Forgive Me (8 page)

“I feel great,” I say, and launch into memories of the past few weeks with Jason. The thoughts stir my insides in a now familiar way. If he were here I would have to have him right now. Margo notes my walk down memory lane.

“Good,” she says, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we should skip the swim. You look like you’ve been in a car accident.” The reference is a knife stabbing me in the heart. It pulls me from my thoughts of Jason and I close my eyes in silence.

“Shoot! Charlotte, I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I know. It’s okay. Just give me a minute.” I pull my dress back over my head and flash Margo a smile to relieve her guilt.

As we walk out Sam’s back door Clint hands us a joint and I smoke it without considering if now’s a good time, or if I’m ready for such a thing. The backyard is teeming with people entertaining each other. It’ll be hard to complete a thought, let alone a sad one. Clint tells us what it’s like to still live at home and we share some of our college stories. He’s working for a construction company building houses. He deserves to be successful, if anyone is deserving of such a thing. Clint’s like home and I relax in his presence. It’s either him or the weed, but I can’t stop laughing. Jenn hands me a beer and it soothes my dry throat. I suck it down too quickly and go to pour another one.

Sam takes my cup and opens the tap. His face lights up when he sees it’s me. He might be a little drunk. If he’s been standing by the kegs the whole time he might be completely drunk.

“CHARLOTTE.” He says my name too loud, and I turn to see if anyone’s listening. “I am so glad you came tonight. I’ve been worried about you.” Sam realizes he’s stopped pouring the beer and stays silent to focus. He hands me the cup with a look of innocent love.

“I’m glad I came too, Sam. You always throw great parties.” I walk away thinking I should keep an eye on him. He’s unsteady at best. I find an Adirondack chair facing the outdoor fireplace. Yes fireplace, not fire pit—this is a twelve-foot-high brick fireplace inclusive of a hearth with large rockers and Adirondack chairs facing it. I curl up in a chair and the heat from the fire warms me. The music in the background is the perfect volume to lull me to sleep. I close my eyes.

“Charlotte!” I wake to Sam plopping in my lap and again, saying my name far too loud.

“Sam! Why are you yelling? And why are you on top of me?” I try to push him off, but he’s too heavy and not that coordinated tonight.

“Charrrrlllllooote. Oh Charrrrrlllllllote.” He sings my name, and I cringe at the coming verse. “Why do you do what you do do do to me?”
Ugh.

“Sam, seriously.” Again I push him, but he doesn’t budge. His arm swings around my shoulders and his hand catches on the thin strap of my dress. It tears, and I catch the fabric right before my breast is exposed. “Get off of me!” I scream. Sam has no idea he’s ripped my dress. He puts his arm around my neck and anger crawls up my throat.

“Don’t be like that, Charlotte,” he whispers in my ear. “Be nice,” he says, and I turn my head and see Noble making his way over as Sam spills his beer down the front of me.

“SAM! Get off of me!” I yell, and as the last word leaves my lips Sam flies through the air and lands in a heap about eight feet away from me. He rolls over groggy and grabs his shoulder in pain.

I look up to a wild-eyed Jason Leer standing in front of me. His eyes blaze and his chest heaves with anger. Fear of the next paralyzes me. I never let go of his eyes. Too afraid of what might happen if I release him, I stand in front of him and raise my hands to his chest. He’s a bull preparing to charge.

“He’s drunk,” I say, keeping my voice level and calm.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jason is going to kill Sam Shabo.

“None of it does now,” I say, and feel the tiniest release from Jason. I continue touching his chest, moving my hands slightly to calm him further. He looks past me at Sam and Noble and then his gray eyes fix on me again.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, and I nod my head. I turn and Noble is helping Sam up. Sam is rubbing his head, still trying to decipher how he ended up on the ground. Jason walks away and leaves me staring at Noble, pleading for understanding. How can anyone understand this? I run after him, but his strides are sped with fury.

“Wait up!” I yell.

He gets to his truck and punches the quarter panel, creating a banging sound that’s probably audible over the band.

“Is this how it is at Rutgers?” Jason turns his anger on me. His question is ridiculous. He’s overreacting.

“Oh, and I’m sure Oklahoma is a thriving institute of higher learning and community service. He’s drunk. That’s all.” I scream at him, trying to impress upon him his absolute absurdity.

“That’s all? He was
on top of
you, Annie!”

“What is your problem?”

“I just walked up and a guy was on top of you and you couldn’t get him off.”

“It was Sam. He’s completely harmless.”

“What if the next guy isn’t?” I lower my eyes. “Look at me!” Jason roughly grabs the ripped fabric of my dress in his hands as I raise my eyes to meet his. “That’s my problem.”

He opens the truck door for me and I silently climb inside. He slams it shut and my stomach falls to my knees as he gets in the driver’s side. “I know you’re not coming to Oklahoma and that’s the image I’ll see every night when I close my eyes.” Jason starts the truck and pulls off Sam’s lawn, and I don’t know how to fix this.

The drive home is filled with me trying to figure out how and why I’m going back to Rutgers. If tonight is any indication, it’s not going to be an easy road for us and he’s all I want, all I need. Why don’t I just transfer to Oklahoma? It’s probably a great school. Or just quit school completely and travel, mainly through the central plains, but travel some. Would that be so unbelievable? Girl loses both parents in a car accident and takes some time off. Sounds reasonable. I see my reflection in the truck window and I look like my mother tonight. The worry on my face mimics her face at the news I’m not returning to school. She’d want me to go back. She’d beg me to go.

Jason turns the truck off in front of my garage and sits motionless. What must he be thinking? I unbuckle and climb on top of him, facing him with my back to the steering wheel. I kiss him, a desperate, greedy kiss, but Jason doesn’t respond. He’s erected a wall and the absence of his openness leaves me cold. There are never any boundaries. He’s protecting himself from me and the idea is ludicrous. I could never hurt him.

“Maybe I should go home tonight,” he says.

“You are home.” I pull myself closer to him and take his face in my hands and I gently kiss his lips. “Your home is with me.”

Jason returns to me and kisses me with the same voracity he always does. I’m breathless and relieved, and happy again. How will I ever say good-bye to Jason Leer?

I keep the bacon moving in the pan, fearful it will stick and burn. Bacon cooking in a house is delicious. Bacon burning in a house is reason to leave. I lift my cowboy hat and push my hair behind my ears as I look down and catch a glimpse of my naked body. I hope he’s in the mood for bacon, I think as a smirk crosses my face.

“Good morning,” he says, surprising me as he leans on the doorway to the kitchen.

“Yes. It is a good one.”

“Giving up on clothes? Tired of me wrecking them?”

“I want you to have something else to see when you close your eyes.” He moves so quickly. He’s on top of me, his mouth sucking the air from my lungs, and I forget about the bacon.

I
step out of my Mom’s Camry and onto the sidewalk. It’s hot today. Hot like hell, which is where I’m headed for telling Pastor Johnson and God himself to go—whatever, I don’t have to relive it. Actually, I do since I’m here to apologize. The sundress I picked out clings to me and I pull the fabric out and let air swirl around my legs. This sucks.

The walk through the parking lot is long and hot. Like hell. The church door creaks when I open it and I wonder if it’s always unlocked. The church seems deserted and I try to remember if there are office hours, or some time frame that Pastor Johnson hangs out here. I grip the apology letter I wrote him hoping he’s out so I can just leave it on his desk. Right next to the picture of Mrs. Johnson and his children. I am a
terrible
person.

“Charlotte?” I stop, dead in my tracks, and take a deep breath before turning around. Pastor Johnson is behind me in the hallway, walking from the fellowship hall with a cup of coffee.

“Hi Pastor Johnson,” I say as if I haven’t egregiously offended him in the past.

“Are you here to see me?” he asks, and I realize he is one of the kindest people in the world.

“I’m getting ready to go back to school and I wanted to apologize to you before I went.”

“Charlotte, you were angry. That’s understandable,” he says, and puts his hand out in the direction of his office. I step forward and allow him to lead me.

“But not excusable. I’m so very sorry.”

“Jesus loves you. Nothing you can do will ever separate you from his love.”

“Still, I’m surprised my mother didn’t reach up from her grave and strangle me herself. As it stands I still wait for a tree to fall on me or some other tragedy to strike at the hand of her.”

“She’s not thinking that way at all, Charlotte. She’s in a wonderful place. She’s gone home,” Pastor Johnson says, and his words turn in my stomach. How dare she be so wonderful while I’m here alone?

“Let’s not push it,” I say as I hold up my hand to halt Pastor Johnson’s depiction of my mother’s wonderful existence. To my relief he chuckles, but my sensibility pulls me toward the door.

“Is there a place you can worship at school?”

“Of course.”
There’s a place. I’m not going, but there is a place
. Somehow he deciphers my internal defiance.

“Here’s my card, Charlotte. Call me whenever you need to. God loves you and so does the rest of this congregation. We’re all here for you.” He hands me his card and pauses, hesitating. “I hear you’ve been spending time with Jason Leer, Butch’s son. Perhaps you can come to church together,” he says, and a heavy guilt envelops me as if I’ve joined the Bad Kids’ Club that doesn’t go to church when their parents die.

“Perhaps, Pastor Johnson,” I say, and stand, anxious to walk out of his office. “Take care.”

“Call if you need anything, Charlotte, and be careful going home,” he says, and I turn and walk out.
I thought I was home.

“Julia, hey, it’s Charlotte. Can you meet us out front? We’ll never be able to park the truck and someone will boost my stuff,” I say into the phone, and look at Jason. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Awesome. We’re on Route 18. See you in a few.”

“Take the George Street exit,” I say, and point at the sign on the right.

“You don’t have parking at your house?” Jason asks, and moves into the right lane.

“We have a few spots behind it, but your truck will never fit through the driveway.” Jason looks at me, confused. “You’ll see. We should be able to find somewhere to put your truck, but it might be a few blocks away. You’ll need to bring all your stuff into my house.”

“Why?” More confusion.

“So the truck isn’t broken into. This is the city.” Before Jason can say anything I add, “Make a left on George Street.”

Jason remains silent as I lead him through New Brunswick in order to be on the right side of the road when we pull up in front of my house. There are people everywhere. They are brown, and black, and white. Some are covered in tattoos and others wear turbans. They jaywalk; some smoke; they are alone and in groups, and there are cars bumper to bumper along the main streets. Jason’s truck is suddenly enormous, as is the cowboy hat on top of his head. We pass Stuff Yer Face, the restaurant I’ve been waitressing at for the last two years, and I smile at the crowd gathered at the outside bar. It’s good to be back. Julia is waiting on the curb when we double park in front of the house. Cars behind us beep in anger and Jason looks at me, annoyed.

“It’s fine. We’ll be quick.” I hop out of the truck and wave the cars around the truck as Jason starts taking my suitcases out of the back. By the time I clear the traffic he’s down to a large laundry basket full of toiletries, laundry detergent, and other household items, and his huge duffel bag. I pull the duffel bag toward the tailgate and it barely moves an inch. I reach in to grab the center of the bag, but I still can’t budge it. Jason bumps me to the side and lifts it as if it’s weightless. I take a deep breath through my nose, but appreciate the sight of him. His body is a tank.

“Welcome back,” Julia says, grinning from ear to ear.

“Thanks. It’s good to be back. Julia, this is Jason. Jason, this is my roommate Julia.” I present each of them to the other as if I’m introducing my new puppy to my favorite stuffed animal.

“Hi Jason. It’s good to meet you,” Julia says, and I think she is calming, having been let in on some information.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jason returns as a car’s horn makes me jump.

“We’d better go park. Can you watch this stuff?”

“Sure. Try back on Guilden, or Central. There were a few spots there earlier. Although, you might need more than one spot.” We all three turn and look at Jason’s truck, pondering our future difficulties. As I put the tailgate up another car pulls up behind us and beeps. I wave as I head toward the passenger side. Jason gives the driver the steely look of death as he passes.

“Where’s Guilden?” he asks, still looking pissed off.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No. I want to park my truck, spend the night, and get the hell out of here.” His words bruise me.
We just got here.

“Back up and bang a U-ie,” I say, trying to keep a positive attitude. Jason turns the truck around and I watch my tiny roommate Julia climb on top of our stuff and make herself comfortable in the middle of the sidewalk. He follows my directions in silence. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. We find a spot large enough for the truck a few blocks down Guilden and I release a sigh of relief as he turns the truck off and takes the key out of the ignition.

“Hey,” I say. He looks at me with eyes the color of storm clouds today. “In case I forget to tell you, thanks for the ride.” I let the words flow off my lips, begging him for another ride.

“How am I going to let you go to school here if you look at me like this? It’s obvious you need to be taken care of on a daily basis. This separation is never going to work,” Jason concludes.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide over next to Jason, leaning across his lap, facing him. I kiss him as innocently as possible. I have to will my hands not to knot in his hair. Even this kiss leaves me breathless.

“Not here,” I whisper and lean back.

“You started this, Annie,” Jason chastises, and I look around for pedestrians. It’s broad daylight and Julia is standing on the curb with our things.

“You’ll have me arrested. I don’t think I’m the prison type.” He leans his head on my forehead. His breath is hot on my face.

“You may not be the prison type, but you are the break-the-law type.”

“I’m coming around to it.”

“Oh, don’t play innocent. Just because you wasted all that time with Brian Matlin does not make you a saint.”

“Can we leave poor Brian out of this?” I say, and slide back toward my door. I open it and hop out without waiting for his answer. We reach Julia just as she is about to give up and leave my stuff on the curb unattended. Jason carries every bag up ten steps and into the house as Julia peppers me with questions.

“So, this is the cowboy. He’s hot, Charlotte.”

“I know,” I say as we both watch Jason toss bags over his shoulder neither of us could drag. “I think I’m obsessed with him.”

“Great,” is all she says in response. We continue to watch Jason as a car full of guys pass and beep at us. Jason scowls as he comes back out for the last bag. “What are you guys doing tonight?”

“I’m going to take him to Stuff Yer Face.”

“You’re going to take the cowboy to Stuff Yer Face?”

“Yeah, and can you call him Jason?”

“I’m really not sure if I can.”

“I have to resign and we have to eat, so I figured we’d go to Stuff Yer Face. Do you want to come with us?”

“Yes. This is going to be hilarious. I’m on my way to the bookstore, though. I’ll meet you guys there.”

I go in the house and find Jason already in my room. It’s on the top floor, in the attic really. The ceiling is pitched and there are two twin beds, mine and Julia’s, taking up most of the floor space. Julia convinced me to paint it at the end of last year and the light blue color she picked is smurfish, but it gives the room a cheery, if not nauseating appearance. He’s looking at the necklaces hanging on the corner of my mirror. A silver heart charm on a chain. The heart has an A engraved on the back. I wrap my arms around him from behind as he holds the tiny heart in his enormous hand.

“It has an A,” he says, and releases it.

“My Aunt Diane gave it to me when I was little. It’s an inside joke between my mother and me. I used to tell her I’d be in therapy by twenty-five because she changed my name.”

“It’s never changed for me.”

“I know,” I say, and slide under his arm so I can face him. “You’ve always called me Annie. Even when I told you not to. You’re a terrible listener,” I say. Jason leans into me, forcing me back to the wall. I arch my back raising my breasts to his chest and try to take in air.

“Tell me something right now,” he gruffly says in my ear before taking my earlobe in his mouth. He travels down my neck and back up again. “I promise I’ll listen.”

I can barely hear what he’s saying. His hands on the wall, straddling my head, leave my head surrounded by his iron arms and I hang my hands off each one.

“Jason,” I say, and try to breathe as he puts a knee between my legs and spreads them. He lifts my shirt and pulls my bra up, releasing my breasts. His lips find my nipple and he plays with it until I am on the verge of crying out. Jason returns to my ear. “Tell me, Annie.”

I try to think. To think of what I want to tell him as his lips return to my nipple.

“I think your hobbies are barbaric,” I say, and Jason peers up at me, my nipple between his teeth.

“Hobbies?”

“Sport, whatever,” I say, and he runs his hands down my back and pulls me to him, his hard-on jutting onto my leg.

“And I don’t think I can live without you,” I say, and Jason stops moving and his gray eyes find mine. He stands in front of me, silent, and now that I’ve said it the honesty of the statement terrifies me. I look down, his stare devouring the truth of my words. He lifts my chin with his finger, delicately, kindly, and I meet his eyes once again.

“Don’t look away, Annie. There’s nothing you can’t tell me. Don’t you know that by now?” I wrap my arms around his neck, crossing my wrists as I lean into him. I feel small pressed against the front of him. He’s hard on my hip and I kiss him, through with the talking, done with the truth. Let him know everything. Now I want to know nothing.

“This is a nice bed.” Jason says as he lies on it, his arm behind his head as he watches me change into a sundress.

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Yes. It’s the tiniest bed I’ve ever seen,” he says, and looks to each side of him, where mere inches remain. “Where are you going to sleep?” he asks naughtily.

“On top of you if I’m lucky. And it is a nice bed.”

“It’s not great.”

“Any bed you’re in is perfect.” He smiles at this assessment.

“Let’s go. I’ll buy you dinner,” I say, and reach out my hand to help Jason Leer out of my nice bed at Rutgers University.
My, how things have changed.

The hostess greets me with a hug and Sydney practically climbs over her to get to me. She hugs me tightly and then holds my hand in hers.

“How the hell are you?”

“I’m okay,” I say.
I am okay.
Sydney’s attention turns to Jason. She appraises him shamelessly, still holding my hand, and turns to me.

“This must be the cowboy I keep hearing about.” I can’t help but laugh at her.

“This is Jason.” I present him to her. “Jason, this is Sydney.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says and smiles, and I want to capture him and keep him right here in Stuff Yer Face forever. Sydney turns to me beaming. She is classically pretty, her perfect nose and hair hiding the secret of her sweet sixteen birthday present from her parents: a new nose and chin and cheek implants. Now that’s a gift I haven’t heard of in Salem County. She makes me happy every time she comes near me.

“Smokin’ Hot,” she says, enunciating each word and showing no signs of embarrassment. I, of course, turn bright purple with humiliation.

“Hi, Charlotte.” I hear and know before turning around that Barry, the side order cook, is standing behind me. I turn and look into the sad eyes of the man I befriended two years ago. He is gruff and angry and cruel to everyone, but was always kind to me. I hug him and his discomfort with the affection oozes from his stiff arms and lowered eyes. “I’m sorry about your parents and sorry I didn’t come to the funeral. I don’t have a car.”

“I’m glad you weren’t there, Barry. It’s a sad memory that I don’t want you to be a part of.” His apology and his kindness are awkward. “I knew you were thinking of me,” I add, and the air returns to normal. Barry retreats to the kitchen and I turn to Sydney who is rolling her eyes, and Jason who’s rubbing his in disbelief.