Ghost Time (7 page)

Anyhow, Sunday, I turned over, resting my chin on my hands, and I always think about how we share everything, but I couldn’t help thinking maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. Then he said, Heart attack. My dad had a heart attack in the shower, he said, and I figured he wasn’t upset that I asked, because I could hear him giving the silver metal pen a good shake, stirring up the ink. I wasn’t going to say anything more about it, but then he said, I don’t remember, except that at the funeral, I heard somebody say that it’s quite common for men to have heart attacks in the shower. I don’t know if that’s true, but for a couple years, I was afraid of taking a shower. I go, What’s your excuse now? like the words just started coming out, without my thinking about them. Ohmygod. I felt so terrible, too, because we were talking about his dad, and I shouldn’t have made a joke. Awful, I know. And I turned my head to look at him, wincing, and then he just stared
at me, didn’t say a word for like a minute. I really started worrying, too, and then he goes, Oh, Thea made a funny, and I go, I am so sorry—I didn’t mean it like that, and he goes, Are you? Are you really sorry? And I said, Yes, I am. And he goes, Well, then, let’s have a look. Stand up for me. Because he knew I wouldn’t say no, you know?

But when he said that, I got all tense. I still get embarrassed, being naked in front of him, and I was trying to think of an excuse not to get up. Up, he said. I want to see my latest masterpiece. So I got up and stood on my bed, and I was ready to get under the covers again, and he says, Turn around, and I’m like, Cam, no, kinda whining, you know? He goes, Let me see the back, and I said, That’s the problem! Why do I always have to be the one to turn around? Thee, please? Two seconds, he said, crawling forward, crouching right behind me, inspecting his work—wasn’t even really looking at me, either—like he was more into his work than me, and I was like,
Cam. What’s up with that?
Then he goes, Yep. I think they’re done, looking at the new style of shoes he’d drawn on both feet. Come on, he said, getting up and holding out his hand for me. We’ll take a picture.

We always take a Polaroid of the shoes he draws, so I got up and got my camera out of the closet. I used to keep notebooks—well, I still keep notebooks with all these collages I make of pictures I rip out of magazines. So one time, I was showing one of my notebooks to Cam, telling him how I fantasize about having a closet full of shoes, all stored in their original boxes, with a Polaroid tacked to each box, so you can see a picture of the shoes. And then Cam said, Why don’t you do that now? I said, Because
I don’t have a closet full of amazing shoes, that’s why. So then, one day, we were hanging out, and I don’t know why, but Cam started drawing a shoe on my foot. And it was cool; it was like this paisley high-top, so I asked him to draw me another, and he did. And when he was done, he had me stand on the kitchen table so he could take a picture.

So that’s what we were doing on Sunday, when I hear this whining guitar solo out in front of the building. Seriously, I’m standing there, naked on our kitchen table, while Cam’s working on the best angle for the shot of my shoes, and just as the Polaroid ejects the picture, I hear Ray’s car pulling up front. And I screamed,
They’re home!
holding out my hand for Cam to help me down. So we sprinted to my room, started throwing our clothes on, knowing we had like twenty seconds, and Cam held up my shirt, shaking it at me, like, You’re wearing my shirt, give me my shirt, and I was just like, Let me put my pants on! So I threw his shirt back at him at the same moment he threw my shirt at me, and we ran to the living room, jumped on the couch, and I turned on the TV the second—I mean, the
very second
Mom and Raymond walked in.

Hey, you two, Mom said, and I was just like, Hey, Mom, and Cam goes, Hey, Renee, hey, Raymond. Totally normal, right? And I grabbed the remote from the coffee table, because the news was on. What’s up? I asked, meaning, like, why are you home already? Look at this, she said, showing me where she spilled coffee all over her blouse. Just want to change, and then we’re going to get a bite to eat. She goes, You two want to join us? And I go, Nah, thanks, we’re going to do some work.

So Mom went to change and Ray took a seat on the chair, across from the couch, and I have to say, I was pretty pleased we managed to pull it off in time, just like, damn we’re good. Then Rain Man looked over and he goes, S’up Theadorie? And I hate it when he says
S’up
, and I really hate it when he calls me Theadorie. I said, Not much, Ray. What’s up with you? He goes, Hanging in there. Great, I said, staring at the TV, and then, fortunately, my mom came right back, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I have to say, she looks really good for her age. All right, then, Mom said, putting on her jacket. Shall we? she says, smiling at Ray, and he says, See you, and holds out his hand to Cam, who does a hand slap with him. Have a good night, Cam said, smiling at my mom, and I said, Bye, giving a little wave.

I waited a second, after the door closed, and then I breathed this huge sigh of relief, and I almost bust out laughing. Good thing I didn’t, because like a second later, Mom opened the door again and stuck her head in, and I’m just like,
What now?
Mom smiles and goes, Oh, one other thing. You might want to turn your shirt around, the right way, before you take it off again, and then she closed the door. Cam waited to be sure she was gone—both of us just held our breath, waiting to hear her open the car door, and then, after we heard her shut her door, Cam started laughing at me.
Shush!
I said, but I couldn’t help laughing, either, I was so busted. Because she knew: ohmygod, the whole time, my mom knew exactly what was going on, but she still left us alone. Well, I have to say, she has her moments. Not many, but some.

(FOUR DAYS LATER)

2:59 PM

But you can’t keep anything secret in school. So right away, by the end of the week, all these rumors started flying around. People were saying Cam had run away, that he’d joined a cult, that he was a drug dealer, all sorts of crazy shit, and the thing is, what could I say? And I’m not being paranoid, everyone was looking at me, whispering in the halls when I walked by. People thought I knew where he was, and I was like, Trust me, I have no clue where Cam is, or I’d find him myself. And strangle him.

Detective Knox called again, Friday morning. He asked if he could speak to me; he had a few more questions, and I was like, Wait. I thought you were off the case, and he goes, What gave you that idea? And I go, Agent Foley told me, and he goes, No. FBI’s in charge, but I’m still on the case. And I was just like, Good, because I’d so rather deal with Knox than Foley, so I said I could meet him at three, if he could give me a ride home. God, I hate
the bus—
I hate it, hate it
—and Knox said that would be fine.

After school, I saw him, two blocks away, standing, leaning on his car, and I walked over, and he opened the door for me. So I got in his car, and I thought we’d have to make small talk: How was school, Thea? Fine, thank you. How was your day, Knox? But no. Right away, soon as he pulls out, he goes, Thea, you didn’t tell me you and Cam missed last period Monday afternoon, and I was so busted, I started giggling. I didn’t mean to be a smart-ass, really, but right away, I said, Honestly, Knox, I didn’t miss last period at all, and he smiled for a second, biting the inside of his lip. Then he goes, What did you do? And I said, We went to my house. Is that a crime? He goes, You were at your house that entire time? And I said, Yes, and he said, And nothing unusual? Nothing Cam said that struck you as odd? I go, Everything Cam says strikes me as odd: that’s what I love about him.

So you said you two have been dating since September, he said, pulling out on the highway. And I said, No, we started dating in October, we met in September. September 23, 2010, 3:00 p.m. And then Knox whistled and he goes, Wow. You remember the date and the time, and I actually started blushing. Then, thankfully, his phone rang, and Knox goes, Sorry, one second, and he pulled out his phone. He even answered like you always see them on the TV shows. He goes, Yeah, Knox here—that’s exactly what he said. And then I heard a woman’s voice, and she sounded upset, and then Knox goes, I’ll be right over. He looks at me, and he says, I’m sorry to do this, Thea, but our sitter has to pick her son up from preschool. So I need to stop by my
house, before I take you home, and I was just like, Oh, no, what happened to her son?

Knox pulls a U-turn, heading back to town. To be honest, I was relieved not to have to go home, and he says, Guess he stuffed a box of raisins up his nose, and I was like, An entire box of raisins? And Knox just sighed again.

I was cool, but it was awkward for some reason, like I got this feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me, and then he says, Do you mind? I said, No, no, that’s fine. So you have a kid? He nodded yes. A daughter. How old is she? I said, and he goes, Oh, about your age. After my last comment, I should’ve just kept my mouth shut, I know, but I didn’t. I said, She’s my age and you still have a babysitter? Knox didn’t say anything: awkward. What’s your daughter’s name? I said, changing the subject, and Knox looked surprised, and it took him a few seconds before he answered the question: Melody, he said. Her name is Melody.

(FIFTEEN DAYS EARLIER)

9:47 PM

Karen invited me over for sushi, and of course I should’ve known that she’d make it herself, but I was so blown away, because I don’t know anyone who makes their own sushi, you know? I was like, Karen, you are the coolest mom in the whole world, and she started laughing. More? she asked, seeing me finish everything on my plate, including the pickled ginger, and I said, No, thank you, I’m full. It was delicious, sitting back, realizing I’d made a total pig of myself, but it was so worth it.

Karen reached for her sake glass and she sat back in her chair, smiling, then she goes, That reminds me, and then she left the room and came back with a picture. Something I wanted to show you, she said, handing me a picture, sitting down again. It was a picture of Cam as a little boy. He was so young, with all this long white-blond hair; I don’t think he’d ever had it cut. His face was skinny, too, like a kid who’s just lost all his baby fat, and he was
wearing this red and blue striped shirt, sitting on a cement floor, with all this junk around him, and something on his hands.

What’s on his hands? I asked, leaning in, trying to get a better look. Gloves, she said. He’s wearing gloves, and just then, Cam walked in, coming back from the bathroom, and he rolled his eyes. I could tell he knew the picture, because the way he nodded his head, like, let’s get this over with already. Karen reached for the sake bottle and poured herself another glass, then she goes, One year, just before he turned four, we bought Cam a bicycle for Christmas. Cam was
so excited
, he literally peed his pants, and Cam goes, Is this necessary? Karen waved him off: He loved it—he was over the moon, so happy with his new bike, she said, talking to me. And because he’d woken us up at five o’clock in the morning to open Christmas presents, by ten, we all took a nap. At least I thought we were all taking naps, but, turns out, when we woke up, we found him, sitting in the middle of the living room, with his new bicycle in pieces all over the floor.

I looked at Cam, and he knew I was looking at him, scratching his chopsticks across the pat of wasabi on his plate. It’s so funny when I see him like that, like I forget sometimes that there’s another side of him, the person he is with his mom, in private. A boy, a son. What happened? I asked, and Karen took another sip, and she goes, Well. I looked at his dad, and then his dad said, Cam, you did a great job taking that bike apart. Now you have to put it back together, and I didn’t think either of us took him seriously. But then the damndest thing happened: he did. Took him two days, but that’s exactly what he did: Cam put the bike back together. Soon after that, he discovered the vacuum
cleaner, and the television, the DVD player, and my computer—. All right, Cam said, and we both smiled. Well, Karen said, pushing her chair out. Listen, you two, it’s getting late. Cam, you take Thea home, and I’ll clean up, she said, standing.

We got in the car, and he pulled out, and then, when we reached the end of the block, he goes, Thee, I want to show you something, and he turned left instead of right, heading back into town. We passed the high school, and at first, I had this crazy thought that he might want to break in—Cam has a devious side, trust me. But a minute later, we pulled in behind the town baseball field, about eight blocks from school, on the other side of town. It wasn’t lit, because they never light the field during winter, and Cam pulled around back, behind these big metal trash bins, which is where a lot of kids drink and get high on weekends. Look at this, he said, turning his high beams on this big gaping hole in the chain-link fence. Isn’t that beautiful? he said, staring at this blown-out hole the size of a baseball like it was a double rainbow.

I could tell, just looking at him. I mean, you could see the numbers he was writing on the chalkboard of his brain, computing the pitch, velocity, angles of the baseball bat, writing the whole story of how a single ball tore a hole right through time and space. It turned him on, I could just tell, but it was a little violent, too, almost like he wanted to get his fingers in the gouge and tear it wide open. If the fence was made of flesh, you’d call it carnal, but it was exactly the same, the way his brain hummed, like something you feel in your gut, but deeper, between your legs, just looking at this hole. What are you thinking, Thee? he
asked, catching me studying him, and I said, Guess someone hit a home run. Looks like it, he said, smiling, grabbing my hand. Except that no one’s played a game here all winter: I asked the groundskeeper. Then someone must’ve snuck in, I said, shrugging my shoulders.

Cam goes, Thee, did I ever tell you about the bird in the bottle? And I shook my head no. It’s an old riddle, he said, and the riddle is this: There’s a bird trapped in a bottle. So how do you get the bird out of the bottle without harming either the bird or the bottle? And I thought about it, but shook my head, no idea. One day, I’ll figure it out, he said, reaching over, and I go, But that’s not the point is it? He didn’t answer, and he was so spaced out, staring at the hole in the fence, I actually wondered if we’d sit there all night.