Killing Kate (14 page)

He pulls my head down and holds it
against his chest.  “Hiccups gone?”  I nod.  His hands wrap themselves in my
hair and pull gently.  My face tips up toward his and he looks directly into my
eyes.  “You’re beautiful,” he tells me, “when you’re yourself.”

“And when I’m not?”

“You’re still beautiful,” he
replies.  Then he smiles.  “But you scare me.”

“I scare myself,” I agree.  “So can
you stay?”

He shakes his head.  “Not tonight,”
he tells me.  “I need to work in the morning and I think Devin needs to talk to
you.”  I clearly appear to be disappointed.  “I’m not jumping into bed with you
when you’re vulnerable,” he tells me.  “Besides,” he continues, “I’d like to
plan a night out with you.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

Devin steps out on the porch and I
pull away from Justin.  Devin doesn’t say anything about what he obviously just
saw.  I can see he’s having a horrible night.  “Let me have one of those,” he
says to me, pointing at my pack.  I hand him one and watch him light up.  He
sits in a chair and puffs quietly, looking down the street.

“I’m taking off,” Justin says. 
“Good game, Dev.  I’ll talk to you both later,” he finishes, putting a stress
on “both”.  I try not to beam and stare as he walks away.

I sit in the chair next to Devin
and we watch Justin get in his Civic and drive off.  “I’m sorry,” I say.

“That’s the problem, Jenna,” he
begins, and I know I’m in for it.  “You’re sorry and you don’t need to be. 
Kate isn’t sorry and has the most to apologize for.”

“I know it,” I say.  “I’ll go back
to therapy.”  I expect a huge reaction and get nothing.  “Devin?”

“I don’t want you to apologize to
me anymore,” Devin finally says.  “Everything you are isn’t because of your
actions.”

“I know,” I say.  “You have made it
abundantly clear that you feel that way.”

“But what you don’t realize is that
I’m partially to blame.”

“Devin, no, you’re not,” I say. 
I’ve heard this many times before.  “You were a kid when everything happened. 
You couldn’t do anything.”

“I want to see a therapist too,” he
says.  “I’ve been thinking about it and it’s been a long time since I’ve talked
to someone.  So we are both going back.  Maybe sessions together.”

“Like couples therapy?” I joke, but
see he doesn’t find this the least bit funny.  “Okay,” I relent.  “I probably
am the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re really fucked up, Devin.” 
We give each other a long look and burst out laughing.  I am laughing so hard I
can’t breathe, and it feels amazing.  I wipe the tears away and fall into
Devin’s lap.  “I’m glad I’ve got you in my life.”

“Me too,” he says.  “Even if your
crazy bitch side comes out and ruins my game.”

“Oh shut up,” I tell him.  “If you
were a Sox fan you’d feel differently.”

Ixtapas is a dump on the outside. 
Inside its cozy and dark, with hidden tables and beautiful murals of beaches
and streets of Mexico, though they aren’t done in the Mayan style that I
usually associate with Mexican art.  The owner is friendly with Justin and
immediately serves us with a heaping bowl of warm, oily chips, four different
kinds of salsa, including a mango one I can’t stop eating, guacamole and a
silver tray of pickled carrots, onions and peppers swimming in oil and
vinegar.  I can’t imagine I’ll be hungry by the time I get to the entrée, but I
order the carne asada anyway after Justin assures me it’s amazing.

I’m wearing a sage green linen
dress and I’m glad I’m dressed lightly, because although there is probably air
conditioning and moving air with the help of two ceiling fans, Ixtapas is small
enough that the heat from the kitchen permeates my hair, making it damp and
slightly wavy.  I’m wearing it loose around my shoulders, and I resist the urge
to pull it back into a ponytail to get it off of my neck.  Justin looks cool
and comfortable in a white muscle tank top and khaki shorts and flip flops. 
He’s tanned and it makes his green eyes stand out more than usual.  I’ve never
seen his upper arms before, and find myself staring at how well built he is. 
He has a tattoo circling his left upper bicep of a dragon and it’s sexy as
hell.

“So how do you know about this
place?” I ask him.  “It’s awesome, but I swear I never would have known it was
here from the outside.  It looks condemned.  And do you bring a lot of girls
here?”

Justin pours me a second glass of
wine from a bottle he brought in based on Ixtapa’s BYOB policy.  It’s a sweet
but dry red and although I don’t know much about wine, it tastes deep and rich
and I feel giddy from a glass.  “To answer your first question,” he begins, “I
painted the murals for Jose, the owner.”

“Wow, really?” I look around me at
the huge sunset over the ocean, the tropical birds, the beautiful women lying
on the sand, the fruit vendors selling papayas.  It’s all beautiful and
colorful and lifelike, and even though I am not an artist, I know enough about
art.  I find myself comparing Justin’s work to Devin’s, as I do whenever I see
artwork.  The first thing I really notice is that Justin paints about life. 
Devin has always painted darker.  Not usually as dark as the paintings I found
that he had stashed away when we were moving.  I don’t know what became of
those paintings, and I don’t ask.  Devin and I both have personal things we
don’t share, but we still share so much.  Maybe one day he’ll share his stashed
away paintings with me but I can’t ask him to do that.  There is too much that
I keep to myself and I respect his privacy.  “They’re beautiful,” is all I can
say.  “Seriously, I love them.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling. 
It’s such an unusual reaction to me.  Devin would probably tell me I don’t know
anything about art and say self-deprecating things about himself.  I was used
to that.  “It was an exchange of goods and services.  I paint the walls, Jose
gives me free food for life.”

“Aha,” I exclaim.  “Good to know
I’m a cheap date.”

“Not that cheap,” Justin says,
refilling my glass.  I sucked down the second glass a bit too quickly and
realize that I’m actually nervous around Justin.  “Have more wine.  I did pay
for that.”

“So what about my second question?”
I ask him, raising one eyebrow as best as I can.  I’m trying to give him a hard
time, though I’d really like to know the answer.  I’m finding myself in a
precarious position of someone who knows a lot about me when I know almost
nothing about them.  “Since you get free meals, I’d assume you’ve brought lots
of girls here?”

“Well, I did bring one girl here
before,” Justin says with a smirk.  “You may have met her.  She’s short, fat, and
loud and I call her ‘Mom’.”

I smirk back.  “Very funny.”  I
pause and take a long sip of wine.  “How is your mom?”

“Good,” Justin nods.  “She’s asked
about you.”

“Shit,” I whisper involuntarily. 
I’m sure there are millions of things Justin could tell her.

“I didn’t say anything bad, Jenna,”
he replies, looking at me sincerely.  “I just told her I was taking you out
tonight.”

“Oh?”

He nods.

“Well what did she say to that?” I
have to ask.

He is eating a chip loaded with
guacamole, purposely stuffing his mouth, I think, to avoid the topic.  “Well,”
he says, finishing his bite.  “She said to make sure I open the door for you
and treat you like a lady.”

“She did not!”

He nods.  “She definitely did.”

Now I’m smiling.  “She’s cute.” 
Justin smirks yet again.  I prefer it to his jaw clenching.  At least I know
I’m not making him angry.  “So no other girls in your life?  Either at the
moment or before you happened to run into me at Jack’s funeral?”

“Are you not so subtly asking about
my past?”  I nod slowly.  It feels good to get out tonight, and it’s fun to
take the focus off of myself and hear about someone else.  “Okay,” he says,
“ask me anything.”

“Um,” I think, pausing and
realizing he just managed to put me on the spot, even though I’m trying to
grill him.  Every girl dreams of asking a guy anything about his past but once
awarded with the privilege, it’s slightly intimidating.  “Tell me about your
ex-girlfriends,” I say.  There.  Incredibly generic and leaves me open to
follow up questions.

“Wow, um, okay,” Justin says,
unable to avoid smiling.  “There aren’t many to speak of.  After you and Devin
were out of the neighborhood, I had one girlfriend in high school named
Shelley.  Do you remember the McClellan’s?  No?  Well there was one in every
grade level.  I think you had Sean in your year.”  I shake my head, no, though
I imagine it was one of the forty Irish kids with red hair and freckles.  “She
cheated on me with this guy Patrick Martin our senior year.  I thought I was
going to marry her ever since we were fifteen, but that’s how high school
relationships go.  You think you’re with the love of your life and nothing
interesting will happen to you after high school.”

“What a bitch,” I say, and he
shrugs.

“Whatever.  She was sixteen and
cute, and I was seventeen and brooding.  It sounds like one of your musicals.” 
I nod and smile.  “She probably got depressed from the idea of being around me. 
At the time I thought the pain and heartbreak would kill me.  Now I know she
was meant to get pregnant before she graduated and have seven kids before she
was thirty.”

“Seven!”  I gasp.  I can barely
take care of myself.  I can’t imagine having to take care of one kid at my age,
let alone seven in a few years.

“I think there was a set of twins
or triplets in there,” Justin explains.  “You know the Irish.”  I sure did.  He
smiles and finishes his glass of wine and looks at me.  “What about you?  Any
high school boyfriends I should be aware of?”

“Not so much,” I say.  I don’t
offer up anything further for a minute.  In high school I was a complete slut,
but I certainly wasn’t able to refer to any of the sexual encounters I’d had as
a boyfriend.  I don’t want to be dishonest, though.  “I wasn’t celibate in high
school,” I explain, “but I didn’t really date.  I acted pretty stupid in the
backseat of a lot of cars but I can’t say I was ever in love with anyone or
thought I’d get married like you did.”

Justin nods.  “Fair enough.  Want
me to keep going?  Or are you getting jealous?”

“No,” I say.  “Keep going.  I feel
like I don’t really know much about you.  I mean after we were kids.”

“Devin told me you don’t really
remember much from when you were a kid.”

“True,” I agree, relieved to be
called out and to not have to keep that to myself.  “Devin fills in some gaps. 
Kate fills in others.  I remember bits and pieces every now and then.  More
about when I lived with Mom and Frank.”

“Gotcha,” Justin says.  “I went to
college for a couple of years after high school and dated a few girls but
nothing serious.  One girl named Kristine and I were serious for a bit but less
than a year.  We never even lived together.”

“Have you ever lived with anyone?”
I ask.  “I mean, not your parents.”

“No,” Justin shakes his head.  “I
usually like to spread out my painting stuff and work wherever in my house. 
Empty pizza boxes and dirty dishes tend to scare away most girls.”

“You sound like you live the way I
do,” I say.  I tell him about my sparsely furnished apartment with overflowing
ashtrays and no bed frame.  He laughs.  “I think Devin and I are only keeping
the house neat because we think we’ll piss each other off if we don’t.”

“Good, hopefully you guys keep it
that way,” Justin agrees.

“How many women have you slept
with?” I ask him point blank.

“Four.”

“That’s it?” I blurt out.  Justin
turns red and I glance down at my hands resting on the table.  Now I feel like
a huge whore.  I am briefly interrupted when Jose brings our food to the
table.  The smell of grilled steak makes my mouth water, even though I’m not
actually hungry after all of the grazing I’ve done.  I think my new living
situation has caused me to put on a few pounds, which really just means my ribs
are slightly less visible than they were when I moved in.  I cut into my steak
and have a bite.  I pretty much die it’s so good.  I make sure Justin knows it
and he looks really happy to have made me happy.  “Do you want to know how many
men I’ve slept with?” I ask him quietly.

“I’m not really sure,” Justin says,
his brows crossing in concern.  He puts down his utensils and looks at me.  “Is
it going to set you off if you tell me?”

“I’m offering up the information of
my own free will,” I say.  “Kate tends to show more when something happens
against my wishes, if that’s what you mean by setting me off.”

“Only if you want to tell me,”
Justin says.

“I have been with six men
voluntarily,” I tell him.  “And likely close to one hundred involuntarily.” 
Including one this week, I think, who could be counted on both sides.  Justin
is quietly looking at me.  I feel like I’m being judged, but I want to be honest,
and he’s listening.  “I’ve had syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia before I was
ten.  I’ve seen four different psychiatrists.  I spent my last year of high
school getting my GED in a mental institution.  Have I scared you off yet?” 
Justin shakes his head, no, but his green eyes are wide and concerned.  “I’ve
been diagnosed with D.I.D., which I’ve already told you about.  I’ve also been
diagnosed as depressed with a tendency toward extreme compulsive behavior.  I
had one psychiatrist call me a nymphomaniac when they found out I have a
tendency toward compulsive masturbation and exhibitionism.”  Justin has barely
touched his food.  He is looking directly at me.  I can’t even tell if he’s
breathing, and I’m feeling nauseous about how he will react.  “Say something” I
say.  “Are you scared of me?”