling the driveway in it every chance she gets, just to embarrass us.

Dad turns into our neighborhood, and I put my forehead against the chilly window, taking in the beauty of the Christmas lights and spot-lit nativity scenes on every other lawn. “I see the Esahs’ got their third Wise Man back.”

“Apparently,” Dad says, like he’s divulging the secret of the century, “that Darrow kid who does a half-assed job mowing kidnapped the Wise Man and hid it in his closet for ransom until he collected the fifteen dollars he felt he was due.”

“Scandalous!”

He laughs, pulling up in front of our house. “I’m sure we’ll still be talking about it at the block party in June.”

Mom opens the storm door and waves when we get out of the truck. “Hi, honey! Get in here so I can squeeze you.”

I hurry over to her while Dad retrieves my suitcase. Mom wraps me in a hug and pulls me into the house. She rocks me back and forth while nearly suffocating me in her Mama Bear grip. It suddenly hits me how much I miss my folks, and I squeeze my mom back.

“You must be starved,” she says, finally letting go and dragging me through the decked-out family room to the eat-in kitchen. “Sit.”

I take my usual seat at the kitchen table and finger the Polyfil stuffed Christmas tree centerpiece she’s set out every year since I can remember. Moments later, a big steaming bowl of pinto beans with ham over cornbread appear in front of me, followed by a tall glass of sweet tea.

Dad comes into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. “Ooh, that looks good.”

Mom hands him a bowl and then makes one for herself.

We eat.

“We’re gonna have the toots,” Mom says, giggling.

Dad nods and then purposefully takes a giganto bite of beans.

I’m home.

X

“C’mon,” Devon says, nodding for me to follow him. “I’ll get the salad. You grab the spoons.”

I wade through the mess of wrapping paper and ribbon littering Granny’s family room floor and snag three spoons from the pile on the tea towel lying out across the kitchen counter. They’re still warm from the dishwater.

My other cousin, Sean, pulls my borrowed coat off the back of a dining chair and hangs it on my head by the fur-lined hood.

Operation Escape is in progress.

Devon hands me the bowl of Granny Walker’s Ambrosia salad and climbs the rickety ladder to the tree fort our dads built us a million years ago. I hold the salad and spoons above my head and Devon takes them from me. I’m up the ladder next, finally putting my arms in my coat and zipping it up. Sean brings up the rear.

We sit on milk crates huddled together in the middle of the fort, freezing our asses off, and Devon passes out the spoons before peeling the foil back from the cloudy white Tupperware bowl. They let me take the first bite, like they always have, since we were ten, twelve, and fourteen and started coming up here to avoid getting sucked into the cutthroat hands of Euchre the adults spend most of Christmas Day playing.

I savor the commingling flavors of pistachio pudding mix, Cool Whip, marshmallow, shredded coconut, and pineapple on my tongue. “Mm mmm!”

Sean laughs, nodding, and crams a bite into his mouth. “Liking this shit has to be genetic. There’s no logical way it should be edible.”

“And yet,” Devon says, licking the back of his spoon, “I start dreaming about it the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, me too,” Sean and I say in agreement.

We chow down until we’re disgusted with ourselves and then toss the spoons into the empty bowl.

Devon leans back and rubs his stomach, letting loose a belch.

“Nice one,” I say, countering with a beauty of my own.

“Amateurs.” Sean, as usual, puts us to shame.

I shake my head. “If only Tia and Amber could see you now.”

Devon makes a throat-slashing motion, but it’s too late.

“Sorry,” I say, reaching over and patting Sean on the shoulder. “Tia’s no more?”

Sean shrugs the comment off. “It’s been a couple of months. I’m fine.”

Devon snorts and Sean glares at him like only a big brother can before bringing the focus back to me. “What about you, baby girl? You seeing anyone?”

I blush and look down, giving myself away.

Both of my cousins pull their wallets out and open them, like they’re about to duel.

“I had a feeling this was your year,” Sean says, as if that explains anything.

I nod at their wallets. “And you’ve made a bet of some sort regarding my love life?”

“Twenty bucks to me,” Devon says, “if you’ve got yourself a lady friend.”

“And twenty bucks to me,” Sean says, “if you’ve finally come to your senses and started dating a brother.”

My Aunt Sheila, their mom, is black and has suggested numerous times that I might have more luck if I’d let her set me up with her friends’ sons instead of messing around with silly white boys.

Not that she’s ever made good on her offer. She probably thinks I secretly love the ladies too.

This gives me an idea. “Do I get to pocket all forty if I’m dating a black lesbian?”

My cousins’ eyes go wide.

“Are you?” Sean asks.

“Nah.” I laugh. “I live in Oregon, remember? I have a better chance of hooking up with a Korean pop star than someone of the African persuasion.” I shrug. “Put your money away. I’m seeing a white dude from Idaho.”

“Hey,” Sean says, shifting to the side and stowing his billfold in his back pocket. “I don’t give a shit what color he is, as long as he’s good to you.”

I bite the inside of my lip.

Devon taps me on the arm, narrowing his eyes at me. “He’s good to you, right?”

“Yeah, he is, but…” I don’t know if I should say. Liam’s secret isn’t mine to tell, although this is different than what Ariana did. It’s not like Sean and Devon are going to blab to everyone they know.

“What’s up, Dani? You can tell us anything. No judgment.” Sean takes my hand.

I suck in a deep breath. “He likes to wear women’s clothes.”

Sean and Devon look at each other, look at me, then burst out laughing. I yank my hand away from Sean.

“No judgment, my ass!” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

Devon wipes tears from his eyes. “Only you, cuz.”

Sean puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him, still giggling. “Only.You.”

I crack a smile. It’s hard not to. I mean, yes, it’s ridiculous. I’ve been mired down in the seriousness of my situation for weeks, but feeling free to laugh about it seems right.

“Ugh,” I groan and bang my head against Sean’s chest.

He leans away from me, studying my face. “You love him?”

I nod. “I love him.”

Sean pats me on the cheek. “Then who gives a fuck?”

X

There’s a knock on my bedroom door and then Mom peeks her head in. I’m sitting on my bed, staring at my phone, trying to get up the nerve to call Liam and tell him I love him. But is that the kind of thing that should be done in person?

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this, honey,” Mom starts.

I toss my phone onto the bedside table. She’s got my full attention. “Tell me what?”

She comes in and sits down next to me, giving me a wan smile. “I ran into Chase’s mom at the store a few weeks ago and she asked if you’d be home for break. I told her that you would, not really knowing why she was asking, since she was never very nice to you.”

That was an understatement. Chase’s mom hated my guts and totally blamed me for what happened.

“Anyway,” Mom continues. “She said if you had any time to stop by that she’d finally gotten around to packing up Chase’s room and she’s got a box for you. Photos and things of that nature, I’m assuming.”

“Did you tell her I’d be by?” I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants legs.

“I said it was up to you, but that I’d let you know.”

I lean my head on her shoulder. “And then you waited until the day before I’m leaving to tell me?”

My head moves up and down when she shrugs. “No sense in worrying you your entire visit.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek.

X

I cut through the park between my house and Chase’s, thankful for the boots Mom loaned me. The ground is a wet, soupy mixture of mud, dead grass, and slushy snow. I tuck my chin into the collar of my coat, not even really looking where I’m going. My feet know the way.

Taking the steps up the hill that lead to the front door two at a time, I hurry and ring the bell before I chicken out.

Mrs. Hamilton opens the door, giving me a sliver of a smile. “Danielle. Please come in.” She backs up and I step into the foyer. All of Chase’s school pictures line the wall along the staircase.

“He was a handsome young man, wasn’t he?” she says when she catches me looking.

“Yeah, he was,” I say, pushing my lips together to keep the tears I’ve been holding back since I left my house from filling my eyes.

She walks into the living room and picks up a cardboard file box that’s sitting on the coffee table. “Here you are. I thought you might appreciate some mementos.”

“Thank you.” I take the box from her, sliding my fingers into the handles on the sides. “It was nice of you to think of me.” It really is, because no matter what stupid stuff is in this box, it’s more of Chase than she’s ever let me have before.

“No problem, Danielle.” She walks to the front door and opens it. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” I say, knowing I’ll probably never speak to her again.

Instead of heading home to open the box, I take a right down the street and walk four blocks to the cemetery. When I get to the spot where Chase is buried, I set the box down and swipe the snow from his headstone. “Hey, bitch,” I say, finally letting the tears flow. There’s not another soul around. “Long time, no see.”

I squat down and take the lid off the box and let out a strangled, snotty, crying laugh at the framed photo on top. “We were so awesome.” I pick the photo up and turn it toward the headstone. “Check out these badasses.”

Chase and I are leaning back against his car, our arms crossed, doing our best Blue Steel for the camera. My dad took the picture before the Junior Jam. There’s a sprig of holly strapped to my wrist – Chase thought it would make a fetching corsage. It repeatedly got stuck to his rental tux every time we slow danced.

I stick the photo along the side of the box and dig down further. More photos, ticket stubs, a playbill from when we went to see Wicked at the Ford. A thick manila envelope sits at the bottom. I take it out, turning it over to see if there is a label (there’s not) and then unwind the red waxy string fastener.

Looking inside I see folded pieces of different kinds of paper – notebook, receipts, plain white, Goldenrod, a torn brown paper bag. My breath catches in my throat as I pull a random one out.

I unfold it.

Physical Therapy

I follow you up the stairs to your apartment

sliding one hand absently along

the paint-peeling wall

the other casually hooked with yours

your ugly dark brown shoes

clunking on each creaky step

Ignoring my feelings

I shut the door behind me

click off the light at the top of the bed

burning my wrist on the uncovered bulb

silently accepting the pain

I am so tired tonight

your self-pity hanging on my conscience

frustration wrapping around my legs

pulling me down

I think about asking you

if you want me to wear a mask of her face

To speak her words

But you have been kind enough

to put clean sheets on the bed

Besides

I can’t feel her feelings

Passion is lost

when your hands don’t fumble over

the familiar buttons and clasps

Clothes slip off

as if you have made an incision in my chest

and are peeling my skin back

Complete nakedness feels clothed

My mind curses my body for reacting

to your urgent touch

trembling

tensing

lying back

giving in

I look out the window

to the street light outside

to anything

I study every rainbow line

in the halo around the light

every shade

every color

until they blur together lavender

The cool of the new sheets

hides in the folds of cloth

bunched up in the small of my back

The smell of Tide and honeysuckle incense

overcome

by sweat and the vodka on your panting breath

I grab the headboard above me

curling my fingers around the edge

Waiting for you to stop feeling lonely

Wondering why I comfort you

letting you steal from me

to fill the missing part in your life

I am there when you need her

There must be a hundred in the envelope. Chase kept everything, every poem I’d ever written.

The ache of missing him is so strong that I fall on my knees and push the heel of my palm to my chest, trying to force the pain away.

“Dani Walker?” a guy says behind me.

I whip my head around. Jamie Morrison is standing next to his stupid blue pickup parked on the gravel road ten feet away. It’s got a plow on the front. I didn’t even realize he’d driven up. “I heard you got the groundskeeper job here,” I mutter.

He pulls a joint out from its hiding place tucked under his seed corn company hat and lights it. “And I can still recognize you by the back of your head.” He smirks and takes a deep drag before offering it to me. I shake my head
no
.