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I feel stifled already. I wonder if I’ll ever outgrow this feeling. You’d think after being gone from their home for a few years, I wouldn’t feel this way. But coming back is just like regressing back to high school emotionally.
Screw this. I’m going out. Well, not out,out. Not the kind of out that’s fun and hanging with friends, but out of the house.
And I know exactly where I’m going to. I don’t even plan it.
My car heads toward the bridge. The scene of the crime. My other crime, the one where I started to fall for him all over again on Thanksgiving night, a few short weeks ago.
The day is gloomy. What I wouldn’t give for a happy, sunny day. It would be nice if the weather wasn’t melancholy.
I pull my car into the same spot it was last time. It’s like I’m trying to replicate what happened before, as much as I can. The only thing I’m unsure about is when Josh will get here. A little demon voice in me says,ifhe’ll get here.
I see the shoe I lost, the one that wasn’t sucked into the bayou. It’s caked with dried mud, looking nothing like the one I bought brand new—clearance-priced—right before Thanksgiving.
The place where we made out a few weeks ago doesn’t look any different than any other spot on the concrete. Did I really expect it to look like hallowed ground or something?
I sit on the incline, with my back to our cave-like spot, looking out over the reeds and water in the bayou, toward the bay. I watch an occasional johnboat go by, trolling motor quiet. When they see me, if they see me, the people on the boats wave.
I’m so quiet and still that a rabbit skitters by, stops abruptly, looking at me as if to ask,what are you doing out here?
I’m wondering that myself. I’ve been out here for three hours. I should’ve brought a book. I try not to think about the sinking disappointment at Josh not being here. I try not to be pissed and think that he led me on.
Then again, a thought occurs to me. I did split up with him, and he didn’t care for it. Was that payback, our making out? Was this payback, him not showing up?
No. I try not to think that way. That would so not be the Josh I knew. And I don’t let doubt remind me that he could be a different Josh now.
14
SCRUFFY TREES AND EMPTY HEARTS
JOSH
Christmas Eve. Not exactly a happy time at 110 Marten Drive. Without Dad, I don't know why I bother. We lost him a while after Cassie and I— Damn. I'm not going to think about that. And yet my mind goes exactly to that place. The last time I saw Cass on Thanksgiving. She's the reason I came back. Otherwise, I'd have stayed out of town. It would be nice to catch up with Jeremy again, too. Almost would feel like old times. It was nice seeing Jeremy last time. Truth is, I'd missed him. When I lost Cassie, I lost Jeremy as my best friend, it seems. Sucks.
So, Isaiah and Billie and I are back down, on Marten Drive, in a house that bears no outward signs of the season. We were never much for holiday decorations, but at least Dad had a tree with lights and ornaments already on it that he would pull out of the attic and plug in, then return it to the attic in January just as it was. Year in, year out, the same little scruffy tree. I consider going up there to get it, but the memories might be more than I want to deal with right now.
“Hell, I don't know why I bothered coming back,” I mutter under my breath, though I do know.
From behind me, Billie gives me a hug, her ever-burgeoning belly pressing against my back.
“We’re going to have to do stuff for the little one,” I grouse. “He can't have all this—” I wave my arms around. “All this shit we deal with.”
“We will,” Billie assures me. “For now, though, you and Isaiah are still mourning your dad. Wait until the baby's here, then we can start smiling more.”
Billie knows damned well it's not just my dad's passing that bothers me, but she's merciful and doesn't mention it.
I grunt a response. A noncommittal one.
“What's your plan for today?” she asks.
“I'll be going out to the boat. I need to take care of some things.” I made a deal with a local guy. I handle the major stuff. Which is what I’ve got to do now. He does the minor for the boat, and he leases it for a small amount of money while still making a living for himself. Shrimping.
“Want company?” she asks.
I turn around and glance at her belly pointedly. “Maybe that's not a good idea.” On the boat, I mean.
Billie laughs. “I'll make dinner while you do that.”
“Deal.”
