Blindness (8 page)

“What about his mom?” I ask, causing Gabe to
spit a little of his beer out with a laugh.

“What, Shelly?” he says, almost shocked that
I would suggest it. “Damn, girl. You really don’t know these people
well, do you?”

I just shrug, starting to think that maybe I
don’t.

“Shelly’s a drunk. Like, completely
dysfunctional. She was that way before Jake died, but when he
passed, she got a
whole lot
worse,” Gabe says, looking at
his beer like he’s ashamed of it now. “Shell ain’t gonna do
shit.”

I suck in a deep breath and reach down for my
beer, cracking it open to join Gabe. I don’t drink much, but
something about tonight feels like I should. And for some reason, I
feel closer to Gabe than maybe anyone else in the entire damn
household. “So, how do you know Cody?”

Gabe smiles at my question, and looks up,
like he’s searching through a slideshow of memories. When he drops
his head back to look at me, his smile is warm and his eyes are
bright. “Cody and me have been friends since kindergarten. Man,
I’ve got stories, I tell you what!” he laughs, taking a drink of
his beer and then setting it down to lean forward, his elbows on
his knees. “That dude, he’s talked me into a lot of crazy
shit!”

“Oh yeah? Something tells me you don’t need a
lot of help finding crazy shit to do,” I smile, but then worry
instantly that I’ve gotten too comfortable with Gabe. He laughs
right away, though, setting me at ease.

“Maybe now. But back then? Hell no…it was
always Cody starting shit up,” he says, closing his eyes a little,
and leaning back again on his palms. “Like when we first started
racing motorbikes and doing jumps off crap? That was always Cody.
My mom could’ve kicked his ass. Especially the first time I came
home with a broken arm!”

“The first time?” I ask, my brow raised.

“Yeah, I’ve broken it three times. Leg, once.
Ribs? Hmmmmm, I don’t know, maybe a dozen?” Gabe says, looking over
his own body, taking inventory like he’s trying to remember where
all of the scars are. “Damn, it’d be easier to tell you shit I
ain’t broke.” He laughs and takes another drink before settling his
gaze back on me.

“How about Cody?” I ask, holding my breath,
hopeful that I didn’t cross a line. Gabe just looks at me, his
expression falling a little while he nods and looks down. “He had
some bumps and bruises, sure. But nothing bad before the big one,”
he says, sliding back to his feet and walking to the back of the
garage. I hear him moving around a few boxes, and finally he comes
back to the table with a heavy one that’s covered in dust. Curious,
I stand up and join him.

Gabe bends back the lid and starts pulling
out a few old cards, posters, and magazines. He flips one of them
open to a page that’s dog-eared, and then slides it over to me.
It’s a picture of Cody leaning on a dirt bike, his arm around a
cute girl with long black hair and bright blue eyes. They look
right together, like they match. I recognize my own jealousy
immediately, and I feel my ears starting to burn from my blood
pressure, but I swallow hard and keep it hidden.

“That was right after Cody won gold in
Austin, about a week before Jake died. He pulled this sick-ass
trick, flipping the bike one way on its side, and his body the
other, letting go with his hands,” Gabe says, the pride for his
friend bleeding through everything he says. He turns the page to
show me a picture of the trick, and I lose my breath seeing
it—Cody’s body more than fifty feet in the air, hanging onto a
200-pound bike with only his thighs. I look up at Gabe with wide
eyes, and then back down at the page.

“I know, right? He was so fuckin’ good. Still
is,” he says, sliding back up to sit on the table.

“Still is?” I ask, confused at how Cody could
ride. I watched him struggle just to climb a set of stairs a day or
two ago.

“Yeah, he still does tricks and stuff for
fun. He modified a bike at the shop, moved the clutch, put all the
gears and power on his strong side. He hooks his leg in when he
rides. He can’t do it long, though. Riding really makes him hurt,”
he says, looking down at the page I still have open.

“How’d it happen?” I ask, boldly. I hear
Gabe’s breath stop, and I know the memory is hard.

“Same trick, but it was a week later,” he
says, looking down at his hands, slowly balling them into fists,
and then relaxing them again. “Jake had just died, and Cody was a
fuckin’ wreck. He didn’t even make the turn, the bike just flew
from his hands and came crashing down next to him. But the wheels
spun and the metal got all tangled up with his leg,” I can tell
Gabe’s having a hard time sharing, so I put my hand on his knee and
pat it to let him know I understand. He places
his
hand on mine and squeezes. It’s strange how close I feel to him,
but I do.

“He lost everything after that—his dad, his
girlfriend, and almost the shop. I think that’s why he’s fighting
so hard to keep it open—it’s like the only thing he has left…you
know, from before?”

I smile and lean my head to the side before
turning back to the magazines and posters, flipping through a few
more before pulling them all together and putting them back in the
box. I slide it back over to Gabe and suddenly find myself standing
in front of him, reaching out for him to give him a hug. He
chuckles once and stands up to embrace me, wrapping me in his giant
arms, his body smelling of oil and gasoline—it makes me feel home,
more at home than I’ve felt in years.

“He’s not totally broken, you know?” Gabe
says as we back away from each other. “He’s not the punk he was
when he was 17 and had the accident. He’s strong. Pulled me out of
some dark times—drugs and shit. He’s a good friend. Best one I’ve
got.”

I nod and smile softly, and then reach into
my pocket to pull out the marker and the twenty, which feels
entirely different than it did when I first stormed over here,
ready to lay into Cody. “You mind if I leave him a note?” I ask,
when I realize Gabe’s staring at me with his brow pinched and a
crooked smile.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you gotta do,” he says,
shaking his head and laughing. He picks up the box and lugs it back
to a corner in the garage, and then reaches down for his dirty
shirt to grab it from the pile on the floor. “I’m headin’ out. But,
Charlie?”

I wince a little, but let it go, realizing
Cody must call me Charlie. And somehow that seems okay. “Yeah?” I
ask, looking up.

Gabe takes in another deep breath, and then
kicks his feet before nodding and coming back to me, his lips a
hard line working against him. “It’s nothing. Just…just keep an
open mind, okay?”

I can tell he wanted to say more, but I let
it go. I’m not so sure I’m ready to hear more. I smile and cross my
heart. Gabe nods and heads down the driveway to a motorcycle parked
at the end. When I hear him pull away, I lean over the hood of the
car and pull the cap from my pen. I smile to myself when it comes
to me.

“
Good for one cup of freshly brewed
coffee. Offer good for 8 a.m. sharp only.”

I write my note along the bottom trim of the
bill. Tucking it under the windshield wiper of the Chevelle, I bite
my lower lip, and squeeze my eyes shut, not sure if I’m ready for
what I seem to be starting. I stare at it for a few minutes before
I finally resolve to see this thing through. I leave the garage and
make my way back into the giant house I live in with my
boyfriend—the one I don’t want to sleep next to tonight.

Chapter 5: Playing Fair

Trevor left to meet a friend for breakfast at
seven, and said he wouldn’t be home for a few hours. I knew about
this—it’s why I wrote
8 a.m
. on my stupid note to Cody. I
have fought against racing outside to remove it for the last hour.
My nerves are still a mess, and I know it’s because I’m afraid of
being caught.

I sat by the window in my bedroom until my
eyes finally forced themselves shut around four in the morning; I
don’t know when Cody came home. I never heard the rumble of his
truck, but when I came downstairs with Trevor this morning, it was
there. I raced to the window to check, and my heart actually leapt
at seeing it.

It’s a little after eight, and I’m manically
stirring my coffee at the table, regretting the entire stupid idea,
when I hear the back door slide open slowly behind me. I know it’s
him before he says a word. I can smell him—a mixture of oil and
metal and the faintest hint of last night’s whiskey.

“You’re late,” I tease. I hear him take in a
deep breath, and the door shutting softly behind him. I don’t hear
him move, so finally I turn on my stool to see him standing just
inside the door, his head down, and the crumpled bill being
stretched between his hands. He finally looks up to me slowly, his
eyes full of fear, begging, and regret.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him
off. “You’re lucky. It’s buy-one-get-one-free day, plus there’s a
15-minute grace period. First cup’s cold, though,” I say, sliding
the mug of coffee I’ve had ready for him in his direction.

He smiles with half his mouth, like the
effort to raise his lips is killing him. I can read the genuine
remorse all over his face, and I instantly forgive him. I keep that
to myself, though, just in case this turns out to be a bad
idea.

“I believe you owe me $20?” I say, looking at
the money in his hands. He laughs once, softly, and finally moves
forward and takes the stool next to me, placing the bill flat
against the counter and sliding it over. I notice there’s something
written on the other side, and I turn it so I can read it.

“
I’m so sorry.”

I run my finger over the words slowly, to
show him I see them, and then I clutch the bill in my hand and
stuff it in my pocket. “Drink up, cowboy,” I say, tilting my coffee
back and finishing it off. I’ve had three cups this morning, and my
nerves are teeming from all of the caffeine. I drink coffee when
I’m stressed. I realize the contradiction of it all, how I’m
working against myself. But it doesn’t seem to stop me.

Cody wraps his hand around his mug and looks
at it a good long while before he lifts it to his lips and takes a
loud slurping sip, like a kid with hot cocoa. The sound makes me
laugh, and he winks at me, his cheeks wrinkling with his smile—it’s
back, and it’s heavenly.

After another minute of looking at his cup,
Cody sets it down and pushes it away. I’m staring at him now, and I
know it, but I can’t seem to stop. He’s wearing a clean white
T-shirt, but last night’s jeans—I recognize them. His hands, his
face, his hair—he’s a mess, every bit of his rough night worn on
his body. But it has my guts twisting, my insides aching. And deep
down, I know the way I’m looking at him is about being more than
friends. But I squeeze my eyes tightly to wring out those thoughts
and force myself to remember that that’s all we are. We’re
friends.

“I think you owe me some change,” he says,
his voice a little scratchy. He coughs to clear his throat, and I
lean forward on my elbow, raising a brow to question him. “The
coffee? There’s no way I’m making it to the two-for-one deal. It’s
pretty much the worst shit I’ve ever had.”

He busts out laughing mid-sentence, unable to
keep a straight face. I start to laugh, too, knowing I really have
no idea how to brew coffee. I only started drinking it in
college—and I usually buy my cup at Starbucks. I smile at him and
shake my head, instinctively reaching forward to touch him. I push
his arm with a tease, and he stops it before I can pull away,
grabbing my fingers and wrapping them in his own. Suddenly, he’s
holding my hand.
He’s holding my hand!

I let him, and watch as his fingers slowly
lock into place with mine, the twists of ink and words along them
like black keys on a piano against my pale skin. I steal a glance
at him to see his eyes intent on our tangled hands, his gaze soft,
but guarded. He’s being so careful. My mind is betraying everything
I’m fighting to hold onto with visions of his mouth on mine, my
lips tingling at the thought of kissing him, tasting him.

Reality slams into me hard, though, when I
hear Trevor’s booming laugh enter the foyer—along with someone
else’s. I jump from my seat and slap my hands to both cheeks to
wake myself from the dream I was just indulging in. I shake my
head, and briefly lock eyes with Cody, who’s smirking back at me,
almost amused at my harried state. Before Trevor makes it to us, I
turn to the sink and start rinsing dishes—dishes that, frankly, are
already clean.

He’s telling the man who’s with him a story
as he enters the kitchen, and I’m grateful he’s distracted from the
redness that’s now taken up residence across my entire body.

“I can’t believe that asshole told you that!”
Trevor says to his friend, leaning over my shoulder to kiss me
while he drops his keys and wallet on the counter. It takes him all
of three seconds to realize Cody’s here, and I can feel his insult
coming before he unleashes it. “What? Still don’t have your own
fuckin’ coffeemaker? Freeloader,” Trevor says, rolling his eyes and
turning his attention back to his friend.

What days ago only made me uncomfortable,
today has me angry and ready to jump to Cody’s defense. I’m
squeezing the knife in my hand while I rinse off the blade then
turn to drop it in the dishwasher. I catch Cody’s eyes and mouth to
him “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t seem to be bothered. He raises his
mug and gets to his feet, tipping his cup to take one more sip
before stopping and remembering how terrible it tastes. He spits it
back in, and I laugh quietly at him.

Trevor is watching us. Not wanting to make a
big deal out of anything, I just smile, shrug, and turn back to the
running water. I’m half-listening to Trevor and his friend talk
when I realize he’s trying to get my attention. I turn the water
off and dry my hands while his friend is reaching his hand to me.
“Charlotte, this is Kevin. He’s Judge Sumner’s nephew,” Trevor
says, his tone subtle, but I understand what he’s trying to tell
me. Kevin’s important, and I need to make a good impression.