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"Who pooped in your punch?" Clint cracked sarcastically.
Jake actually looked down at the glass of punch he held in his other hand. "Nobody. Just trying to figure out what's going on with Eva."
"Eva? Thought you were her biggest confidant," Clint said, his voice holding a trace of... something. Clint and Eva had been spending more time together since she broke up with the cop. She said Clint needed her help to train for an upcoming parasport race, but Jake wondered if there was some thing more to it.
''Guess not. My mom said aCharlieis coming to stay with her."
Clint made a face. "Charlie? Huh. The name sounds familiar. Maybe an old boyfriend?" He didn't look any happier than Jake. Which made Jake wonder again what was going on in that department.
Which was strange, because Eva hanging around his best bud wasn't something new. She'd been dropping by to visit the Cochrans ever since Clint's mother, Ruthie, had passed. Clint's father, Murphy, owned a manufacturing company specializing in tires for construction equipment. At one point Bayou Bengal Tires had supplied most of the Southeast US, but production had fallen off with Clint's health crises and Ruthie's death. Both Murphy and Clint were lonely in the rambling lake house, either sniping at each other or silently resenting each other. Eva's weekly visits to bring muffins or a pie had always been a godsend to Clint. Or at least that's what he said.
"Wanna go out back? It's freezing in here," Clint said, jerking his head toward the back patio, where only a few stragglers sat, one smoking a cigarette, one tapping on his phone. Clint had to reverse his chair a few times to clear the door's threshold, but they eventually made it out into the Louisiana sunshine. Jake felt the sweat break out on his lip after only a few seconds outside.
"So how are things?" Jake asked out of habit.
"Fine." Always Clint's response. Even when things weren't fine. Jake knew this week would be tough. Anniversary of the wreck, anniversary of Angela's death, and anniversary of the day everything changed in both their lives. Every year this awkward thing sat between them until eventually they both silently tucked the memories away and soldiered on yet again.
"Good," Jake said, sipping the punch, watching his friend take a few bites of the cake. Clint had added a lot of upper-body bulk, and his movements were more fluid now-a relief, since for a while he'd been unable to use his left arm after the accident. A deep gash had severed a number of nerves in the arm and atrophy had set in, necessitating intensive therapy. Jake looked away. "You watch the LSU game last night?"
"Yeah."
"Looks like we finally got a quarterback."
“He looks good. Uses his legs," Clint said before adding a faux-cheerful. “I remember what that was like."
Wasn't funny. Jake knew it. Clint knew it. The first time Clint had tried to make light of his disability, Jake had nearly choked on his beer before rushing from the table at Ray-Ray's. He'd said he needed a smoke.
Jake rarely smoked anymore, but that night he'd needed something. Something to help him forget that he'd been responsible for all that had happened on that parish back road. Something to make him forget how badly he'd failed his friends. How badly he'd failed himself. The nicotine had soothed him, made his hands steadier. He'd returned to the table where Clint nursed his beer and said, "Don't ever do that again."
And Clint rarely did. But here lately he used jokes about being disabled to needle Jake, to get the opening he needed.
"Don't," Jake said.
Clint set his half-eaten cake on the concrete balustrade of Hilda's elegant patio. "Why not? Shit, I'm tired of tiptoeing around you. Tired of pretending I'm not what I am.”
Jake looked down at his friend, his heart aching, his gut clenched with guilt. Ever-present guilt that never went away. "I know what you are, Clint."
"So you want to carry me around, huh? Just won't effing let me go."
"I don't want to talk about this.”
"Ten years, man, and you still can't face the truth. You pretend it away. I know what you do, Jake. I know the reason you pick me up and carry me to Ray-Ray's. It's not so I can drink, man. It's 'cause you like the guilt. But it's a shitty thing, brother. So stop. Okay? Stop making me your albatross."
"I don't," Jake said, even as part of him knew he was lying. He loved Clint. The dude had been his best friend for as long as he remembered, but too often their "guys' night out" approached with a sense of dread. For the first few years after the accident, it had been easier, but here lately, Jake couldn't wait to drop Clint backoff at his house. Their conversations were stagnant, almost rehearsed, and when he finally lifted Clint from the passenger seat, settling him into his chair in front of the ramp to his house, Jake felt he could finally take a deep breath. Wasn't fair to Clint, but Jake didn't know how to stop it.
"Bullshit. I'm tired of being your burden, and I'm tired of this crappy town." Clint picked up his plate and tossed his half-eaten cake over the rail. Hilda's dog would eat it and probably throw up on her expensive carpet. Jake would have to pick it up after Clint left.
"Yeah, that I get." Jake sighed because that made sense. He felt the same way. Trapped by his decisions from long ago. Like a string stretched tight, he'd begun to fray. Obviously, Clint felt the same way. "So what are you going to do?"
Clint's dark eyes blazed, and for the first time in a while, Jake really looked at his friend. Clint's dark hair was peppered with silver, and his eyes were haunted. His friend looked faded, like an old tattoo. At one time Clint had been a tall, gangly jokester. His full smile, dark wavy hair, and pretty brown eyes had driven the girls crazy and had allowed Clint to get away with anything at St. George's Episcopal, where he'd graduated salutatorian to Jake's valedictorian. They'd been partners in crime with devilish charm and extravagant youth on their side.
Until that goddamn night.
"I don't know, but I can't keep pretending things are good anymore. I'm shriveling up." Clint looked down at his useless legs. ''Not my body. My soul. I gotta move toward something more. I wish things were..." Clint closed his mouth and sat there. Seemingly no words could define what he felt.
Jake wanted to say something profound. He wanted to say that things between them were the same as they'd always been, but he knew that elephant in the room grew bigger. The accident, all that he'd taken from Clint, would always be between them. Jake didn't know how to change that.
So he didn't have words, either. Hell, he didn't have the emotions. He felt an empty shell.
