The Memory Thief (14 page)

“You're working on a house?”

“A pretty damn fancy one. We're putting on an addition.” He's still scrutinizing the paper he pulled out of the envelope, but now he looks more exasperated than anything else.

“What's the problem?” I ask, pouring the milk into the sink, which he hasn't gotten around to doing yet. I wrinkle my nose as it swirls down the drain. Crossing the kitchen, I lean against the counter next to J. C., who has stuffed the paper back into the envelope and is fanning himself with it. Come to think of it, it's pretty warm in here, especially for October. Colorado is having a heat wave.

“Oh, just A. J. He's supposed to pay the power bill, but he forgets. So now we're two months behind, and we owe about two hundred and fifty dollars. Fun stuff.”

“He's not so good with that kind of thing,” I agree.

“Nope.” J. C. puts the envelope down on the top of the pile. “But he has other redeeming qualities, I guess.” It comes out sounding like a question.

I'm not up to dealing with doublespeak. “Sure,” I say. “Who doesn't?”

“Enough redeeming qualities for you to consider marrying him.”

Crap. “He told you, huh?”

“Of course. He also told me you're taking your time, making up your mind. That's a good thing, in my book.”

So he hasn't forgotten all that stuff he said. My heart starts pounding, which irritates me no end. I feel like turning and walking out of the room. But this is J. C., who'd been so sweet to me when Aidan was outright cruel. Sure, if he's still interested in me, it's bound to be awkward … but I feel like I owe it to him to listen. I make myself stand still and look him in the eye.

“He's … not stable, Maddie. He doesn't settle down. I don't think he's good for you.”

I take a swig of my coffee, wishing it were something stronger. Like tequila, for instance.

“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know. I'd gotten the same talk from Lucy, after I'd told her that Aidan had proposed. “He'll go off gallivanting halfway around the world, and what will you do?” she'd said. “Sit at home and take care of the kiddies? Worry yourself sick over whether he'll make it back? You'll spend half your time away from each other. What kind of marriage is that? Does he have some kind of Odysseus complex?” She'd given me her patented Glare of Death. “Marrying a crazy mountain man who wouldn't know the truth if it bit him on the ass, just because you're sick of living and dying by your Day-Timer? It seems a bit extreme.”

I'd protested that I loved him, that I loved the way he made me feel. I'd told her that when Aidan touched me, when he turned the full weight of his eyes on me, when he told me about the places he'd gone and the things he'd done, I felt different, new. I felt like I'd been living in a box, and he'd broken it down, shown me the world outside. It was exhilarating, I told her.

Lucy had looked at me like I'd confessed a predilection for bestiality, and then stuffed her mouth full of Brie so she wouldn't say anything she'd regret. She'd still glared at me, though, kind of the way J. C. is glaring at me now. Maybe she is in league with him, for real. Maybe they have a little club.

“We've been friends for a long time, and we've been through some bad shit,” J. C. says. “I'd trust him with my life, and I have, many times over. But there's a difference between that … and being a good husband.” His dark eyes focus on mine. “Don't marry him, Maddie. He will break your heart.”

The words are so dramatic—even if the tone is matter-of-fact—that I can't help but laugh. The look on J. C.'s face puts an end to that pretty quickly, though. He is dead serious.

Discomfort, combined with a sense of guilt, gets the best of me. “Well, if you don't want me to …” I let my voice trail off. “Of course I won't, then. Good thing you got to me in time.”

My sarcasm has no effect on J. C. “It's not funny. He goes through women like they're going out of style. You could do so much better.”

“How? By dating you?”

“For instance,” he says, inflectionless.

Oh, boy. Now what? I try to hang on to my sense of irritation—directed more toward myself than toward him—so I won't wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to feel those big hands on me. I look away from him so I won't be tempted to imagine anything more specific than that.

“Just think about it,” he says, so quietly I can hardly hear him.

I turn my head to tell him I don't need to think about it, that I have no intention of leaving Aidan for his best friend, regardless of whether I decide to marry him—how Jerry Springer can you get?—and our lips meet. The kiss is inquiring, like he is asking me a question—which I guess he is—but confident, too. He doesn't touch me, otherwise. He kisses like he talks, like we are carrying on a conversation. We're standing several inches apart and he doesn't make any effort to step closer. He keeps his hands in his pockets. Still, the heat builds between us in a way I didn't anticipate. I know I ought to break the kiss, to step back from him and let him have it, and I'm gathering the wherewithal to do just that when someone clears their throat a few feet away. It's not a happy sound.

“Well, well, well,” says Aidan. “Having fun?”

When she hears my voice, Maddie jumps back from J. C. like she's been electrocuted. Her eyes are wide, and spots of color are burning high up on her cheeks. Some of it's shock, sure, but not all. I've seen that look before. I've seen it when I kiss her, when I'm inside her. I hate him for putting that look on her face. And for just a second, I hate her for wanting him. Goddamn it. This is what happens when you let your guard down. Maybe they've been fucking the whole time, and I'm just now finding out.

Half of me wants to jump him. The other half wants to turn around and get on down the road. The two cancel each other out, and I just stand there, leaning against the doorway. They stare back at me, and I feel the rage drain out of my body. In its place, clarity floods in. I am focused. I feel nothing. There's only one other time that this has happened to me, and I don't care to be reminded of it. I breathe in, out. “What the fuck?” I say, level and cold.

“Hi,” J. C. says. “We weren't expecting you quite so soon.” We've known each other a long time, and I know he remembers the last time I sounded like this. From the way his body shifts in response, I can see he's gathering himself to fight.

“I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but if you ever put so much as a finger on her again, I will kick your ass so hard you'll wish you were dead,” I say. There is nothing in my voice but warning. He hears it, and so does she. Her eyes widen, and he steps in front of her, shielding her with his body. This little act of heroism pisses me off even more; I'm not going to hurt her, and he should know that. Better than anyone else, he knows I'd never hit a woman.

“Jealous, A. J.?” he says. “How does it feel?”

“What's your deal? Can't get a girlfriend of your own, so you have to borrow mine?” I ask. It comes out conversational, like I really want to know.

“I'm standing right here. And I'm not a library book,” Maddie says from behind him. We both ignore her. Right now, this is between me and him.

“That would be a change,” J. C. says. “Given how you've got a little tendency to borrow
mine,
and all.”

“Borrow, hell. It's not my fault you don't have what it takes to keep a chick's interest for more than five minutes.”

“How would you know? The moment someone showed the slightest bit of interest in me, you were all over them. Can't take a little competition, can you?”

So that's what this is about. He's using her to get back at me. “Maybe I ought to ask you the same question,” I say, and I let my contempt show in my eyes.

“Maybe if you treated Madeleine with a little common decency, competition would be out of the question,” he says right back.

Great comeback from the guy who had his tongue in my girlfriend's mouth five minutes ago. “How I treat her is none of your business.”

“You made it my business when you fucked around with Kate and I had to clean up your mess. As usual. The difference is, this time you screwed up a good thing. This whole situation is your fault. If you'd kept your dick in your pants for once, none of this would be happening. I guess I should thank you.” He sounds calm, like we're discussing the best way to free a big wall instead of his plan to move in on the woman I intend to marry.

“Thank me for what?” I say, each syllable its own isolated continent.

“For giving me a chance to get to know Maddie, here.” He smiles at her, and I don't like that smile. I don't like it at all. It's … proprietary, and anticipatory, and a bunch of other things that make me very uncomfortable.

“Don't you look at her like that,” I say, and even I can hear the menace that laces my tone. My hands clench into fists at my sides. His eyes flick to them, then away.

“I don't think you get to pick and choose how I look at people, A. J. And last time I checked, Maddie was a free agent. After all, she hasn't said yes to you yet, has she? Ever wonder why that is?”

“Stop it, J. C.,” Maddie says. “You're making it worse.”

“I'm not the one who made things worse. That's all on your boy here. And now he's got to deal with the consequences.” He gestures at himself, then at her.

“There are no consequences. This was a
mistake.
J. C., I'm not mad at you or anything, but you know as well as I do that this shouldn't have happened.”

Truth, or a desperate attempt to restore equilibrium before It All Goes to Hell? I look from one of them to the other, wondering if he's making this shit up, or if she's really trying to figure out which one of us she wants to be with. That would be seriously messed up. I've never pegged her for a liar. She isn't the type, and I'm usually a pretty good judge of character. But she did kiss him back, and who the hell knows what else would've happened if I hadn't come in when I did? If I'd gotten here five minutes later, would he have been fucking her on the countertop? I visualize it for a second, and a red haze clouds my vision. Blood roars in my ears.

“Maybe it shouldn't have happened right at this moment. I'll give you that,” J. C. says. “But that doesn't mean it shouldn't have happened at all.”

Maddie doesn't respond, either because she agrees with him or because she has no idea how to reply. As for me, I'm done with his bullshit. He's baiting me, and I'm sick of it. “What are you trying to say?” I ask him, stepping through the doorway and into the kitchen.

“I just don't get why you think you deserve Maddie. You lead her on. You have the emotional availability of a hermit crab. Then you cheat on her, to her face, and don't even have the good manners to come out and apologize. Next you take off for two months and never call, email, or anything. Then you show back up after Ellis dies and dump your guts all over her. Why she hasn't told you to take a hike is beyond me.”

“Again, standing right here,” she says. “Capable of having my own opinions.”

“Stay out of this, Maddie,” I say. I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to provoke me, so he can control when I come at him. Well, two can play that game. “Step back,” I say to her. I don't expect her to listen, but to my surprise she does, backing up against the dishwasher. “And you, motherfucker,” I say to J. C. “You keep your hands off her and your opinions to yourself.”

“I don't blame you completely, A. J. It's not like you had a great role model or anything.”

A spark of rage flares through the coldness that's penetrated my limbs. “That's low,” I say. My lips feel numb.

“It's the truth,” he says, each word like a javelin. “After everything, you've turned out just like your old man, haven't you? I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. Of all the things he could have said to me, this is probably the worst, and he knows it. We're in suspended animation for a moment, a fucked-up little triumvirate. Then I launch myself at him and take him down. We roll over and over on the dirty floor, knocking over the kitchen chairs and winding up against one of the cabinets. I'm on top, beating the crap out of him. He knees me in the stomach, then he punches me in the face. Can't have that. I get to my knees and pin his shoulders to the ground. “Take it back,” I say.

“Fuck you,” he says, and then he turns his head and bites me on the arm. It breaks the skin, and I watch a thin red line trickle down my forearm, onto my hand.

“I'm bleeding, you bastard,” I say, grabbing him by the hair.

“Serves you right.”

“Take it back. Take it back or I swear to God I'll smash your head right into the floor.”

“Go ahead,” he says, and he spits in my face. I keep my promise, pounding his head into the linoleum.

“Ow, goddamnit. Get off me, you nutcase!” He twists to get out of my grip, and when that doesn't work, the next time I lift his head off the floor, he uses the momentum to head-butt me in the face. My nose starts spurting blood. I can feel it trickling into my mouth, but the pain seems miles away.

“Take it back,” I say again.

“What in particular would you like me to take back? The part about how you don't deserve Maddie? Or the part about how you screw everything that moves?”

“You know what part,” I say. “Take it back and I'll let you up.”

“And if I don't?”

“I guess we'll just have to find out,” I say, and I smile at him through the blood. It can't be pretty, but he doesn't flinch.

“Come on, A. J. I don't feel like getting any more messed up than I already am. I'm going to have a hell of a headache. And I may have broken your nose.”

Mr. Reasonable. “It's not broken.”

“Whatever.”

I shake him so hard I can hear his teeth rattle. “Quit it,” he says.

“I'm nothing like him,” I say, but there's a part of me that wonders if that's really the truth. I've managed to silence that little voice for a very long time, and I'm not happy that it's speaking up again. It took me a bunch of years and a lot of distance to put it to sleep.

“Whatever you say.” He says it like he knows better.

“I'm not.”

“Fine.” He lifts his legs, gets them around my throat, and pulls. I fall backward, hitting the floor, and he climbs on top of me and starts trying to mangle my face. I return the favor by attempting to choke him.

Unfortunately, Maddie picks this moment to intervene. “Stop it,” she says. “This is ridiculous.” She comes over to us and crouches down. “Stop it,” she says, louder. She grabs his shoulder and he shakes her off. He's distracted, and I take the opportunity to deck him. The problem is, she gets in the way. I end up punching her in the ribs instead. She falls backward, slamming into the refrigerator with a spectacular crash.

That ends the fight. J. C. rolls off me, and we both stare at her. I turn my head sideways and spit blood onto the floor. “Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Yeah, I think so.” She rubs her side. “It was more the surprise than anything else.”

“Nice going,” J. C. says.

“I'm really sorry,” I tell her, and I am. I promised myself I would never hit a woman. Of all the shitty stuff I've done—lying, cheating, blah blah blah—that's never been among my faults. Nice to know I can add another one to the list, even if it was an accident.

“I know you didn't mean to do it,” she says.

I get up and extend a hand to her, pulling her to her feet. Now J. C. is the only one on the floor, so he stands up, too. For a second he looks like he's going to make another smart-ass comment, but he manages to restrain himself. “Excuse me,” he says in the polite voice he uses to hide what he's really feeling. That's just fine with me. I have no interest in knowing what's on his mind. I've heard quite enough for today.

We move, and he opens the freezer door, pulling out two bags of peas. He tosses one to me and presses the other one up against his eye.

“I'm going outside,” he says in that same empty voice. “It's too crowded in here by half.” He walks to the patio door, yanks it open, and stalks out. He's getting wet, but it's clear he doesn't give a shit. I watch him as he collapses into a chair, turns his face up to the rain. He closes his eyes and lets the water stream down his cheeks, washing away the blood, and I turn to Maddie.