The Love Sucks Club (7 page)

Sam nods. “Well, they’re putting me off my meal.”

We all come around to one side of the table and sit in a line with
our backs to the dance floor.

“This is cozy,” Roxanne says.

“Better than looking at that,” I reply.

We finish our meal and divide the bill. Somehow, we always end up
leaving a good tip here, despite the terrible service. Maybe it’s a well of
sympathy for the waitress who has to watch things like Mandy and some dude
having sex on the dance floor. I’d be miserable if I had to see shit like that
all of the time. Hell, I’d be sick if I had to see that all of the time.

We leave the bar and walk down the street to where Roxanne is
parked.
Rox
and I came down the hill together
tonight. Sam walked over, so Roxanne offers to give her a ride home. As we’re
standing on the sidewalk discussing it, I see Susannah and Olivia walking out
of the quickie mart with a couple of guys. I wave them down. Susannah takes one
man’s hand and drags him over.

“Dana, this is Thomas,” she gushes.

Shaking his hand, I size him up, surprised. He’s about my height
and kind of muscled. Behind geeky horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes look
intelligent and open. He gives me a warm smile as he squeezes my hand. His
handshake is firm, but not tight. Touching his hand, I look into his eyes and
for an
instant,
I’m reminded of my father.

“Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. I’m a big fan of your work.”

“You read lesbian romance novels,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“Since you’re a local celebrity, I figured I better see what the
fuss is about.”

Olivia is clinging to the hand of another man, but since she
doesn’t make a move to introduce him, I simply nod in their direction and turn
back to Susannah. “We’re on our way home. What are you up to?”

“Olivia and Gary are going to a movie. Thomas and I would rather
get some ice cream and walk on the beach.”

Her voice is firm and I wonder if that is really what Thomas would
rather do, or if it is what Susannah would rather do.

“Well, be careful to stay on the beaches in front of the
restaurants,” I caution. “Strange things happen on secluded beaches after
dark.”

“Don’t I know it,” the man with Olivia leers. Thomas gives him a
dismissive look. I think I like him already.

“Come on, Thomas,” Susannah tugs on his hand. “I want ice cream.”

She practically drags him away as we say goodbye. Watching them
go, I’m suddenly hit by a wave of sadness. As my ears start ringing, I can see
Thomas and Susannah, many years in the future. Susannah is berating Thomas for
not fixing something. Her face is still pretty, but it has become drawn and
sharp. She’s simultaneously herself and my mother. I lean against Roxanne’s SUV
and close my eyes.

“Dana?
You all right?”
Sam’s voice seems
to come from far away.

I drag myself out of the vision and look at my two friends. “I’m
fine. I’m fine.” I don’t know whether I really had a vision, or if I can just
see so much of my mother in Susannah that it scares me. Either way, I send up a
small prayer that Thomas isn’t as much like my father as he seems.

Roxanne puts her arm around me as Sam opens the passenger side
door for me. “I really am fine,” I insist.

“I’m not saying you’re not fine,” Roxanne says. “But you looked
really gone for a minute.”

“Everything changes,” I reply, blinking at her. “And yet,
everything always seems to stay exactly the same.”

“That’s life, buddy,” Sam says, climbing into the backseat.
“That’s life.”

Roxanne straps herself in to the driver’s seat and reaches over to
pat my leg again. “Change is the only constant in life, sweetie,” she says,
smiling gently. “But you can’t change anything or anyone but yourself.”

We drop Sam off at the resort so she can pick up her car. When we
get to my house, Roxanne pulls up in front of the door and turns to look at me.
“Are you going to be all right?” she asks me one more time.

Leaning my head back against the seat, I look over at her. Her
face, though lined, is still incredibly beautiful. Age has done nothing to
diminish the beauty of her blue eyes and her smiling mouth. Aware that I’m
feeling lonely and vulnerable, I think about what it would be like to go to bed
with Roxanne. She’s not a casual sex kind of woman, but then, neither am I.
Since neither of us is in the market for a relationship, maybe we could be
lovers, just this once.
A sort of easing of the loneliness
for an evening.
I reach out for her hand and she lets me take it.

“Roxanne?”

“Yes, Dana?”

“Do you want to come in?”

She looks at me for a long moment before taking my face in both of
her hands. She leans forward and kisses me gently on the mouth.

“Go to bed, Dana,” she says softly. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Sighing, I squeeze her hand and get out of the car. I’ll feel
better tomorrow. I watch her until I can no longer see her taillights.

Chapter Six

The sun shining through my window is making sleep impossible. I
should have closed the curtains last night before I finally fell asleep, but
despite a restless night, I don’t want to sleep the day away. Lying in bed, I’m
debating whether or not to call Roxanne. I wonder if she’s upset that I kind of
came on to her.
Probably not.
She’s pretty pragmatic.
I’m probably more bothered by it than she is. Rolling over to look at the
clock, I groan at the creaking and cracking in my back. Frank chirps at me for
disturbing his sleep, so I pet his head and get out of bed. He moves into the
warm spot I left and plops his head on my pillow. He’ll probably wander out
into the kitchen in a couple of hours and demand his morning meal. In the
meantime, I’m going to make some coffee and get some writing done.

Rummaging around on the floor of my bedroom, I grab a pair of
boxers and slip them on. I’ve never been squeamish about going topless, but
even in my own home, walking around fully naked feels strange to me. I just
don’t relish the idea of putting my bare butt down on certain surfaces.

There’s a shimmer hanging at the edge of my vision as I wander
around the kitchen, making coffee, cleaning up last night’s dishes, and filling
Frank’s bowls. Over the years, I’ve come to liken my psychic fits to a panic
attack. Sometimes, I can feel it coming on and I’m able to breathe through it,
or successfully distract myself in order to ward it off. Sometimes, even though
I know it’s coming, there’s nothing I can do about it, and the best I can
manage is to get into a safe space and hope for the best. I don’t think of
myself as a standard psychic. I can’t tell you the winning lottery numbers. I’m
certainly not about to have some television show where I convince a studio
audience that I can communicate with their dead relatives.
I sense there is
someone here who died suddenly
. No shit, really?

When I was five, I had a dream that I died. The next day, my
grandfather died. That happened to me a lot when I was younger; I would have
dreams that I died and someone I knew would die the next day. It didn’t even
have to be someone I knew well or even liked. Once, I dreamed that I was hit by
a car and the next day, the school crossing guard was hit by a car. It kind of
sucked because it would get so that I would have these death dreams and I’d be
on edge the next day, waiting to see who was going to kick the bucket.

After I hit puberty, my dreams faded a lot. I could go months or
even years without having any dreams or visions. It really wasn’t until I met
Fran that they started back up in earnest. While we were together, I usually
felt like I was on guard. If I wasn’t, sometimes the simple act of her reaching
over to touch me would send me into a fugue state. Of course, I didn’t know
what they all meant back then. Hell, I’m not sure I know what they all mean
now.

Throwing a muscle shirt on, I head outside. Sipping my coffee on
the deck, I try to avoid the eye of my nearest neighbor. We aren’t that close,
but if he stands in his backyard, he can see onto my deck. His driveway is down
some other dirt road that branches off the lead in to mine. Unfortunately,
because of the way the land was divided, parts of our properties are just a wee
bit close for comfort. If I make eye contact with him, he’s likely to come
over. It isn’t that I don’t like the guy; it’s just that Sam and I are pretty
sure he’s a serial killer. He’s always walking around looking sweaty and
twitchy. I had to borrow his shovel once to dig up some stubborn weeds and for
weeks after, Sam would glance over at the shovel, leaning innocuously against
the house, and say things like, “Course, now your prints are on it” or “We
gotta
get that shovel.” One time, he was digging something
in the yard as Roxanne and I walked by and he about jumped out of his skin when
we said hello. Roxanne is convinced that he’s just a nervous and unhappy man,
but I’m not buying it. Whenever someone turns out to be a murderer, the
neighbors always talk about what a quiet and unassuming person he was. Well,
Shovel Guy is quiet and unassuming and my prints are on his shovel.

I’m so absorbed in watching Shovel Guy while trying to pretend
that I don’t see him that it takes me a minute to realize that there’s a car
coming up my hill. Shovel Guy’s driveway is way down the road from my place,
before the paved road ends, so this car is definitely coming here. It doesn’t
sound like the whine of a jeep transmission, but since Susannah is the only
person who visits me without calling, I could be wrong. Leaning over the edge
of my deck, I can see around to the side of the house and the top of the dirt
road. I just have time to note that I don’t recognize the beat-up little four
wheel drive thing that comes into view before it’s out of sight again. Now I’m
going to have to go inside to see who’s here.

Sighing, I walk into the house and peer out the front window in
time to see an extremely familiar woman getting out of the car.
Voldemort.
Seriously?
What the hell
is she doing here? This is where the whole thing about being psychic completely
breaks down. Why can’t my
spidey
sense tell me that
my asshole ex-girlfriend is on her way over? I could have been out the door and
into the woods before she even hit the dirt road.

As it is, I open the door and block the entrance with my body.
Smiling as she approaches the door, she holds her arms out as if she intends to
give me a hug. I lean back and cross my arms tightly against my chest.

“Come on, Dana.” She’s smiling, but I can see the tightening
around her mouth that she gets when she’s pissed but trying to hide it.

“Come on, what? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you in the letter that I’ve quit drinking.”

“Obviously your girlfriend hasn’t.”

She laughs. “You can’t hold that against me. After all, it wasn’t
your fault that I was drinking, was it?”

I spit out her name and glare at her. “Honestly, am I supposed to
believe that you’re suddenly clean?”

“You can believe whatever you want. I’m done drinking. And I’m
here for the rest of my stuff.”

I can’t believe the nerve of this woman. “What stuff? You have
nothing left here.”

She takes a step forward. “When you kicked me out of here, you
gave me shit. I had to come up with deposits for rent and utilities. I had to
sleep on friend’s couches for weeks.”

Straightening my back, I glare up at her. “When you moved into
this house, you didn’t give me any deposits. You didn’t have to hook up
utilities. You barely managed to pay me a fair rent or contribute to the
groceries.”

“That’s bullshit. I paid half of the mortgage on this place for
five years.”

“You paid for nothing. And you have no claim on this house.”

“I need some money. I had to quit the bar because of the alcohol.
I’ve got a part-time job at the grocery store, but it won’t pay my bills.”

“Yeah, well, neither will
I
.”

Grinning, she takes another step forward, getting uncomfortably
close to me. I know this game and I refuse to back up. She likes to use her
height to try to intimate people. Coupled with the fact that she’s a walking
time bomb of anger and crazy, it usually works. In the years we were together,
she never hit me, but she did hit several walls and in one memorable incident,
smashed a television remote to smithereens because it wouldn’t change the
channel.

We’re standing inches apart now and she’s talking in that measured
way that she talks; like she’s talking to a five year old and she needs to
enunciate every word so they can understand.

“You gave me nothing. Now I’m about a week away from being kicked
out on the street. I either need you to give me a thousand bucks to pay my back
rent or I’m going to show up here with my bags and move in again.