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Every year P.J. helped Reggie set up for the Dumont harvest party. Once everything had been all sorted, organized, and moved a zillion times according to Layla’s direction, P.J. and Reggie would light up expensive cigars and down a couple of shots of Hennessey. P.J. would stay long enough to make Layla happy, then as soon as she was otherwise engaged, he would slip out the back. And sometimes for P.J. even that was too long. But he knew that Layla in party mode was a lot to handle, so P.J. didn’t mind helping out.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t know anyone at the party. In truth, he knew just about everyone.He just wasn’t interested in small talk. And besides, everyone looked so damn happy. P.J. just didn’t get it. Especially since he knew damn well that some of them had lives that were straight up falling apart. Some of their stories were downright tragic.
Dave and Belinda Applebee were having a good ole time playing horseshoes with the Goodlaws. Jeremy Applebee who had just shot a ringer with the help of his dad, was seven years old and had leukemia. And their horseshoe partners, Paul and Sally Goodlaw had had to file bankruptcy last week.
Bob Oglethorpe was manning the grill. His only son, Jack, was a serious heroin addict. Mrs. Jennings was sitting with Layla. She had lost her husband, Charlie, to a heart attack three months ago. They had been happily married for sixty years, and she cried every time his name was mentioned. Suzy Oumi was having a good laugh with her nephew, Andy. Suzanne had caught her husband cheating on her last Christmas Eve. Young Andy Roberts was twenty years old and had spent all of those years tied to a wheelchair.
Each and every one of them had every reason to be miserable. Yet here they all were together, basking in the glow of friendship and yucking it up with one another like no one had a care in the world. It was like the people of Port Harbor knew some magic secret to happiness that they were keeping from P.J.
“This is a goddamn party, not a funeral.” Andy said as he wheeled over to him. “What’s the matter, tough guys don’t like deviled eggs, is that it?”
“Hey Roberts, why are you busting my balls?” P.J. grinned out the expected response. “Hear you’re going to Pee U in a couple of weeks.”
“Pee U!” Andy let out a laugh. “That’s a good one. You gonna come see me? A day at college might do you some good.”
“Boston University? Doubt they’d let me in…even for a day. But for you, man? I’d swallow my pride and give it a try.” Then P.J. added. “You gonna be okay there, buddy? I mean do they have like… uh...what you and Bullet need?”
“Yeah, me and my old buddy here will be just fine.” He thumped the spokes of his wheelchair. “They got all kinds of stuff there for students with disabilities.”
“Hey, I’m gonna be stopping by your place this week.” P.J. said as if he had just thought of it. “I got you a going away gift.”
“I hope it’s one of those custom made blow up dolls that they’re making now in Japan.” Andy joked and put up his hand for a high five.
P.J. high fived him back. “Sorry, brother. Sold out. But I think that you just might like this gift better.”
“Okay, give it a shot.” Andy grinned at him.
“Bullet might feel a little slighted, but I think it’s time him and you start seeing other people.” P.J. shook his head in mock sorrow.
“Don’t play with a guy in a wheelchair, P.J.” Andy looked at him, but couldn’t keep the cautious hope that had begun to light up his eyes.
“Tilite ZR Titanium.” P.J. told him. “That’s the one you wanted right?”
“Only my whole damn life!!” Andy exclaimed. Joy lit up his face and he swiveled his chair around in happy circles. “I can’t believe this!”
“Figured you’d need something light and fast to race after all those sweet college girls.” P.J. lifted his chin to Andy’s parents who were watching from across the lawn, their faces lit up in gratitude and happiness for their boy. P.J. had consulted Mr. and Mrs. Roberts and together they had come up with the perfect chair to fit a college bound boy’s needs.
“You are the best friend a guy could have.” Andy said it with so much sincerity that his eyes were bright with it. Embarrassed, he took a swipe at his cheek, but P.J. would never forget the look on Andy Roberts face or the way doing the right thing made P.J. feel.
It took about five more minutes of talking about the many attributes of the three thousand dollar wheelchair, before Andy couldn’t stand it anymore. With a jubilant smile he wheeled off to go home, call his friends, and look up the tracking number on the internet.
Andy worked for P.J. part time with ordering and some accounting in the market. He had a keen mind and was good with numbers. So, when Andy told P.J. he was going off to college in the fall to pursue a degree in economics, the gift was a no brainer. Andy had spent most of his lunch time talking about, researching, and basically longing for the TZ. He wanted that chair like other kids want their first car, or a girlfriend. The kid had caught a bad break, and P.J. had the means to make it better. So, he did. It was that simple. As he watched Andy wheel away with that shit-eating grin on his face, P.J. thought that he would never love anything as much as Andy loved that TZ.
Then P.J. saw Juliet.
She had just stepped out from the edge of the forest. The sun had broken through the trees at just that moment and dappled her with a kaleidoscope of moving light. She stood very still as if on a precipice. It was as if Juliet knew that she couldn’t go back but moving forward was unthinkable. P.J. made a move towards Juliet, but when her eyes hit his he felt something powerful hit him square in the chest. It had the power to stop him cold. P.J.’s reaction to Juliet was a primal, visceral thing, a response as old as the ages.
“Juliet!” Layla’s voice threatened to break the spell.
But when Juliet tried to turn away from him, P.J.’s eyes held her gaze. He stayed very still and refused to let go of Juliet’s eyes.
Layla was almost upon Juliet before Juliet was able to break herself away from P. J’s spellbinding stare. And when P.J. lost the fight to hold her, he felt an inexplicable surge of anger course through his body. His fist clenched by his side, and his abdomen tightened as if waiting for a punch. P.J wanted to run after Juliet, caveman her up over his shoulder, cage her, and keep her all for himself.
Frowning now, P.J kicked the lid off the cooler, and reached into the icy water. He left his hand in there just long enough to freeze the stupid right out of him. Because really who the hell did he think he was? He had spoken to the chick probably no more than a half a dozen times and he had absolutely no claim to her.
Yet. P.J. had no claim to Juliet yet.
P.J. grabbed himself a beer, leaned against the house, and watched as Layla took Juliet Jones under her wing and welcomed her in. Juliet looked good. Real good. Gone was the black hooded waif with the tired eyes and hard angles. She was still too thin, and her shoulders still slumped. Juliet still looked haunted. But she was doing better.
