Something Like Normal (11 page)

St. Augustine, Florida

My mouth goes dry and when I swallow it feels like I have sandpaper caught in my throat. I really don’t want to go to a memorial service, but I promised Charlie I’d visit his mom and I haven’t done it yet. How do you tell your best friend’s mother that everything you could do wasn’t enough?

“This Marine is looking forward to pulling out the blues,” Kevlar says. “And watching the panties drop.”

Moss smacks him upside the head again. “Have some respect. It’s a memorial service.”

“Dude, if he were alive, Charlie would be the first person to exploit the situation to get laid,” Kevlar says. “He’d be all
Wedding Crashers
, Marine style.”

It’s a fair point. Charlie used to joke about how he was going to buy himself a Purple Heart on eBay so he could use it to get sympathy sex.

“I guess I’ll see you guys next weekend, then.”

They leave me standing in the hotel parking lot and I’m tempted to go inside to the bar and get wrecked, because the only other place I have to go is home.

* * *

My envelope is lying on the kitchen island when I get there. I tear through the expensive paper, even though I already know what it says, and a folded note falls out with the invitation. It’s from Charlie’s mom.

Dear Travis
,

I hope you will be willing to say a few words at Charlie’s memorial service. While I was blessed to have him in my life the longest, you knew him best. He called you brother. He called you friend. I know this is asking a lot and I will understand if you would rather not, but please call me when you decide.

Always,

Ellen Sweeney

“Please don’t tell her, Solo.” Charlie stands next to me at the island. “She thinks I’m a hero. Don’t take that away from her.”

“I won’t.” I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes to make him go away, but he’s still there. “But you need to go away.”

When I open my eyes, my mom is watching me from the doorway. “Who needs to go away, Travis?”

“No one,” I say. “It’s nothing. Headache.” Lie. I’m not telling my mom my dead best friend was talking to me. Or that I was talking back. “Seriously. It’s all good.”

I’m not sure she believes me, but she takes a whole key lime pie—my favorite—from the fridge and cuts it into wedges. “I was a little surprised to see Harper Gray coming down my stairs this morning. I hope you’re not—”

“I’m not.” It doesn’t matter how that sentence ends. “She’s really…” I shrug. “I like her.”

It’s a crumb, really, but Mom brightens as if I handed her a whole loaf. She slides me a small plate with a sliver of pie on it. “I always knew you could do so much better than Paige Manning.”

Laughing, I cut my fork into the dessert. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but she moved on to Ryan.”

“What? No!”

“I’m surprised Dad didn’t tell you,” I say. “They hooked up while I was gone.”

She sighs. “I try to be charitable, but I’m sorry. I really dislike that girl.”

“I kinda got that impression.”

Mom gets a resigned look on her face. “Well, I guess if she has to…
hook up
with one of my boys, I’d rather it be Ryan.”

My eyebrows hitch up. “Oh?”

“I know a mother is not supposed to play favorites, and I love you both, but I’ve always liked you better.” She swipes her finger through the whipped cream on the top of her pie.

At first this surprises me. For all the times she stood by while Dad got on my case about one thing or another, I’d never have guessed I was her favorite. “Even though I’m a disappointment?”

“You’re not a disappointment, Travis,” she says. “You took everything your dad heaped on you and never complained about it.” Tears build up in her eyes. “I could see how much you hated it, but it seemed so important to him that I didn’t interfere. I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “It’s okay.”

“I went to see you play soccer once,” she says. After I quit the football team, I started playing Sunday soccer with the Mexicans out on Kelly Road. It was so much fun to just run up and down a field and not have someone yelling that I was doing it wrong. No game analysis afterward, either. We’d sit on the hood of someone’s car and flirt with the girls. “It was so nice to see you happ—”

“Why’d you take him back?”

She presses her fingertips against the stray bits of graham cracker crust dusting the countertop, then brushes them onto my empty plate. “You’ll be going back to North Carolina soon and Ryan leaves for Pennsylvania at the end of the month,” she says. “I just—I guess I’m afraid of being alone.”

“And being with the guy who cheated on you is better? Jesus Christ, Mom, stop being such a doormat.”

For a moment she only stares at me. Over the years I’ve ignored her when she was nagging at me, but I’ve never been outright disrespectful—even when she pissed me off. “This is not Afghanistan, Travis.” Her voice wavers and I can tell I’ve hurt her. I feel bad about it, but she needs to listen. “Maybe you can speak to your friends that way, but here—”

“This isn’t about my choice of words,” I say. “I know my going to Afghanistan was hard on you and I’m really, really sorry about that, but that’s no excuse for him to step out on you, Mom. I feel like it’s my fault when—”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not,” I say. “But it’s not your fault, either.”

She picks up the envelope from the memorial service invitation and presses the back flap closed, even though the adhesive is long gone. “I don’t know, Travis. When I look back, maybe I neglected him and Ryan—”

“By sending me care packages and getting support from other Marine moms?” I ask. “Seems to me that Dad and Ryan were the ones who should have been supporting you.”

“But—”

“No.” I push the plate away. “There are no buts. I’m done. If you want to keep pretending he’s a stand-up guy, be my guest. But don’t expect me to do the same.”

“Travis—”

Ignoring her, I head upstairs to my room. On the way, I call Harper.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask, closing the door to my room.

“Working.”

“Do you think you can get out of it?” My laptop makes a chiming sound as I power it up. What am I going to say about Charlie at the service?

“Possibly. Why?”

“There’s a memorial for Charlie up in St. Augustine,” I say. “Will you go with me?”

“I’ll have to ask my dad,” Harper says. “I’m not sure how he’d feel about—”

“Tell him you’ll have your own room. On a different floor than mine if that makes him feel any better. Whatever he wants, Harper. Whatever you want. Just go with me? Please?”

I’ve never begged a girl for anything in my life, but nothing about this memorial is going to be easy. With Harper there… I don’t know. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“Let me make some calls to cover my shifts,” she says. “If I can make it work, I’ll go.”

Next I dial Charlie’s mom. “Ms. Sweeney, this is Travis Stephenson.”

“Oh, Travis.” She sighs. “I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Yes, ma’am, um—I just wanted to tell you I’ll be at the memorial and I can talk about Charlie if, you know, you want.”

“That would mean so much to Jenny and me.” Her voice catches in her throat and it hits me that as terrible as Charlie’s death was for me, it has to be a million times worse for her. “Do you need a place to stay? You’re welcome to stay with us.”

“No, thank you, ma’am.” I lie, “I’ve already booked a room.”

She sniffles back tears. “I’m so looking forward to meeting you, Travis.”

“I, um—thank you.”

“We’ll see you Saturday.”

I disconnect the call and look at the blank computer screen, wishing the words would write themselves.

Charlie Sweeney was

Chapter 11

Hours later the cursor still taunts me from the end of those same three words and I’m no closer to finding the ones that come next. I give up trying and flop down on the bed. My eyes are closed when the door creaks open, but I don’t open them to see who it is. I already know. “Go away.”

“What?” a female voice says. “You’re not talking to me now?”

Shit. I am not in the mood to deal with Paige.

The bed sags a little as she sits down on the edge and her fingers touch the button on my shorts. I can feel my body responding to her—just like it always does—but my brain isn’t playing along. Even though Harper isn’t officially my girlfriend, if she knew about this, she’d be hurt. Or mad. Probably both. And for the first time in my life, I care about that. My fingers close around Paige’s wrist, stopping her. “
Don’t
.”

She laughs at me in her typical condescending way. “What is it about Harper Gray that’s got you so twisted?”

“Why do you care? You dumped me for Ryan.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Nobody said you were,” I say. “Yet you keep showing up in my room in the middle of the night when your boyfriend is down the hall.”

“You can be so stupid sometimes, Travis,” she says. “You were supposed to try to get back together with me. You always do.”

She sniffles and I look up. She’s crying. Not outright bawling or anything, only a tear trickling down her cheek, which is something I’ve never seen before. She blows out a breath. “Except you went straight for Harper, just like you did back in middle school.”

I’m so confused. “So, wait—”

“No.” Paige wipes her eyes on the bottom of her tank top. “Shut up. I know the only good thing we’ve ever had is the sex. I guess one time I wished you’d want me the way you want her.”

Sometimes girls make no sense at all. “What are you talking about?”

“I came over last night,” she says. “You were sleeping with her, and all your clothes were on, and—you love her.”

“I don’t—do you, um—” I stumble over my words. “You don’t love me, do you?”

She laughs. “Jesus, you really are an idiot. No, I don’t love you. But it would have been nice if you loved me.”

“You mean the way Ryan does?”

She stops laughing, because she knows I’m right. My brother is crazy about her in a way I never was. Never will be. Paige has had a string of lovesick schmucks who fell for her and didn’t realize she’d never love them back. Even though Ryan and I don’t get along all that well, he’s still my brother. I don’t like the idea of him ending up one of those lovesick schmucks. “He’s a lot better for you than I am.”

“I know.”

I hear the hesitation in her voice. “But?”

“He’s not you.”

“Well, no shit,” I say, which makes her sniffle-laugh. “But if you’re not into Rye, don’t toy with him. Cut him loose.”

She shoulder-bumps me. “If things don’t work out between you and Harper—”

“Get out of here.” I laugh. “I’ve got things to do.”

Paige leans over and kisses my cheek. “See ya, Trav.”

She pulls open my bedroom door and Ryan is standing in the hallway. Of course. The one time that absolutely nothing happens between me and Paige, we get busted. Ryan’s face goes to rage instantly. “What the—?”

He rushes me, slamming his hands into the middle of my chest, and pushes me back against the wall. I hear some of the photos tear away from the wall and the head of a thumbtack presses into my back. It happens so fast and I’m still trying to process the fact that Ryan got the drop on me when his fist connects with my eye. The same one Harper hit.

“Ryan, stop it!” Paige grabs his arms and tries to pull him away, but he shakes her off and cocks his fist back to hit me again. I shove him, but the stupid fool comes at me again. One hit? Fine. I deserved that. But I’m not going to be his personal punching bag. Not when he started this. Lowering my shoulder, I hit him in the chest. He grabs on to me and we hit the floor. His fists are pummeling me wherever he can reach, but I’ve got him pinned to the ground.

“Let him go.” Dad grabs the back of my T-shirt, pulling it until I can feel the collar pressing tightly against the front of my neck like a noose. Ryan gets in one last hit, smacking the side of my head with his fist. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Nothing.” I reach out to help Ryan up, but he slaps my hand away. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“I want you out of here,” Dad says, pointing at me.

“Dean—”

“No, Linda.” He cuts her off and helps Ryan to his feet. “Ever since he’s come home, Travis has stirred up trouble—getting you drunk, trying to break up our marriage, and this isn’t the first time he’s had Paige over in the middle of the night. I’ve had enough.”

They’re standing in a clump on the other side of my room. Them versus me. Except Paige, who looks as if she wishes she were anywhere but here, and Mom is gnawing her lip. Dad’s arm is across my brother’s chest, holding Ryan back.

“Well, we finally agree on something.” I grab my seabag and shove in a handful of shirts from the top drawer of my dresser. “I’m done.”

“Travis, wait.” My mom steps forward. Out from Dad’s shadow. “You don’t have to leave. This is my house—”

“
Your
house?” Dad interrupts.

“It will be mine in the divorce if you don’t stop talking,” Mom snaps. His eyes go wide, because she never talks like that, but he stops talking. “Travis isn’t the bad guy here, Dean. He spent his childhood trying to live up to your impossible expectations and when he decided he didn’t want to do that anymore,
you
were the one who treated him as if he’s worthless. And you’ve made me feel like I’m wrong for supporting our son when he was in the middle of a
war
. You are the bad guy, Dean. You. And
I
have had enough.”

I have to do a mental check to make sure my mouth isn’t hanging open because… damn, Mom.

“So Travis isn’t leaving unless he wants to leave, and things are going to change around here,” she says. “If you want to stay married to me, you’re going to have to straighten up, and if you don’t, you need to pack your things and get out.”

Dad looks bewildered—like he can’t figure out what just happened—but I have no sympathy. Not when I’m so proud of my mom.

“Now,” she says. “I’m going back to bed. Paige, you’d be wise to leave now, and Dean—well, what you do is up to you. Good night.”

She walks out with some serious dignity, leaving the rest of us standing there in silence. Dad’s expression is murderous as he clings to his pathetic insistence that this is my fault. His fists bunch at his sides and his jaw twitches, as if he’s considering taking a swing. I meet his glare. “I wouldn’t.”

He stalks out of the room, his footsteps fading down the stairs, instead of down the hall toward Mom, the way they should. Coward.

“Listen, Rye—” I say.

“Go to hell.”

Paige doesn’t say anything. She drops the spare key on the end of my bed and leaves. Pain flashes across my brother’s face—he won’t get the courtesy of a Dear John letter to make the breakup official—before it hardens back to anger.

“Why did you do it?” He won’t look at me.

“Do
what
?”

“Sleep with my girlfriend.”

“Why did
you
sleep with
my
girlfriend?”

“You get everything, Travis,” he says.

“What exactly do I have that you haven’t taken, Ryan?” I ask. “You hang out with my friends, drive my car, and steal my girlfriend while I’m in Afghanistan. What more do you want from me? I have nightmares that keep me up at night. You’re fucking welcome to those.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just looks at the floor. But when he looks up at me, his face is still hard. “I can take one more thing,” he says. “You tell Harper or I will.”

Shit.

When he’s gone and I’m alone, I return to my laptop and the words are still there waiting. Cursor blinking.

Charlie Sweeney was

There’s no way I’m going to think of anything tonight. Not with Ryan’s threat hanging over me. I close the laptop and get into bed.

I’m walking down a road in Marjah as the muezzin sings the haunting call, summoning the faithful to prayer. A mud-colored dog lifts its head to watch as our patrol passes by. First me, then Charlie and Moss. Peralta is behind them. The hair on the back of my neck sets me on alert. Something isn’t right. But when I try to call out to my friends, my voice won’t come. My hands won’t lift to flag them down. My feet feel as if they are rooted to the ground. Charlie takes a step
forward, his foot landing on the pressure plate of a bomb, and the explosion rattles my teeth, my bones. A cloud of dust envelops him. Shrapnel from the bomb, hidden in the base of a tree, riddles his body and he falls. Movement comes rushing back to my limbs, but when I reach him the world tilts. I’m the one on the ground, not Charlie. I’m the one sprayed with shrapnel that sends searing pain through me. Above me is an Afghan boy. One I’ve seen before in the streets, begging for whatever we have to offer. He smiles at me as I die.

My blood is rushing in my ears as I lie in the dark with
only a dream, only a dream, only a dream
repeating in my mind like a mantra. The words don’t help. They can’t blot out the nightmare. I reach for the bottle of pills on the nightstand and after I take two, I call Harper.

“Travis?” Her voice is gravelly with sleep.

“I forgot it’s the middle of the night.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I had a nightmare, so I’m awake,” I say. “I just took my prescription.”

“Do you want me to stay on the phone until you get sleepy?”

“Do you mind?”

She’s quiet for a beat and I wonder if she’s mentally calculating the hours between now and the time she has to get up for work. I almost hang up so she can go back to sleep, but then she says, her voice soft and low, “I don’t mind.”

Harper talks for a while. About the sea turtles. About how she’s ready to go to college, but that she’ll miss her dad when she’s gone. About the crab trap they keep in the canal behind their house.

“Depending on the season, we’ll get blues or stone crabs,” she says. “Usually we’ll boil them and freeze the meat until we have enough for crab cakes. Or sometimes we’ll make crab dip or alfredo pasta.”

“I like crab.” I’m starting to get tired and it’s making me talk like a three-year-old.

“Me, too,” she says. “It’s my favorite. Maybe, um—maybe I’ll make you crab cakes sometime.”

“Okay.” A yawn overtakes me.

“Travis?” she says.

“What?”

“Sweet dreams.”

“I hope so,” I say. “I’m really tired of the bad ones.”

“Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Okay.” I feel the sleep wave approaching. The one where your words will wash away if you don’t say them. “I’m really sorry.”

She probably thinks I’m apologizing for waking her up, but before I can tell her that it’s for what happened with Paige, she whispers good night and hangs up. At least I think she does. I’m not sure because I’m asleep.