Clouds In My Coffee (10 page)

“Cece, I am
so
sorry,” he continues, his face a mask of sincerity. “I was pretty fucked-up and what I did to you was
very
fucked up. I was out of line, and I didn’t show you the respect that I should have. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

I get closer, looking down at his face that, for all intents and purposes, looks contrite and apologetic. Yet, I don’t believe him.

“Why now?” I ask.

He pauses for effect. “Because if nothing else, losing Angie the way we did should teach all of us that life is too short to hold grudges or deny forgiveness.”

Oh, I see. Suddenly, I’m the bad guy if I don’t forgive the jerk?

“Let me ask you this, Marshall, did Angie
forgive
you for what you did to her?”

A frown crosses his face. “I’m not following you.”

Maybe I needed to mellow out and not stir the pot.

Maybe not.

“I mean, that she told Erik about you raping her.”

His face darkens noticeably and he’s suddenly morphing from contrite to furious. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I can’t defend a lie. I’m just here to apologize.”

The wind blows my hair, and it’s colder than shit out and I don’t want to waste any more body heat on this num-nut. I take my fingers and pull my hair from my face and I can tell when his eyes make contact with my Christmas present from Erik.

“What’s this?” he asks, reaching an arm out and capturing my hand. “Some sort of trailer trash pre-engagement ring?”

I pull my hand from his grasp and shove it into my pocket. “Fuck off,” I say, getting ready to turn from him.

“Just tell
me
this, Cece, have you let him
ball
you yet?”

I’m livid as hell. “Just tell
me
this, Marshall, are
you
the person Angie was talking to on the phone the day she was murdered?”

Why in the hell I used the word
murdered
totally escapes me. It just came out—like out of
nowhere
. But, it hit a raw nerve with Marshall. I can tell that instantaneously.

“You better watch your mouth, bitch,” he sneers, his eyes flashing pure hatred. “Talk like that isn’t healthy. I have a reputation and no cunt like you is going to ruin it.”

I’m not about to act frightened. “Just leave. My boyfriend is due home any minute unless you want to stick around so that he can wipe the ground up with your sorry ass again,” I say with more courage than what I’m feeling because the truth is, I’m scared shitless.

Luckily, Erik’s rounding the bend in the road just as Marshall peels out, laying rubber once again. He flips Erik off on his way out of the park. Erik immediately pulls his Mustang over, taking possession of the space Marshall just vacated.

“What the hell was he doing here?” he asks, jumping out of his car.

He’s high. I can tell.

“He just stopped by to apologize for what he did and how he’s acted towards me.”

“And?” Erik asks; his eyes a bit glassy.

“And I told him to shove it and, as far as I’m concerned, you can shove it too if you’re going to continue with this pattern of behavior. What’s your drug of choice today?”

“Mr. Natural,” he says, daring me to pick a fight.

“So, what? You’re dropping acid now?”

“It actually can clear your mind of funk,” he argues. “Puts things into perspective. I don’t intend to make it a daily routine.”

“Far out. Party on, Erik, but I’m going in. I’m not freezing my ass off trying to figure your shit out. I’ve got my own shit to figure out.”

He doesn’t say a word.

His silence speaks volumes.

February 1, 1974

Dear Diary,

Marshall stopped by today. Said he wanted to apologize. I don’t buy it. He became unglued when I mentioned Angie. I asked if he apologized to her about raping her. He was super pissed. I asked him if he was the person who had talked to her on the phone the day she was murdered. I really thought he was going to go ballistic and jump out of his car and come after me with that look of hate that came over him. I don’t even know why I said it. Erik and I got into it. Fuck all of this. I called Planned Parenthood today. I need to drop off a sealed container with my first urine of the day at their location in the morning. I have to call at lunch time to get my results. I just leave my name in the bag with the specimen, and then call after eight-thirty. I call them and they will assign me a number. I’m scared shitless.

I’m at my locker after fourth period, digging through my purse for the phone number for Planned Parenthood. I’ve decided to drive off campus and find a pay phone to make the second call. Too many nosey people hanging around the pay phones at school during lunch.

Just as I shut my locker, I see Kim standing there behind it staring at me. I jump, clutching my chest. She hasn’t talked to me in months and I have to wonder what the hell has changed.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I say.

“Sorry. Can we talk?”

“Why?” I ask, getting defensive. “We don’t talk at school, or at practice or at the games. Why now?”

“It’s important,” she replies.

“I can’t,” I reply honestly. “I have to run an errand during lunch period.”

“How about later?” she asks, pressing me.

“Yeah, sure. I’m home tonight. You can call me then.”

“I will,” she calls after me as I flee down the hall.

I find a phone booth two blocks away, pulling my car over and getting change out to make my call. My heart is beating fast. My mind tells me there could be all kinds of reasons for my period being late. Stress and well...that’s all I can think of.

“Planned Parenthood, this is Lois, how can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah. This is number seven calling in for my results?”

Come on, Lucky Number 7!

“One moment please.”

I’m put on hold, listening to the instrumental, elevator version of ‘Brandy.’ The lyrics play in my mind because it’s one of those songs that has been played to death on the radio.

Brandy what a fine girl,

What a good wife you would be,

But my life, my love, and my lady is the sea.

Music stops. “Amy?” the voice says.

Yeah, I gave a fake name.

“Yes, this is Amy,” I reply pensively.

“Your results are positive.”

“I see. Okay.”

“You can come in and talk to a counselor if you’d like. The sooner the better if you’re planning on terminating the pregnancy, honey.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t wait too long.”

“I won’t. Bye.”

I slam the phone back into its silver cradle. There’s no way I can go back to school. Tears are overflowing and my stomach is in a huge knot. I jump back into my VW and take off, going nowhere near the school. I just need to drive around and think. I have to think.

My eyes are still misting up and I know I need to pull off somewhere to think and weigh my options.

Before I can even think about where I’m going, I’ve pulled into the long, winding drive of the cemetery just on the outskirts of town. It’s where Angie was laid to rest just a few weeks back.

It’s cold and windy; snowflakes are swirling around in the frigid February air. No accumulation is expected, though I wouldn’t care if it was. It could snow ten feet and bury me alive for all I care.

Stop it!

That’s not rational thinking; that’s Angie thinking and I’m not going there.

I find her grave; the dirt is still piled high and dead flower arrangements are still scattered over it and beyond.

I make my way up to her grave and, for some reason, I’m hoping that it helps me to put things into perspective for some reason; I can’t figure out why I think that, it just seems to give me a sense of peace and quiet that I so desperately need.

When I get home, Mom has long since left for work at the club. I grab a quick sandwich and turn the television on, not really watching it. I simply need the noise.

Once I finish up, the phone rings. It’s probably Kim and I don’t feel like talking. I turn the ringer off and head for the shower, taking my time and letting the warm water rinse over and soothe me. I shampoo my hair twice, killing time so I don’t have to face anything outside of this shower.

How ridiculous is that?

Finally, once my skin resembles a prune, I decide it’s time to get out. I put on a pair of flannel pj’s and crawl into bed. It’s only six-thirty, but I don’t care. I want this day to be over as quickly as possible.

I pull my diary out before I turn the lights out.

February 2, 1974

Dear Diary,

I’m knocked up. It’s official. I’d love to share the news with Erik, but he’s been kind of wrapped up in his own trip these days. I went to the cemetery today. Once I got the news from PP, I didn’t feel like going back to school. I went to Angie’s grave. I don’t know why, I just felt compelled to do so. I needed to think.

I stayed there for a couple of hours, going back to my car periodically to warm up. I noticed a single black rose had been placed at the head of her grave. It didn’t belong to any of the flowers left over from the funeral. It looked fresh.

After I left the cemetery, I drove around some more, waiting for Mom to be gone because I’m scared to death she’ll take one look at me and figure it all out.

I love Erik. I need him so much right now, but I’m scared shitless to do or say anything to him that might push him further away. Why is life so fucked up at times?

Oh, and Kim tried to talk to me at school today right before I left at lunch time. I told her to call me, but I haven’t felt like answering the phone tonight. Whatever she has to say to me can wait. Just like she’s kept me waiting all of these months.

Kim’s waiting at my locker for me when I get to school. I’m not in the mood to deal with any cheerleader drama.

“You didn’t come back to school after your errand,” she comments as I spin the dial on my combination lock. I remain silent. “You missed cheerleading practice,” she continues.

I look at her.

“You didn’t answer your phone last night.”

“True, true and true,” I reply, opening my locker door and grabbing my first period book.

“Is something wrong?”

I shut my locker door and lean against it studying her. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect clothes, and perfect life I guess. “Why would you care if there was?”

“Cece,” she starts, “I’m so sorry for the way I’ve acted towards you all these months, it was so wrong.”

“Hmmph, second apology I’ve received this week. Imagine that.”

She frowns in confusion.

“Marshall stopped by the other day to apologize. I sort’ve flung it back in his face.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replies. “Is that what you’re going to do to me?”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t. We were supposed to be good friends, as I recall. You never even bothered to hear my side of the story, Kim. You don’t know the kind of person Marshall is—all you do is what Keith tells you to do.”

“You’re right. But not anymore, because I
do
know the type of person Marshall is. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

“What do you mean?”

She leans in closer, her eyes darting around to make sure no one is paying attention to our conversation. “I mean the day that Angie...died, he was acting totally off the wall.”

“Was he high or something?”

“Or something. He was totally wrecked on sopers. Kept rambling on about how fucked up his life was—chicks that screwed him over. He mentioned Angie...and then you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I hiss. Shit, I don’t need any more drama on my plate.

“Because I’m worried about you. It’s too late to worry about Angie, I guess.”

“What are you saying, Kim?” I ask, not taking my eyes off of her face.

She starts to say something and then quickly clams up. I feel someone behind me.

“Come on, Kim, let’s get to homeroom.”

It’s Keith.

He doesn’t acknowledge my presence, and the tone of his voice tells me he doesn’t approve of Kim talking to me. I’m disturbed by what she just shared with me, but I’m more disturbed by what she hasn’t.

She gives me a quick glance and then walks away with him.