Outside In (26 page)

No one corrects her mispronunciation. I look at my dad and motion toward the door with my eyes. He says, “I think it’s time for the old fogies to retire for the evening.”

I walk them to the hotel. “I hope you enjoyed today. I still have a few hours of work left. Let’s meet tomorrow for lunch.”

In the red barn after work, Cinch says, “That sure was an interesting twist. I better go through my mail first thing in the morning.” He extends a tooter toward me. “How’s the face? You ready to come off injured reserve?”

I wave it off. “I’m officially retired.”

Griffin says, “Why quit? Partying has nothing to do with Dawn, Astrid, or your parents.”

“I just need to move on.”

He takes the handoff from Cinch. “Wait until the end of the season.”

“Yeah, fuck it. We’re all in this together.” Cinch brings the plate and sits next to me on the couch. “You haven’t been out since you got popped. You’re going to need something to help get you through the next few days.”

“Take a look at me.” The swelling on my nose has lessened, but the bruising under my eyes is still prominent and a topic of conversation when I’m in public. “Unless we’re going to a circus, this freak show should stay home.”

Cinch says, “Who cares? You’ve been working in the Round House all day. It’ll be the same people.”

“Come on. It’ll do you good,” Griffin says. “Just have a nibble. It all ends up in the same place anyway.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll go. But don’t be pissed when I want to leave early.”

At the Skyway, Astrid is the first person I see. She stands by the stone wall with another girl from the Boat House and two guys I don’t recognize. My commitment from last night to talk to her floods back. I shouldn’t interrupt them, though. I just need some eye contact or for her to break away.

Cinch, Griffin, and I make our way to the loge. Cinch says, “You having a beer? Or are you off alcohol, too?”

“Now that’s just crazy talk,” I say, and I position myself so I can watch Astrid.

Griffin takes his beer and scans the room, also more interested in what is happening around us than between us. His eyes rest on a girl he was working all evening at the Round House. “Jackpot,” he says and gulps his beer. “Don’t wait up for me, boys.”

Cinch says, “I give him ten minutes and he’ll be back.”

I nod, my eyes angled on Astrid. “Yeah, probably.”

“Boy, you’re a load of fun tonight.” I don’t respond. He waves his hand in front of my face. “Why don’t you just go talk to her?”

I look at Cinch with surprise. “Who?”

“Astrid. That’s who. You’ve been eye-fucking her since we walked in.”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

Cinch says, “So you’ll just stare at her all night. Good plan.”

“Why won’t she look over here?” I ask, my frustration mounting.

“I don’t know. Maybe because you abandoned her on your date? Or maybe it’s that when she opened up to you, you said, ‘No thanks.’”

I put my beer on the bar. “I’m going to talk to her.”

Knowing I won’t have to intrude if she sees me, I approach in her line of sight. But she never diverts her eyes from her male companions. The other girl from the Boat House does, repeatedly tapping Astrid in the hip to alert her. Even with the girl’s assistance, I still don’t get Astrid’s attention until I’m standing right next to her.

She yields a brief glance. “Oh, hey. When did you get here?”

“Could we talk for a second?”

“I’m kind of busy,” she says. Her voice is cold and dismissive.

The others shift uncomfortably. I say, “Do you guys mind excusing us?”

Anger fills her eyes. “That’s rude. Now that you want to talk, everyone else should drop everything?”

The girl grabs the two guys by the hands. “Let’s go do a shot.”

Astrid says, “Get me one, too. I won’t be long.”

I dive in to preempt her rage. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t sleep. I just keep going over and over how I screwed up.”

“The lack of sleep is probably from something else.”

“No.” I gesture toward my face. “Haven’t partied since the fight. I’m done with all that.”

She lifts her chin and speaks to the crowd. “Oh my God, everyone, he stopped partying for me. I’m such a lucky girl.”

I look around to check who’s listening, but no one cares.
They are crafting their own stories for the evening. I say, “I don’t understand. Why are you being like this? I just want to talk.”

“We’ve talked enough.”

“Come on. Let’s just leave. Go somewhere more quiet.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she says. “You must really think I’m stupid. All you’ve done since we met is push me away. Like an idiot, I kept coming back. Even after you embarrassed me in front of all my coworkers, I still came back. All I asked you to do was try, and you couldn’t even do that. I’m done.” She walks toward the bar.

I grab her by the wrist. “Please don’t do this.”

She glares at my hand. “I suggest you let go. You didn’t want to try, and I honored that. I’m just asking for the same respect.”

I search her face for any of the hope or warmth I felt on other nights. Nothing. Her icy glare cuts through me. I release her wrist.

She stares deep into my eyes. “I would say it’s over, but it would’ve had to start for there to be an end.”

She joins her friends at the bar, instantly switching back to the person I remember. I start to go after her—she just needs to understand how serious I am—when a hand cups my shoulder. It’s Cinch. He says, “Let it go. That’s only going to make it worse.”

“If I can just get her alone and talk, she’ll understand.”

“It takes two for a conversation.”

“She’s just afraid, like I was before.”

“Of course she’s afraid. You’re acting like a stalker. Go back to the loge and party like nothing happened. Beat her at her own game. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

I know he’s right, but I don’t want to accept it. There’s no way I can stay here after that. I walk straight out the front door. I hear Cinch calling after me, but I don’t look back. I need to get as far from this place as I can, as fast as I can.

Outside, I weave through the people on the front patio. The faces and sounds blur into a continuous stream. My heart races. My legs shake. Rage and sorrow battle for control. Another opportunity I let slip away. Another failure.

I reach the parking lot. A cab waits. I pour myself into the back. “Round House.”

The driver says, “Sorry, man. It’s closed.”

“I don’t care. Just take me there.”

The morning comes slowly and awkwardly. I replay the interaction with Astrid over and over. Why didn’t I just stay home? I knew I shouldn’t have gone out. Now things are even more messed up.

With time to kill before meeting my parents, I take my guitar and join Caldwell on his blanket in the park.

I strum a much-improved G.

He nods approvingly. “You been practicing.”

“Not much else to do these days.”

He plays a steady rhythm in G. “What’s your plan at the end of the summer?”

“I was going to stay here, but not sure if I can now. Maybe Key West.”

“You should stay here. Gets mighty quiet.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Caldwell strums a C. “Next chord to learn is C. Low E string not used. Fifth string, third fret; fourth string, second fret; third string is open; second string, first fret; and first string, open.”

I stretch my fingers into position. “Haven’t got the G down yet.”

Caldwell strums a G for two beats, then a C. “That’s what practice is for.”

I strum the C. It sounds sickly. I adjust my fingers and repeat. The sound improves.

He says, “Now try the G-C combo with the strum pattern.”

I strum in a slow rhythm on the G.

Caldwell keeps the time. “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, now, C, two, three, four.”

I am slow on the change, not making the C until the four. I stop. “A little behind on that one.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just keep going. It’ll come. The changes are difficult. When something sounds good, you don’t want to let it go. But it will always be there when you’re ready to go back to it.”

We spend the next hour with Caldwell counting and me trying to keep up. Time spent with Caldwell is the only thing that feels real anymore—or maybe I’m just hiding behind a new mask.

While entertaining my parents throughout the weekend, I recognize in them the same affinity toward the island I experienced upon my arrival. It puts all of us at ease. For me, it reinforces that my comfort here is more than the party. For them, it opens the possibility that I might know what I’m doing. I just have to finish what I started.

Although the day breezes by—lunch at Frosty’s, visit to the top of the monument, golf cart tour of the island, two-bottle stop at the winery, dinner at the Boardwalk—as we move to the porch after dinner, I know I can’t avoid it any longer. I say, “I can’t believe you leave tomorrow already. Time flies here. It’ll be fall in a blink.”

My mom says, “At the end of the season, you’re still welcome to live with us while you figure out your next move.”

“You know I love you,” I say, setting up the inevitable “but” that we all know is coming. “But my future is not in St. Louis.”

My comment disintegrates the restraint she’s exhibited and the progress we’ve made for the past thirty-six hours. “Your future is checking IDs and sweeping floors in this Disneyland for alcoholics?”

“At least the immediate future. I don’t have all the answers, but I feel like I’m finally on the right path.”

Ever the diplomat, my dad says, “You understand why we’re worried, don’t you?”

“Of course. This whole change has been tough on all of us. I spent the past ten years building a life that I’m not sure I want anymore. I just don’t know what the next step is.”

My mom holds back the tears my words trigger. She’s still not able to see beyond herself. My decision to leave and now my decision to stay here both amount to a rejection of the life she built. I know my dad understands and would encourage me under other circumstances, but he still has another day and a half until he’s safely home. One wrong move and he’ll become the enemy in her eyes. Looking at them, all I can hope is that they’ve finally heard me.