Darling (10 page)

In 315, Sharon Newman drank a glass of Cabernet in her pajamas and flipped through television stations, searching for something to distract her. When her husband passed away she had been forced to learn the art of living alone. It was a difficult thing, much harder than she thought it would be, but she had done it. The most difficult times were before bed. These hours were heart wrenching and the ache of solitude pressed around her, pushing the walls of her apartment out to unimaginable lengths until she felt she was the only person in the entire state. He had always joked with her while she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Always tried to take her pajamas off as soon as she put them on. Always rolled up next to her and talked about their day as they flipped through the channels. Now it was only her and the television, the closest thing to company she had, as she lay in bed and prayed for sleep.

Margot Deschaine and Matt Reynolds swam in the pool, kicking around in the cool water and attempting to forget the troubles of their day. Carl Petrie nursed a bottle of beer as he watched them splash, dangling his feet in the pool but embarrassed to remove his shirt in front of a woman. He knew that he needed to lose weight. It was just so damn hard. They told him to come in and he laughed and shook his head. Glanced at his watch. Said something about it being well past pool hours. Matthew responded by grabbing his thighs and dragging him in with a loud splash, the beer bottle rolling away and spilling on the concrete. Carl put on an act of irritation, but was glad; he now had an excuse to stay hidden beneath his shirt as he swam.

Karen Donahue was in the laundry room, folding clothes she had forgotten had dried much, much earlier. She laughed at her frequent bouts of absentmindedness and wondered how many people had to maneuver around her bra and panties during the day. She stopped folding and shoved the rest of the clothes into her basket. It was far too late to be down here. She told herself the sudden nervousness was because she had to work early in the morning, but her mind cursed her for a superstitious little girl as she pounded her way up the steps. Once out of the basement she could laugh about it, about the stupid little feeling that eyes stared at her from the darkness down there, watching her every move.

In 228, Josh Torrance washed the dishes. He had to be at work in less than seven hours, but the place just wasn’t clean enough for his wife. Morgan had come home from work late again, screaming and yelling, cursing him, calling him “lazy” and “stupid” and pointing out how fat he was letting himself get. They hadn’t slept together much lately and every abuse she slung at him told him why. She pointed out the dishes, the dirty carpet (
I don’t see a speck on
it
, he had thought), and the tub. She wanted them clean and couldn’t understand why they weren’t. What do you do with your day, I work and slave and blah blah blah
you
are worthless
. He had mouthed off at her, something about her acting like her mom, and she had thrown her cup of tea at him. It had bounced from his forehead and almost took him off of his feet. The pain was little more than a dull throb now and when she came up behind him and said she was sorry and her voice trembled and she sniffed back tears, he told her it hadn’t hurt a bit. She smiled and kissed him and took his hand, walking him to the bedroom. That was the only thing he enjoyed about her bad moods. After some explosion of curses, she apologized to him the only way she knew how. It was that show of tenderness, that little glimpse of the woman he had married five years ago, that kept him from leaving in the middle of the night.

Little Peggy Wills sat in her bed, her Hannah Montana sheets pulled up to her chest, and thought of the hospital as she drifted off to sleep. She hated its white walls and sterile smells. She hated how the nurses were rude and how her mother would cry every time she went. She let these thoughts swirl around as she drifted off to sleep, unaware of her closet door creaking open. She would have screamed if she had known; like all children, she was afraid of closets and the spaces under beds. Like all children her age, she wanted nothing more than to go outside, go to school. Play. Have friends. But summer was no vacation for her, no break between grades. Summer meant treatments and vomiting and crying. She hated it all and the dark of her closet drank that in.

Jack Stark sat at a table in his workroom, soldering together a few bits of wire on an old pocket radio he had. He had thought about scrapping it, thought about getting one of them iPod things, but decided against it. The frequencies he picked up while in the building were unique and he was afraid the things he heard, the things he had recorded in the “Voices” section of his “Anomalies” book, couldn’t be picked up if he used an iPod. Hell, they couldn’t even get WIVK, could they? And what would he do without the country music that station played as he worked? So he soldered his radio under the hot lights of his workroom, bearing the heat as best he could in exchange for keeping the shadows away.

In 116, Tony Parker watched his daughter sleep. His time with her was so short these days. He felt her drifting from him and worried about how the divorce affected her. She seemed so young, but she was a junior in high school now; she could probably handle more than he thought.
I
wonder if she’s had sex yet? Or gone down on a boy in a movie theater,
or given a handjob in the backseat of a car?
He shook those thoughts out of his head. She was his little girl and he had taught her better. She moaned and kicked the sheet off. He realized how hot she must be and turned the air conditioner up a notch. Then he kissed her forehead and left, shutting the door behind him. He went to his own room, shut and locked the door, and sat at his computer. He clicked through his “Favorites” folder until he found the site he was looking for. He grabbed a dirty towel from the laundry hamper and found a young girl that looked vaguely like his wife (
ex-wife,
he reminded himself). As the video played, he wondered if the girls were really “Nineteen and Wet” as advertised.

The walls of Raynham Place sweat as much as its tenants. It weathered the hot summer nights like an old tree, letting them batter against it and give it life. And like a tree, the worms inside of it went about their business and it paid them little attention. Summer was not a time for introspection, after all.

Chapter Seven

“Mike…Mike. MIKE!”

Mike slammed the brakes and Dennis jerked forward in his seat. The seatbelt slipped and bit him across the neck. He yanked it down.

“Sorry.”

Dennis swallowed the string of curses barreling up his throat. Counted to three. Sighed. “It’s okay, man. Just… let’s just keep it under forty for now, okay?”

Mike nodded, but his irritation was obvious. Dennis knew the signs: crinkled brow, clenched jaw, refusal of eye contact. What he didn’t know was whether Mike was irritated at him or himself.

This was the third weekend in a row Dennis had taken Mike out for driving lessons. The campus was empty, the summer mini-term having just ended and the fall semester not starting for a few weeks. The first weekend he’d let Mike drive the Saturn around a huge parking lot, getting a feel for the basics. The next weekend he had taken him inside one of the parking garages, letting him get used to steering and parking. He had been doing well, and Dennis thought it was time to get him on one of the empty streets twisting around the campus.

It wasn’t going so well.

Mike’s ubiquitous anxiety had taken hold and, when he didn’t freeze up all together, he went much too fast. Worse, he had started to mix up the brake and gas pedals, jerking to sudden stops or jolting forward while parking. That would have been expected the first weekend, maybe even the second. But now it just frustrated Dennis. Mike knew better. He had proven that already.

They were parked at an odd angle a few feet from a telephone pole Mike had seemed intent on colliding with. Dennis saw a landscaping crew up on the hill. They had stopped what they were doing and stared down at the car, pointing and laughing.
Better get Mike out of here before he notices
them. Otherwise it’s all over for today.

“Alright, let’s just back her up, turn onto the street, and head back for the commons.”

Mike looked down at the gear shifter, scowling at it like everything had been its fault. He fumbled with it, slid it into place. The car jerked backwards and then settled into a slow pace as his foot found the brake. He twisted around and stared out the back windshield, his gaze intense, biting his lower lip in concentration. When he was back on the road he took a deep breath and managed to turn the car around. He shifted into drive and inched down the road.

Dennis was glad Eileen hadn’t been selling a manual transmission. “You can speed up a little. Just keep it under forty.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Yeah, yeah? I’m giving up my Saturday for this. You could be a little more appreciative.

He realized he was getting angry with Mike and felt bad about it. He always felt bad about getting angry with Mike. It was like getting angry with a dog for pissing on the floor; he couldn’t help it. Better call it a day.

He glanced at his watch. “What time you gotta be at work?”

“Four.”

“Well, it’s two-thirty now. Maybe we should head that way and grab some lunch, then I’ll drop you off.”

Mike shrugged and pulled the car over onto the side of the road. The stop was much smoother this time, as though the declaration that the lesson was over had removed whatever troubled him. They got out and switched seats. Dennis sped down the road and onto Cumberland Avenue, not saying a word until they came to the first string of shops on Kingston Pike.

He thought about asking Mike what bothered him, but didn’t want to hear it. He was tired of the excuses. It would just be the same litany of accusations: his dad, his mom, his manager. Dennis. It was always someone else’s fault. Never his. No, he was perfect. The only reason things didn’t work out for him was because everyone else was out to get him.

Dennis said something about getting sushi. He knew

Mike hated the stuff, but there was a hamburger place he loved next door. Mike mentioned it and Dennis was glad his plan had worked; he didn’t want to eat with Mike. He wanted to be done with him for the day. At least until he picked him up from work at midnight.

The car slid into a parking spot in front of the restaurants and Mike leaped out and slammed his door without a word.

Good riddance.

Dennis went inside and ordered, then sat and called Eileen while he waited. It went to voicemail.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Just wanted to see what you were doing later. Thought we could hang.” He paused.

Something paced across his tongue, hesitant about coming out. I’m not ready for
that
, he decided. Even if I were I’d like to think I’m a little more romantic than to leave it on her voicemail.

Realizing the pause had become awkward, he mumbled something about thinking his food was coming and hung up.

The moment left an imprint on him, a feeling of anxiety. Is that how he felt about her? Was that something that needed to be addressed? Was it too soon? Or was it too late? If he didn’t say it, would she feel like they were going nowhere and head off to look for another man? Or would she—

Stop it. You sound like Mike.

Mike. He wondered if this was the kind of feeling his roommate walked around with. If so, it was no wonder he was so difficult to be around sometimes. Dennis hated being confused, hated being unsure of himself or his situation. He could see how that would make someone insufferable.

Pity washed over him and he dialed Mike’s cell to apologize for the day. It rang twice and went to voicemail. Dennis had the same phone and knew what that meant: Mike had seen him calling and silenced him.

Asshole.

Dennis pounded off a quick text message:

SOMETHIN CAME UP. GOTTA GO.

CAN U WALK TO WORK? PICK U UP

@ MIDNITE.

He never received an answer, but didn’t care; they needed a break from each other. The theater was only a block away from where they were. If Mike had trouble walking there, that was his problem.

He felt petty and childish, but shook it off. What else was he going to do? Fight it out with Mike? Like that would work. All Mike would do was blame everything on Dennis, not just the driving but
everything
: moving out, the fight with his parents, the whole thing. Then he would try to avoid him for a week or so while he sulked and nursed his bruised ego. It was impossible to talk to him sometimes. Better just to let it blow over.

His phone vibrated to tell him he had a text. It was one word:

FINE.

Its tone was clear, blasting at him from the blue LCD screen like Mike had yelled it from across the room.

He asked if he could get his order to go and left. He pulled out of the parking lot before Mike could see him go.

When he stopped at a red light, Dennis deleted the text message and tried to pretend he’d never gotten it.

Eileen did come over that night and went with him to pick Mike up from work. Her presence worked wonders to set aside the day’s tension and the three of them laughed and joked the entire way back to the apartment. She stayed over and, like the few times in the past month that she’d done so, Mike’s behavior was stranger than normal. The mornings were the worst; she’d get up early and make all three of them breakfast, but Mike was unapproachable for the first few hours of the day. He’d get a plate of food, nod an awkward greeting, and retreat to his room. Once everyone had showered and changed and he could forget she had spent the night, everything was fine again.

She asked Dennis about it once and he shrugged. Deep down he suspected Mike felt it was a betrayal of his sister in some way, but never would have told Eileen that. He worried that she already felt like she was in Allison’s shadow in some way and didn’t want to add to that.