Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (30 page)

Katie Lee closed her eyes and moved her lips in a silent chant. Her normally bright lagoon blues turned murky, and she disappeared down the hall.

“Sorry Nash. She left.”

“Can you get her?”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Maybe she’ll talk to you later,” I said and unplugged the phone.

OUTSIDE THE DORM LOBBY, night-air levitated cold and quiet. Katie Lee didn’t break down into an emotionally distressed ball of goo like I expected. She emitted calmness. Her demeanor conflicted with the person I thought I knew, unnerving my internal equilibrium. Would she really end her two-year relationship? I dusted off my shoulder, the good one, in case she broke down, and made a mental note to borrow a box of tissues from Macy. Despite my boyfriend inexperience, I’d help her sort through her emotional turmoil.

Katie Lee cupped her hands over her nose and mouth. “It’s too cold to walk. I’ll drive us.”

Bridget checked her camera film gauge and patted her pocket for an extra roll. We walked to the parking lot, and she brushed snowflakes off Katie Lee’s coat collar. “If you drink too much, I can always drive us back.”

Her accommodating offer jolted me with a dose of relief and annoyance. Relief that I could drink without chauffeur responsibilities—-annoyance that she presented herself to be more considerate than the rest of us.

Except for the quick trip to the campus infirmary, Big Blue had been idle since the winter storm rolled in, and her windshield glistened like an iced sheet cake. Since Bridget had a predisposed case of backseat carsickness, she automatically settled into the front. Katie Lee turned the key over. Shivering like popsicles in a flimsy cardboard box, we waited for Big Blue to cough into a purr. Bridget busied herself snapping photos of icicles that dangled below the side view mirror. Macy didn’t say much, and I guessed the cold had immobilized her inner-smartass.

Katie Lee slid the defroster on high. The plastic dashboard creaked, and the windshield blades complained as they swiped across powder and ice. Once vented air blew warmth, mini peepholes formed on the glass, eventually growing large enough to reveal the colorless landscape. I leaned forward between Katie Lee and Bridget. “I’m used to the white stuff. Maybe I should drive.”

Bridget veered to face me. Creases formed across her forehead as if I spoke a foreign language.

Shifting the car into drive, Katie Lee said, “Don’t be silly. Your arm is in a sling.”

Before we left the parking lot, Big Blue fishtailed, narrowly missing a row of parked cars. Covering my face with my non-sling hand, I whispered, “Tell me when we’re there.”

THE CAROLINA COLD SNAP BROKE the longest record for a consecutive winter chill. Most cars sat jailed until a plow or a thaw could rescue them. The Brown’s had given Katie Lee Big Blue because it was a large, safe vehicle —- the kind that could take dings and scratches, and not look the worse for it. She embraced the tank and mowed into unplowed snow that had drifted against the street curb, securing a spot in front of the Holiday Inn. My door opened into a hard-packed snow wall. I unsuccessfully straddled the drift, plunging my shoes into wet. In an effort to steady each other’s rubber soles on the slick sidewalk, Macy linked her arm through my free one. Max didn’t sit outside on a stool, and no one carded us.

Inside, students milled about, and we spotted Hugh at a corner table. He asked no one in particular, “What’s goin’ on?” and I had to respect him for holding back his inner puma from Macy.

Bridget spread her coat on a barstool and sat on it. “One of us has news.”

Hugh touched Bridget’s shoulder and met her eyes. “I’m not the father?”

Bridget smacked his arm. “None of us are pregnant, you nympho.”

Hugh unstacked plastic cups. “First pitcher’s my treat.”

Macy kept her coat on. She bypassed Hugh and turned toward the bar. Katie Lee wasn’t the only one with man problems and I wondered if we’d have an early night.

“What’s the news?” Hugh asked.

Katie Lee tucked herself on top of a stool next to him, and I stood. “Nash stopped by the night we made nacho-pizza. He was in our room but didn’t wait for me. He went AWOL for five days. Who does that? He only called tonight, before we left. It’s over.”

Hugh, always available to deliver thought-provoking commentary, sipped his drink and licked the foam off his lip. “Whoa.”

Since we’d driven, I hadn’t worn socks and my bare feet turned pinkish. I danced a jig in an effort to bring back circulation. Hugh motioned his head, like an opening and closing drawbridge. “Got your thong on backwards?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with my undergarments.”

Wrinkling his nose, Hugh toasted, “Cheers.”

Macy didn’t return. She’d settled onto a corner stool at the bar. Stone R, the bird-advocate-bartender, chatted to her as he filled pitchers with beer, and tipped bottles with liquor spouts into shot glasses. Tonight he’d traded his stiff cockatoo for a rigid macaw perched on his shoulder. Macy wasn’t just pretending she’d never slept with Hugh, she iced him like he never existed, and I wondered whose feathers it ruffled the most.

Two beers therapeutically relaxed Katie Lee enough to tell Hugh how insensitive Nash was to let her worry for five days. “After two days, his roommate wouldn’t even answer my calls. That or the phone got disconnected.”

Hugh whistled. “Dump him.”

Some guys from Hugh’s dorm joined our table. He stood up saying he needed to stretch his legs and tweaked his head at me.

“What?” I mouthed. He waved for me to join him. Standing behind the table, he asked, “Is Macy avoiding me?”

“I don’t have clearance to discuss whatever is or isn’t going on.”

“Rach, talk to me.”

The creases around his eyes looked vulnerable, and I caved. “I’m going to have to speak anonymously. Anything I say, I may vehemently deny.”

“Does Macy hate me?”

“Hate you? She doesn’t know what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s conflicted.”

Hugh guzzled his beer. “Women. Too much damn thinking.’”

“Macy’s complicated.”

“What am I supposed to do? Play along with her childish deny and neglect game?” Shaking his head, he clunked his boots toward the pitcher and refilled his cup.

Katie Lee had an audience and took an opinion poll on the insensitivity of Nash’s disappearance. I’d personally endured the five days of her manic phone, dial ‘n slam maneuvers. Backing away from the table of spectators that were about to hear the unabridged audio version, I moved toward Macy.

I envied Katie Lee and Macy’s romances minus the psycho-mind-game play. I’d blown three encounters with Clay and had an unromantic dorm visit that amounted to a bundle of nothing. Hoping for a chance at redemption, I imagined batting my eyelashes, engaging him with witty conversation, and hoping that we both drank enough to disregard any inhibitions. Maybe I should have called and invited him out tonight. I had his number, but I didn’t want to chase. Who was I kidding? Clay was smart, gorgeous and just being polite when he jotted down his phone number. Sipping cold beer only dulled the ache that had relocated from my shoulder and settled into my heart.

Having had a conversation with Hugh about Macy, I determined, would result in bad juju, so I decided to keep things honest and tell her.

I pulled a cigarette and a pack of matches out of my back pocket.

Macy spun a shot glass in small circles.

Sliding onto a seat next to hers, I asked, “What are you drinking?”

Pink dribbled down her wrist on the way to her mouth, staining her cuff. She smacked her lips. “Sex on the beach.” Pulling her head back, she assessed me. “You don’t look so good.”

“You look better than good. How many have you had?”

She motioned for another. “I gotta stay warm.”

Stone placed a napkin in front of me and poured another. “Hey Rachael, been awhile. What happened to your arm?”

“Freak accident. I should have the sling off in a week. What happened to Lolita?”

He hustled behind the bar giving some glasses a quick wash in an upright bristle contraption. “She’s molting. I brought Lester instead.”

I turned my attention back to Macy. “Why are you avoiding Hugh?”

She bent back and looked to the table where he sat. “He’s still over there?”

“His ear is busy listening to all things Nash.”

Macy stiffened her back. “If she’s not careful, he may want to date Nash.”

I stared at Macy.

“You never know. Hugh is probably the type to explore all sides of the tracks.”

“That’s ludicrous. Hugh is as ungay as they come. He likes women, especially you.” For emphasis, I raised my pointer finger. A trick I learned from my father--scary. “If you want to end what started, you’re doing a fantastic job. But, if any part of you likes him, you need to admit it before it’s too late.”

Macy tipped back and downed the shot in front of me.

“You should be warm enough for sex in the snow,” I said, and turned to look at Hugh for myself.

Macy grabbed my arm. “Don’t look. They’ll see you.”

“Who will see me?”

“Hugh and Katie Lee are putting coats on.”

I waited a respectable three seconds. “I’m looking.”

Macy drummed her nails. “Well?”

“They’re gone. It’s just Bridget, and the guys from Hugh’s dorm.”

Macy and I stayed put. We pondered everyone’s relationships--Katie Lee and Nash’s demise if I’d ever hook-up with Clay--or anyone, and what Macy should do about Hugh. I scanned the bar. “They’ve been gone over an hour. They should be back by now.”

Macy stretched her shoulders, pretending not to care. “Maybe they’re doing it inside Big Blue.”

Bridget shared a pitcher with some guys neither of us knew, and we speculated whether she navigated the more-than-friends trail with any of them. At last call, I helped Macy stand, and we made our way toward Bridget.

Bridget pointed her camera at Macy and clicked. “Well lookie who showed up.”

Macy wrapped her arms around Bridget’s neck and shouted more than whispered, “We didn’t want to disturb your private conversation.”

“Where did Katie Lee go?” I asked.

“She’s upset about Nash. Hugh walked her back to the dorm.”

Macy’s shoulders sagged. “How are we supposed to get back?”

Bridget slid her hand into the side pocket of her purse and retrieved a set of car keys. “I’ll drive us.”

“Haven’t you been drinking?” I asked.

“Only a few.”

Macy cupped Bridget’s face. “Do you know how to drive in snow?”

She removed Macy’s hands and slipped on her coat. “The dorm is two miles from here. How hard can it be?”

The lights inside The Lounge flashed, and Stone jiggled keys as he locked up. We were the last to leave, and Bridget asked, “Do you need a ride?”

Stone looked at the bleary night outside the basement window. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A little voice inside my gut spoke to me. The same one that had kept me company when I’d played alone as a child. It shielded my ego when other kids said and did hurtful things. The older I’d become, the less often I paid attention. If my arm hadn’t been in a sling and if I’d worn boots and mittens, I may have listened to myself.
Walk home
, it said.
Walk home
.

Stone locked The Lounge, and I climbed the stairs to the sidewalk. The winter wind ripped through my clothes and nipped at my skin. The quickest way back to my warm bed sat on four wheels.

Macy curled into a fetal position on the industrial gray interior of the frozen back seat and rested her feet on my lap. Stone sat in front, and Bridget adjusted the driver seat. Before she started the car, Bridget said, “Smile,” and blinded Macy and me with a flash. Immune to her photo compulsion, I never bothered to pose.

Bridget took the empty road slow and center. I didn’t care as long as I got home. The night was desolate, and as she approached a four-way intersection, she slowed, grinding and puttering Big Blue’s tires. In a sluggish motion, the car collided into a snow bank. “Bridget,” I asked. “Why’d you hit the brake?”

She pointed to a snow covered stop sign with the letters OP showing. In front of an empty corner lot dark rested still and cold. Big Blue revved, and the dormant branches of a snow-covered elm stayed in view.

Bridget turned to Stone. “Somebody needs to push.”

He sighed. Stone used his mind more than his muscles. His frame was more suited to leafing pages than pumping weights. He stared at the mound of snow that pressed to his window, clouding his view. “The snow is deep. We may be legging it.”

Walking back to campus in sockless flats didn’t hold much appeal. “I’ll push too,” I said and got out of the car with him.

The cold had snared the night soundless. No traffic, no trees rustling, no night creatures. I took my arm out of the sling so I could use both arms to heave the bumper. Bridget gunned the engine, and the Oldsmobile’s tires screamed resentment, spinning rubber deeper into the bank.

Stone tromped along the side of the car and rapped on the driver’s side. Bridget jammed the electric window switch. It did nothing more than click when she pulsed it. Macy unwound her window without sitting up. Stone’s breath sent fog clouds into the car. “When I count to three, gas her.”

I crouched behind Big Blue and my numb feet stung when they flexed. Stone counted, “One, two, three,” and we pushed our weight forward. The force of my shove rippled down to my feet, and the plastic soles of my flats skidded from under me. In a swift motion, more complicated than an ass-drop, I landed face down and embraced the wet, white stuff. Chunks lodged down my shirt and stung my cheeks. When I contorted my body off my shoulder it twanged, and I knew I’d jacked it. I heard the crunch of snow under tires before a death gripping weight pinned my leg. Unsure of what had happened, I howled in pain.

“Stop the car. My God, stop the car,” Stone shouted. It was too late. Big Blue’s tire had rolled on me, flame broiling my lower leg on a snow grill. It took too much effort to scream, and I moaned between erratic breaths like a dog delivering a litter.