The Shortest Way Home (23 page)

Kevin began to sob, his body shaking against the seat, the reverberation of his pain filling the car. Sean felt sick. He had no idea what to do—the kid had to go to school, and he was right—there’d be a lot of nasty pubescent smells and shrieking and banging into one another.

The next exit was theirs, and Sean almost missed it. The Scout Store was a few minutes down the road, and he pulled into a space in the parking lot away from the other cars. Kevin’s crying had subsided a little, the gasps for air coming with less frequency.

“Kev,” said Sean. “It’ll be okay.”

Kevin shrugged off this lame attempt at comfort and pulled his T-shirt up to wipe his face.

“What did Ms. Lindquist do to help?”

“Nothing really. She just talked to me.”

“Just talked?”

“Yeah, and sometimes when she knew it was getting too much, she would give me a look, like she understood, and I would feel better.”

“Maybe there’ll be somebody like that at middle school.”

“No,” said Kevin. “There won’t.” He wiped his face again and got out of the car.

CHAPTER 25

“Why don’t you call his teacher?” Cormac suggested. The waitress set a plate of nachos on the table, the cheese oozing down the mountain of tortilla chips like an orange mudslide.

“Good thinking. But aren’t the teachers gone for the summer?”

“Everyone’s reachable by e-mail.”

“Except me, apparently.”

“Jesus, Spin, why don’t you get a Gmail account or something? It couldn’t be easier.”

“Because I don’t want a fucking e-mail account, okay? I like my life spam-free.”

Cormac snorted a laugh. “You like your life
complication
-free.”

“Be honest. What guy doesn’t?”

Cormac took a long pull of his Sam Adams while he considered this. “Maybe most guys
think
they do, until they get to a certain age. Speaking of which . . . Chrissy?”

Sean lifted a shoulder dismissively.

“Hold the phone—Chrissy Stillman gets a
shrug
?”

Sean told him about Becky Bubble. Cormac wasn’t surprised. “I heard her say it once.”

“You’re kidding me. What’d you do?”

“Told her to knock it off. But what did she care? I wasn’t anyone she wanted to impress.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when I asked if I could bring her to dinner?”

“Because that was a lifetime ago, and hopefully she’s matured. Besides, what was I going to say—no? You’ve been in love with her your whole life.”

“Infatuated, maybe, not in love. I’ve never been in love with anyone.”

“Okay, tomato, tomahto. Whatever. You had it bad for her, and everyone knew it.”

Everyone
including Becky,
thought Sean. The realization stung, and he felt the shame of his thoughtlessness all over again.

“So that’s it?” asked Cormac. “Becky Bubble killed your crush?”

“I don’t know—I haven’t officially ended it or anything. But, I mean, Jesus. Becky
Bubble
? That’s pretty fucking cold.”

Cormac took another sip of his beer, but the smile on his lips made it hard for him to drink much. “Know what Barb said?”

“What?”

“She said, ‘If you go around telling people you’re an old soul—you
aren’t
.’ ”

Sean burst out laughing and clinked his bottle on Cormac’s. “Love that girl.”

“Back off,” said Cormac with a grin. “She’s all mine.”

* * *

T
he next day, Sean and Kevin were on the front porch playing five-card stud. Deirdre had taught Kevin the game, and it soon became clear that they’d played often enough for Kevin to get pretty good at it. Sean was happy to play, except it annoyed him that Deirdre had encouraged the use of a lot of wild cards. “I can barely keep track of what’s a real number and what could be
any
number!” he complained.

“Auntie Dee likes it. She says if you get dealt a bad hand, it gives you more of a shot.”

Sean was considering this when Chrissy pulled up. “Geez, she didn’t even call first.”

“Yeah, she did. You were in the bathroom.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I forgot. Plus I thought you’d be happy to see her.” Kevin gave a gooey look. “Like you
always
are.”

Sean flicked a card at him, and Kevin giggled. “Uh-
huh
,” he teased.

“Hey, there!” Chrissy called, strolling up the walk in a pair of tight jeans and a short T-shirt. “Couple of handsome gamblers up on the porch, I see.” Her straight white teeth gleamed.

“Hi, Chrissy,” said Sean.

“Hi,” said Kevin, with an equal lack of enthusiasm.

George picked up her head, ears cocked. She looked at Kevin, then back to Chrissy.

“And there’s my Georgie-girl. Come on over here and give me some lovin’, girlfriend.”

George stood, then looked at Kevin again, clearly confused about what to do. Sean stifled a smile, watching the world’s most cocksure dog have a moment of utter uncertainty. Kevin gave her a scratch behind the ears, and George lay her head on his lap.

“Look at that! She knows you’re in charge. Great job, Kevin,” said Chrissy, but her smile didn’t seem entirely genuine. “Want to go for a walk? I can give you some advanced tips.”

George looked at Kevin. Kevin looked at Sean. George started to whine. Kevin raised his eyebrows at Sean.

Sean nodded. “Why don’t you take George for a stroll by yourself?” Boy and dog rose as one and headed quickly off the porch.

Chrissy put her hand on her hip. “What’s this about, Sean?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just not sure they need any more training.”

“I’m not dumb.” She gave the little head-wag eye-roll. “Something’s bothering you. Is it last week? Was I too forward?”

“No, not at all. I just . . . I don’t think we, uh . . . You’re great but . . .”

Oh, what the hell,
he thought. “I heard something about you—something mean you said in high school. Repeatedly.”

“In
high school
? That was quite a while ago, Sean.”

“True. And yet it still really bothers me. Becky Feingold—you remember her.”

“No, I can’t say I do.”

“You called her Becky Bubble.”

Sean watched the realization dawn on her. “The shy girl with the face thing,” she said.

“Yeah, Chrissy, ‘the face thing.’ You teased her all through school about a congenital cranial defect. Even in high school, when you should’ve known better. You made her miserable.”

Chrissy’s eyes flicked back and forth, as if she were not only remembering, but
seeing
the misery. “I forgot about that,” she murmured. “It was pretty mean.”

“It was mean? That’s all you can say?”

“For godsake, Sean, I’m agreeing with you!” She was on the defensive now. “And I’m genuinely sorry—I wish I’d never said it. If anyone treated one of my girls like that, I’d go after them with a sand wedge. But it was twenty-five years ago! What’s the statute of limitations on name calling?”

She had a point, and Sean hesitated. How long
can
you hold someone accountable for something she did as a teenager? As he stared at her, pondering just exactly how much he could reasonably hate her, he watched her posture begin to slump, as if she were melting just a little.

Her body gave a sudden twitch.
“God,”
she muttered. Her eyes, utterly devoid of their signature perky gleam, flicked to Sean. “Do you ever get a glimpse of yourself—not the main part, but some horrible little corner—and you just feel sick?”

He wasn’t sure if he ever had. But her self-hatred, however momentary, softened the edges of his righteous anger.

“I was seriously bitchy sometimes,” she said. “But you have to believe I would never do anything like that now.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he conceded.

“We’ve all grown up, haven’t we?”

More or less,
he thought.

“Can’t you give me another chance?”

How could he say no without seeming just as hard-hearted as she herself had once been? He nodded, and she came up on the porch to wait for Kevin to return. They talked, halting and careful at first, but then she made some little joke about her ex-husband and he found himself smiling, and the storm surge of his aversion to her began to recede a little.

Kevin and George rounded the curve of the street then, side by side, the leash slack between them, as if it were unnecessary, a mere accessory meant to make others feel more secure that the big shepherd-lab was under the control of a sensible human. Sean watched them, the loop of the leash hanging loosely from Kevin’s fingers, the dog stopping to sniff occasionally and then trotting to get back in stride with the skinny freckled boy.

A car went by. A man at the wheel. Thick neck and granite-gray hair, head turned toward the house. Sean’s glance shifted to him a nanosecond after the man turned away again. The car passed Kevin and George and continued up the road.

CHAPTER 26

“What did you do to yourself?”

“It wasn’t on
purpose,
for godsake.” Sean gritted his teeth as Rebecca’s fingers probed the throbbing almond-sized knot by his shoulder blade. Between groans, he described his day to her: eight hours on his feet at the Confectionary, followed by a hike through the woods with Kevin and George. “And then, because I was feeling so great—
ow!
—I decided to go for a run. I’ve been trying to exercise more.”

“Why were you feeling so great?”

“I don’t know. I was just happy. Don’t you ever just feel happy for no reason?
Damn
that hurts!” It was hot in the room, and so crowded with furniture, there was no air circulation. Sean could feel beads of sweat forming under his chest.

“Sometimes,” she said. “But usually something kicks it off, like beautiful weather, or a really sincere compliment from a client.” She moved off the knot, kneading around it with the heels of her palms, which helped to dissipate the agony.

“Okay, well maybe there was something,” he admitted. Her pressing stopped for a beat then resumed, her fingers traveling down opposite sides of his spine. He waited for her to ask, but she was quiet. It was as if she didn’t want to know.

But he had to tell her, pride nudging him to continue. “Chrissy dropped by yesterday.”

Still no word from above. Had she heard him? “Chrissy Stillman from high school.”

“Oh,
that
Chrissy,” she said, and it felt like she was using something pointy and hard, possibly her knuckle, to burrow up under his ribs.

“Yeah, that Chrissy, and can you try not to pierce my kidney, please?”

She backed off a little, but not completely. Sean took a breath. “I told her off.”

“You what?”

“I told her I’d heard how mean she’d been to you. And she felt terrible.”

“Jesus, Sean. Are you
kidding
me?” She did not sound happy or grateful. She actually sounded kind of pissed off.

“No, I . . . Hold on a minute—I thought you’d be glad about how sorry she is.”

“
Glad?
It was twenty-five years ago! Why would you bring that up with her
now
? Like I’m still crying about it, still . . . still some pathetic little
loser
with a screwed-up face! Are you really that clueless?” The heels of both palms slammed into the small of his back. Sean suspected it was not an entirely therapeutic move.

Then her hands came off his back altogether, and he imagined that they were on her hips, just like Chrissy’s had been. “Apparently I
am
that clueless,” he said. “Because I actually thought you’d be happy that I finally stood up for you.”

That seemed to halt her fury, and her hands returned to rest on his back. “Well, thanks for that,” she muttered. “But you can see how it might be slightly infuriating, too, right? How it sort of compounds the patheticness factor?”

“Yes, okay,” he said. “But you said it yourself—being pathetic isn’t you. That’s Chrissy’s creation. And I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I hope I speak for
both
of us when I say, who honestly gives a shit what Chrissy Stillman thinks?”

She laughed. Such a sweet, melodious sound.

“And by the way,” he said. “Your energy got totally unstable for a minute there. I could really feel it.”

She laughed again, and the flat of her hand came down hard on his skin, which felt almost as good as a massage.

* * *

A
fter he got dressed, he called to her. “Come back in here for a minute.” She popped her head in the door. “This dresser’s toast,” he said.

“Sean, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. You have more muscle mass than I do.”

“Well, I’m
able
,” she said, “I just don’t think—”

“Then don’t think. Do as you’re told and pick up that end.”

They shuffled the clunky brown dresser into the hallway. After hemming and hawing for a few minutes, with Sean threatening to shove the damn thing down the stairs, Rebecca finally decided the best place for it was her parents’ bedroom. They hauled it down to the end of the hallway and into the only room in the house Sean had never seen.

Sol and Betty’s bedroom was a study in rusts and greens, with a lumpy satin bedspread beaming its polyester shine from the king-sized bed. The headboard was upholstered in a dizzying geometric pattern of avocado green squares and orange circles.

“Holy mother of God,” murmured Sean.

“I know.” Rebecca sighed. “It really makes me wonder if I’m adopted.”

They went down to the kitchen and Rebecca got out some vegetables and hummus. Sean sliced up celery while she seeded a red pepper. “I used to beg my parents to have another kid,” she admitted. “I think they ran into some fertility trouble after I came along. They used to say, ‘We have you. Why would we ever want anyone else?’ ”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, a little too sweet. And completely transparent. Like I needed to be bolstered up so badly that I would actually believe such nonsense.”

“Why were you dying for a sibling?”

“Well, it always looked like families with lots of kids were having way more fun than we were. And I figured siblings would sort of diffuse the intensity—they couldn’t watch me every minute of the day because there’d be other kids to hover over. Once I figured out they were too old, I used to beg them to adopt.”