Divine Vices (16 page)

It
was a half passed ten when Ian rolled into my driveway, and the events of the
last few days had clearly caught up with me. I could barely muster enough
strength to unlatch the car door and pull myself out.

“Thanks
for the lift.”

“See
you tomorrow. Seven o’clock on the dot.”

“Sleep
well.”

“You
too.”

I
lugged my weary limbs up the front porch as I rummaged through the contents of
my purse. “Son of a-”

“Everything
okay?”

I
pulled the storm door open and yanked on the main lock. “Could you wait here
for a minute?” I shouted to Ian, trotting down the steps.

He
nodded, and I headed to the back patio after unsuccessfully trying the side
door by the driveway. No luck there either. I returned to the truck with
slumped shoulders, crashing my dog-tired frame against the front hood.

“Let
me reiterate,” said Ian, poking his head out of the side window. “Everything
okay?”

“My
keys are in the pocket of my jacket, and my jacket is now on Gwen,” I mumbled.
“I know you’re exhausted, but could you be a saint and drop me off at the bar?”

“How
long is your dad working till?”

“No
idea.”

“Well,
why don’t you just crash at my place for the night?”

I
peeled my face off the hood. “What? No, I couldn’t put you out like that.”

“Foster,
get in the truck,” said Ian.

“What
about your mom?”

“She’ll
be fine. The woman could sleep through M-80s going off in the backyard. You
won’t be waking her,” he assured. “Now, as lovely of a hood ornament as you
make, I doubt you’ll want to spend the entire drive up there playing Ship’s
Mast.”

I
barely mustered a smile and fumbled back into the passenger seat.

Squeezing
out the ends of my dampened hair, I wiped the condensation off Ian’s bathroom
mirror and studied my reflection as I reveled from the soothing effects of a
quick, warm shower. Thoughts began to buzz in my head, but nothing managed to
form a clear notion. I was so exhausted that I actually doubted my ability to
recite the alphabet, let alone unearth the culprit behind an unfathomable
mystery. So I pulled on a concert tee that I had borrowed from Ian, which was
still fairly baggy on me despite his rather slight frame, and headed out of the
bathroom fresh-faced and make-up free.

“It’s
open,” said Ian as I tapped lightly on his bedroom door.

“Hey,”
I replied, poking my head inside. “Where can I find some blankets?”

“What
for?”

“So
I can crash on the couch...”

“Don’t
be silly. You’re the guest here. You get dibs on the bed,” he said, grabbing a
pillow and tossing it under his arm.

“Ian-”

“Don’t
even start. After the night you had last night, not to mention sleeping on a
hardwood floor the night before, I think you’ve earned a decent rest.”

“You
trying to tell me something? Do I look deprived?” I chuckled.

“No,
you look perfect,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek before departing. “If
you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thank
you.”

I
closed the door as his footsteps trotted downstairs. I tossed my jeans and
shirt onto the trunk sitting at the end of his bed and fell into the mattress, nuzzling
up into the downy masses of cotton. Soaking in the warm palettes from the
vintage vaudeville posters of Harry Houdini and Harry Kellar, my eyelids sank
shut even before I reached to turn off the light.

Subtle
shuffling, along with soft show tune humming, awoke me from my sleep. I blinked
a few times to adjust my vision to the brightly stricken room. All the window
shades were drawn up, and I nearly panicked at the thought that I had overslept
until I took a better look out the window to see it was barely twilight. I
pulled the covers off my shoulders and detangled myself from the bed sheets
before reaching up to finally turn off the lamp overhead.

“Time
to greet the day,” called out a voice at the foot of the bed.

I
jumped up in alarm, finding short-lived relief to see Mrs. Callaghan’s massive,
curly locks just over the comforter as she knelt down to grab some of Ian’s
loose laundry he had scattered about the floor.

“Oh!”
she piped the moment she looked up to realize it was me. “I’m, I’m-sorry! Just-
Sorry!”

She
hastened out of the room with an armful of clothes, leaving me in utter
befuddlement at her perplexing reaction. Then it hit me.

“Oh,
no!” I shouted, scrambling out of the bed and practically leaping down the
stairs.

“Care
to explain something?” I heard Mrs. Callaghan say the moment I hit the landing.

Ian
was standing in the kitchen, studying the contents inside the refrigerator
before looking up at his mother who was charging passed him into the laundry
room.

“Come
again?”

She
walked back into the kitchen after dumping the clothes into the washer with her
emotions slightly more in check, pointing at me and simply replying, “That.”

Ian
looked over at me just as baffled as I was a moment ago.

“It’s
not what you think,” I said, though I can’t say I posed much of a case as I
stood on the bottom steps in nothing but her son’s t-shirt.

“Okay,
what’d I miss?” said Ian, hoping for clarification until it finally registered
in his head as well. He started chuckling.

“Dare
I ask what’s so amusing?” begged Mrs. Callaghan.

It
was strange. I had never seen her angry about anything before, but given the
circumstances, I still had to hand it to her for keeping her cool.

“Cassie
got locked out of her place last night,” he finally said. “Nothing else. You
can see for yourself.”

His
mom followed him into the family room where a pillow and throw blanket were
still draped across the main couch. At last, she covered her mouth with her
hands and started chuckling too.

“I’m
so sorry,” she said blithely, heading back into the kitchen and parking a seat
at the table. “It’s just that... that’s about the last thing I was expecting.”

“I’m
gonna go get changed,” I said awkwardly, climbing up the stairs again.

Not
a moment later, I returned to the kitchen with a rather problematical issue.
“Hi, sorry to ask, but did you happen to grab a pair of jeans sitting on the
trunk when you came in earlier?”

Mrs.
Callaghan looked up from her cup of coffee with a guilt-ridden smile. “Maybe,
why? They weren’t yours, were they?”

“Seriously,
mom?” laughed Ian. “You looked at a pair of woman’s skinny jeans and thought
hey,
those have to belong to my son
? Wow, thanks. That says a lot.”

I
buried my face into the wall beside me and burst out laughing.

“I
wasn’t paying attention,” she said, hitting him in the arm with the morning
paper. “Maybe if your room didn’t look like a tornado had touched down in
there, I wouldn’t have to come in to clean up after you. You have a hamper. Use
it.”

“I’ll
get you sorted,” said Ian, motioning me back up the steps.

Belting
a pair of Ian’s ink splashed jeans, I rolled up the ends of the pant legs to
match my height and threw on my tank top from the night before. I swiped on
some eyeliner, a few coats of mascara, and a pop of sheer lip gloss to finish
off the look.

“You
have time for breakfast?” asked Mrs. Callaghan when I reentered the kitchen.

“Yeah,”
I said, taking a seat at the table.

She
scooped up a plateful of scrambled eggs from a sizzling frying pan on the stove
and slid the dish my way.

“Thank
you.” In all truth, I was absolutely starving, so it came as no shock that I
practically inhaled every morsel in under a minute.

“Talk
about a girl with a hearty appetite,” she said, sitting down at the seat across
the way. “Sorry about the clothes. I would have lent you a pair of my pants,
but in all honesty, you’d be swimming in them. Also, I haven’t been clothes
shopping since scrunchies were in.”

“It’s
no problem,” I said, pushing the plate aside. “Look, I’m really sorry about
earlier-”

“It’s
okay. I get it. You guys just really caught me off guard is all. There are
certain things as a mother that you know you have to prepare yourself for, but
my son has thankfully made those things infrequent at best. I’m pretty sure the
most trouble he’s ever gotten himself into was when he broke his curfew by a
couple hours after going to a concert in Portland.”

“Well,
consider yourself very fortunate. I don’t think I can recall another parent
saying that.”

“Oh,
I bet your dad could attest the same.”

“Hardly,
I’ve still had a few run-ins with trouble, mostly in connection with my sister.
As kids, Nikki always made me tag along on all her misadventures, where we
equally shared punishment for her half-baked schemes. She on her own though is
where most of my dad’s headaches came from. Nikki was the type who didn’t need
to study or practice. She was blessed with brains and athleticism, which over
the years led to boredom and plenty of idle time later to be occupied by
sneaking out of the apartment, taking my parents’ cars without their
permission, and dating too many unsavory guys.”

“Ah,
our greatest nightmares,” she chuckled.

“Yep,
my dad tried to keep as close of watch on her as possible, but she was always a
rather kindred spirit to my mother. She had an appetite for life and always
wanted to be in the middle of the experience,” I said with a growing smile.
“It’s kind of funny how siblings bond, despite being so very different. If
Nikki and I weren’t sisters, we probably never would have so much as talked to
one another. Yet, we were as thick as thieves.”

“She
sounds a little bit like Gwen,” said Mrs. Callaghan, looking up at me over a
cup of coffee.

“There’s
certainly a similar temperament there,” I laughed. “I presume Meyer was always
a bit of a handful as well when she was little?”

“You
could say that. It’s amusing to see children grow up, how they both change and
stay the same.”

“I
take it Ian has always been... nonconforming as well,” I said.

“Yes,
he has. He had already taken a shining to magic by the time he was four. And as
a mother, I assumed it was a phase that he would soon grow out of, but then
here we are nearly thirteen years later.”

“I
bet it made him a hit with the ladies.”

“I’m
fairly certain the
hitting
came from the fists of other male
classmates,” she tittered. “Though that didn’t deter the interest of your
redheaded friend.”

I
almost burst into laughter. “Come again?”

Mrs.
Callaghan nodded grinningly.

“Gwen?
My Gwen? Gwen Meyer?”

“One
in the same. When they were little she used to follow him around like a puppy,
though I doubt my son ever noticed. He’s always seemed to be oblivious to any
attention a girl may give him. I think it’s because of me. After everything
I’ve put him through, I figure unnecessary complications and potential loss
aren’t exactly the things he wants to introduce into his life. It’s both a
relief and a concern. So to say that the appearances of the incident earlier
came as a surprise would be putting it mildly.”

“What’re
you two talking about?” said Ian, strolling into the kitchen in a black satin
dress shirt and matching jeans.

“You.”

“Oh,
no. All my secrets will be revealed. Whatever will I do?” he said monotonously.

“Move
out of the country, probably,” I replied.

“We
were just discussing your love life, or lack thereof,” said Mrs. Callaghan.

“Mom-”

“I’m
not saying-”

“Well,
do us all a big favor and not ‘say’ anything else on the matter, please,” he
pleaded. “I think I can speak for sons everywhere when I say that nobody wants
to hear about our mothers investing interest in anything carnal related to us.”

Ian
honestly looked like he was about to be sick.

“I
just wish you’d give it a chance,” said Mrs. Callaghan.

He
nearly choked on the Coke he began drinking. “Aaahhh! No! No! No! I am not
hearing this right now! Please, tell me I am dreaming!”

“Sadly,
no,” I interjected.

“I
meant opening up to people,” she corrected.

“We
have to go, now.” Ian quickly grabbed his things and gave his mom a kiss on the
cheek.

“I’m
just trying to lend a helping hand,” she said.

“Not
helping.”

“Stop
being so stubborn.”

“Love
you,” he said, before darting out the door.

“Love
you, too,” she called out.

“I
think that went pretty well,” I said, the two of us nearly on the floor with
laughter.

The
horn to the truck tapped, and that was clearly my signal to get a move on.

“Thank
you for breakfast, and the sideshow,” I said. “Thoroughly entertaining.”

“Anytime,
dear.”

“So,
shall we continue this discussion on the drive?” I said, climbing into the
passenger seat of the Ford.

“Not
unless you want me to take a detour off a bluff on the way to school,” he said,
still trying to recover.

“You
know she means well. She just wants to see you move on, take a chance.”

“I’ll
keep that in mind,” he said, throwing the gears into reverse.

It
was strange seeing Ian’s street in first light. Everything from the dew
dampened lawns to Mr. Johnson actually wearing a shirt as he strolled out to
grab his morning paper was a new sight.

“So,
how did you sleep last night?”

It
hadn’t occurred to me until now. “Great, actually.”

Talk
about an understatement. No nightmares, no restless thoughts, no haunting
memories. It had actually been the best night’s rest I had gotten in months.