Pamela Hearon – Right Where We Started (страница 8)

“Yes, it does. If I wasn’t sorry, you’d have every right to never forgive me.” He watched her mouth open like she was going to say something, but she closed it without making a sound. “But I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Audrey. Not again...at least, not right now. I’m asking for your friendship. I miss you.” He was thankful they’d moved outside to the darkness. Under the lamplight inside, she surely would’ve been able to pick up on the heavy thudding of his heart under the thin material of his T-shirt, or see the skin on his wrists rippling with strong pulse beats.

“You ask too much.” She ran her hand through the top of her hair, loosening the silky strands, which fell softly back into place. “We can’t be friends.”

“Yes, we can.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, gripping his beer with both hands. “We can be whatever you allow us to be. Don’t you see? We didn’t just lose Callie that night. We lost us, too... And I’m talking about the friends us, not the lovers us. I understand that’s probably gone forever, but I don’t understand why we have to go through the rest of our lives grieving for a loss that doesn’t have to be a loss.”

She shivered and crossed her arms even though the temperature had to be in the high 80s. “I can’t forget.”

“Me, neither, but I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to remember. Remember the two kids who were best friends from the age of four. Who played together every recess. Who rode their bikes together every day after school. Who spent every day of summer vacation together from morning until dark. Those years weren’t wasted, Audrey. They have to count for something.”

Moonlight glinted on the tears in her eyes, so he’d touched a nerve. He pressed on in hope. “If I learned anything during those years in Africa, it was that you can do whatever you put your mind to, but first you have to be brave enough to face it. I’ve witnessed the indomitable human spirit firsthand in Ebola victims. I’ve seen children dying of starvation from years of famine. The brave ones don’t give in without a fight. They fight to hang on because they see good in the world. Friendship is good, Audrey. People need each other. It’s what keeps us going...makes life worth living.” Her face turned away from him, eyes staring out into the front yard at nothing in particular, but an ear was toward him, and he would continue talking as long as he had her ear. “We could be friends again, starting tonight. We could talk to each other in a civil manner and exchange genuine smiles and maybe even occasionally laugh at some inside joke that comes back to us from years ago. We may not be what we used to be, but let’s at least be part of that good in the world.”

He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving closer to her. He scooted his bottom across the concrete until he was only an arm’s length away—close enough to touch if she should be so inclined.

She wasn’t, but she chewed her bottom lip, which meant she was at least thinking about what he’d said. When she shook her head at last, his heart stalled. “I don’t know, Mark. I can’t guarantee anything.” She stood and tilted her head toward the door. “But I wasn’t lying about needing to work. I have stuff I have to finish tonight.”

It wasn’t a no and his heart did a double beat to catch up. He stood and finished off the remainder of his beer before he handed her the mug. “You’ll think about what I said.”

He didn’t pose it as a question, but she nodded as if he had, her face somber in the moonlight. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

He smiled...but it wasn’t returned.

At least, not yet.

* * *

TREY COOPER SAT on the couch where he’d slept most of his twenty-seven years. He was waiting for sunrise, for that first slant of sunlight to break through the dirty blinds, through the rectangle where he’d broken the end off the fourth slat from the bottom. He snaked his tongue out, feeling the scar that cut through the right corner of his upper lip and edged out onto his cheek a couple of inches. That beating had been one of the worst ones because Daddy hadn’t been drunk enough to pass out for a long time.

He gave a shrug even though there was nobody to see it. For years he’d lain awake in the wee hours of the morning, watching for the sun to break through that rectangle and shine some light into his dingy existence.

Every new day brought with it a promise Willie would find his way back home. Would come back from wherever it was he’d run off to. Would come back and rescue his little brother from the beatings that came during the dark. But Willie never came.

And now Daddy had been dead almost two years, having drunk so much he choked to death on his own vomit in the bed at the end of the hall.

And Mama had died last week of the cancer that ate its way from her insides to her outside. Trey’s nostrils still picked up the stench of decaying flesh from the worn corduroy recliner, where she’d spent most of her hours these past two months, watching TV, smoking her hand-rolled cigarettes and yelling at him to change the channel.

Go on, Daddy’s voice whispered.

Trey put his hands over his ears, knowing it wouldn’t keep out Daddy’s voice.

Go on, damn you. You know you want to, so be a man for once. Do it.

Just a few more minutes. He was anxious to leave this hellhole and leave Daddy’s voice with it, but not until the time was perfect.

Restless, he stood and stretched and then remembered something he’d forgotten to do.

He walked down the narrow hall to the place where the piece of plywood covered the hole in the floor. It didn’t take much—only one hard stomp—to splinter the rotten wood and leave the gaping opening that would allow the snakes and vermin to take over the place. It seemed fitting to let them have it since the same sort of creatures who’d been his parents had held dominion over the place so long.

The action calmed him, and he was consciously able to unclench his fist.

He closed his eyes and ran his fingertips along the wall as he made his way back to the living room, holding his breath and counting slowly to one hundred.

His heart beat wildly as he made himself wait. Daddy’s belt wasn’t there to lash his back when he let out the air, but still he made himself hold it simply because he could. Because he was in control this time.

He opened his eyes, knowing instinctively it was time.

Sure enough, the rectangle glowed with the light of dawn—the time in the movies when prisoners were released or shot. No firing squad awaited him. He was alive and free and leaving Appalachia for the first time in his life.

He ran to the door, jerked it open and stepped onto the wobbly pile of concrete blocks serving as steps. A leap and three long strides took him to the beat-up pickup he’d bought with the money he’d hidden from Daddy over the years, five-dollar bills slipped undetected out of his paychecks from the Quick-n-Eezee convenience store. Daddy’s old fishing boat was hooked up and waiting. As long as he could fish, he wouldn’t starve. He gave the truck—his first honest-to-goodness possession—a loving pat before climbing in and starting the engine. He didn’t know how far she’d go, but wherever it was, that’s where he was headed.

He backed out onto the narrow gravel lane, flipping off the dilapidated trailer in a final salute.

A quarter mile down the road, a raccoon wandered out from a wooded area where sunlight had barely started to filter through the thick growth of trees. The creature, oblivious to the approaching vehicle, got almost to the middle of the road before instincts caused it to pause and stand on its hind legs to sniff the air.

Trey’s headlights caught the eyes, turning them to small orbs that glowed a sinister red.

Hit it.

“No, Daddy. It hasn’t done anything.”

It’s standing in your way, damn it. Hit it!

“I don’t want to.”

Do what I say, or you know what you’ll get.

Trey’s foot pushed harder on the accelerator, bearing down on the animal while it just stood and watched.

“I’ll get it anyway,” Trey whispered, swerving to the right at the last minute.

Gravel flew in all directions, pelting the truck’s windshield as Trey fought to bring the steering under control. The back tires slid into the grass, damp and slick with dew. Just when he thought the sharp drop-off would pitch him into a roll, the truck skidded to a stop.

You’re an ignorant fool. Nearly killed yourself over a raccoon. The stupid animal’s smarter than you are.

“Get out, Daddy.”

The laugh grew louder, and Trey beat his head against the steering wheel, trying to dislodge the voice from where it was housed.

I’m going with you, boy. Gonna stay with you ’til you prove you’re man enough to make it on your own. Now, go on. Do what you know you deserve.

Trey grabbed the leather belt that had been thrown from the passenger seat onto the floorboard. Doubling it in his hand, he reached across his shoulder to slash it across his back three times.

He didn’t make a sound the whole time—that would’ve meant an extra two. Throwing the belt back on the seat, he stomped on the accelerator, breaking the truck free from the mire holding it, and pulled back onto the road.