The Sweetheart Deal (19 page)

“Okay,” I said. “Okay. You know, I really like it out here and I don't miss Boston. I haven't even thought about it. So I was thinking I might move out here, like in the next year or two. Or maybe check out Seattle. I've heard good things about Bellingham, too.” I was rambling and I couldn't stop. I'd started and now I couldn't do anything except keep going. It was out there and I couldn't reel it back in, but what I could do was talk camouflage around it, dilute the thing. “You know, Audrey I've lived a lot of places but I've never owned my own house.” I tapped my forehead. “Once again, not very smart. I know the real estate market is shit—I mean, it is everywhere—but there are a lot of neighborhoods here in town, right, that have properties I'd be smart to buy. That I could afford. In one of the neighborhoods they're bringing back, places where gentrification is happening. It's kind of a dirty word, I know, but I see the good side, improving parts of the city that need it—no one wants to dislocate people. There's no way I can buy a place in Boston. And it's not like I have a lot of overhead, so I could teach high school again and if a place needs some work, who can do the work?” I pointed my thumb at my chest. “I can do the work.” I sat back in my chair, smug, and crossed my arms. “I always think about trying out a new place, the next place, after I've been in one for a while. Portland's worth thinking about. I could do a lot worse.”

She was starting to say something, after I'd finally shut up, when our waiter came back.

“Sorry, disaster with someone not showing up for their shift,” he said. “I know how long you've been waiting, and I'm so sorry. If you're ready to order, great, and the next drink is on the house.”

He took our orders and left. “I like this place,” I said. “Doing what they need to to make things right. Let's come back here.”

She sat back and looked down at her lap. “Well, I can see why you weren't paying attention,” she said. “That's a lot to think about, all those real estate considerations you've been mulling over. I had no idea. I'm going to use the restroom.” She stood up, and as she walked past me toward the door, she stopped and put her hand on my shoulder, and I felt her thumb on my neck. “It would be nice to have you a lot closer than Boston. Even if you end up choosing Bellingham.”

I
woke up at four that morning in a panic. I'd put a load of my clothes, with Colleen's underwear, in the washer the night before and fell asleep before I could switch it to the dryer. I hoped my mom hadn't moved it and found the panties in there with my jeans and socks and boxers. I ran downstairs as quietly as I could. If my mom hadn't found them, I didn't want to wake up Garrett and have him ask me what I was doing.

The door to the guest room was open and I crept to the doorway and looked in. The bed was made and empty. Shit, was he already up? But the way it was still dark and quiet in the house, I could tell I was the only one downstairs. Fuck it. I ran down to the basement and put my clothes in the dryer. I took Colleen's damp underwear out. I'd put them back under the floorboard for now. I checked the front and back doors. Both of them were locked. Had Garrett already gotten up and left the house? Both cars were in the driveway. I went back to my room and hid Colleen's underwear. My mom's bedroom door was shut and everything up here was just as quiet as downstairs. I got back into bed. I was relieved about the laundry, but now I had something else to worry about. Where was Garrett? It was ten minutes after four.

I lay there in bed, waiting and listening until the real time I could get up, at least two hours from now. I watched the minutes on my clock advance to the next number. At four-thirty I heard a phone's alarm go off and get shut off, then human movement in my mom's room. I heard weight meet the floor and the shy creak of her door opening and the stealthy sound of walking toward and down the stairs. It wasn't the sound of my mom's footsteps. I'd heard her walking my whole life, and this wasn't her. I waited ten minutes, and when there was no more activity coming from her room, I got up and went downstairs too. Garrett was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the paper.

He looked up when I walked in, and I could tell from the look on his face that not only was he surprised to see me, but he didn't want to.

“Hey,” he said. “You're up early.”

“You too,” I said.

“It's nice, isn't it?” he said. “To be up and alone in the house. Well, not now. Alone, I mean. But still nice.” He laughed. He was nervous. “You want any of this?” He held out the paper.

“No,” I said. “I'm checking my clothes in the dryer. And I have homework to finish.”

“No wonder you're up,” he said. “You've got a lot to do.”

He was trying to banter like usual, but it was different. I don't know how long he'd been in there, but Garrett had been sleeping in my mom's room—my parents' bedroom—with my mom, with the door closed, till four-thirty in the morning, when he'd needed an alarm to wake him up. And sitting there in the kitchen drinking his coffee, trying to act regular, talking to me—me in just my boxers and a Portland Fire & Rescue T-shirt—he knew I knew. And he didn't know what to do about it.

I
t was Thursday, so I left for school early, like normal, for Spanish Club. I hurried past my mom after she came downstairs; I told her I was picking up Joe on the way. I skipped breakfast—I couldn't eat—and I skipped Spanish Club, too. Before I left the house, I'd put Colleen's damp underwear and her picture in a plastic baggie, wrapped it in a sweatshirt, and buried it in the bottom of my backpack under my books. Blocks away from the school, I walked around the neighborhood listening to my music, loud. I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to talk to an adult, but not my mom or Garrett. But I didn't have anyone to talk to, and what good would talking do anyway? They were having sex. I knew it.

It wasn't like my mom was cheating on my dad or sleeping with some sketchy guy; it was Garrett. That was worse. It would have been better if she was meeting some dude we didn't know for coffee or something, some single dad. At least she would tell us then—she would have to. It would be too soon for her to be dating and she would soften it, I bet, saying,
It's just coffee
,
even if she knew, and we all knew, someone was interested in her now that my dad was gone. My mom was smart. Even if she liked some new stranger, she wouldn't be having sex with him, not for a long time. I wouldn't have worried if something like that had happened, but this was way different, and now I didn't want to be around either one of them.

I felt pretty sick about what I'd been thinking about Colleen Maguire. There was a trash can at a bus stop, and I pulled out the plastic bag, took out her picture and put it in my pocket, and threw the bag with the underwear in that can. It was garbage day in the neighborhood, so every house had its own can out front. Two blocks from the bus stop, I took the picture out, ripped it into tiny pieces, and tossed it in some stranger's gray can, where it mixed with the rest of the garbage that didn't matter to anyone.

A
udrey had walked to school with Brian and Andrew and after she came back, I told her what happened, as soon as she got in the house.

I was sitting on the couch waiting. “Audrey, can you sit down for a minute?” I said. “I think Chris knows.”

She sat. “Knows what?” she said.

I'd had a terrible morning and I was about to ruin hers.

“About us,” I said. “I'm pretty sure he knows.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “That's not possible.”

“This morning,” I said. “You know, I got up and I came down to the kitchen and he came down a few minutes later. And I could tell. He was different. I think he'd been up for a while. I'm sure he heard me.”

“Oh, shit,” she said. She rubbed her eyes.

“I'll talk to him,” I said.

“No,” she said. “You don't know for sure. Why was he up so early, anyway? He's almost sixteen but he acts like he thinks he's thirty. He's in his own world. It could be anything.”

“Audrey, I'm pretty sure,” I said.

“He's my kid,” she said. “I've seen him go through all kinds of phases and moods, and this could be something else I don't know anything about. Don't you remember being his age?”

“I know, he's your kid,” I said. I'd already overstepped enough, but I wanted her to hear me. “And, yes, I do remember being his age. Boys Chris's age are aware of a lot more than they let on. If I've complicated things, I'm going to take care of it. Chris and I have talked a little about this kind of thing before.”

She raised her eyebrows and leaned back.

“No, not
this,
” I said. “Girls, his friend Meredith, that kind of stuff. Sixteen-year-old stuff.” None of this was giving her any comfort, I could tell. If anything, what I'd said made things worse. “It was just a guy conversation, no big deal. I feel like I have to make up some ground. You're his mom and he would forgive you anything. I hope you know that.”

“Shit,” she said again.

“Will you let me talk to him?” I said. As soon as I asked, I was worried about her response. “Chris and I are good—well, we were. I respect him enough to be honest. He's too old for me not to be.”

“Fine. Talk to him. And so will I,” she said. “What are you going to say?”

I had no idea what I was going to say to Chris, so I didn't have an answer for her. “For starters, I'm not going to bullshit him,” I said. “But that what happens between grownups who care about each other is their own business. I'm not sure where we'll go from there.”

She looked back at me with an expression I wasn't happy to see. “This changes things.”

There it was. “You're right,” I said. “Of course it does.” No other response was an option.

O
n my way to homeroom, I stopped in the Spanish Club classroom and told the teacher I'd missed the meeting because I hadn't been feeling well. Joe was walking out as I walked in. “Where were you this morning?” he said.

“I didn't feel good. I almost stayed home,” I said.

He backed away, not wanting to catch what he thought I had. “See you later,” he said.

I was distracted all day trying to figure out what to do. At lunch I wasn't hungry and I wasn't interested in talking, so I just let everybody else.

“Shit, McGeary,” said Joe. “Why didn't you stay home? You're a pathetic fucking lump.”

“I didn't feel that sick,” I said.

“Could've fooled me,” said Joe.

After school, I waited for Meredith. Of everyone I could think of, she seemed like the only person I could talk to. If I asked her to, I knew she would keep it a secret. She would do whatever I asked because she liked me so much, and I felt shitty thinking that way, but I didn't feel shitty about counting on her because of it.

I passed all the exits looking for her and found her halfway around the school, texting.

“Hey,” I said.

She looked up. “Hi, Chris.” Then she went back to texting.

I stood there. “Are you walking home? Can I walk you home?”

She stopped texting and put her phone away.

“That's very old-fashioned.” She smiled like it was Christmas morning. “I thought I had plans, but I just got a better offer.”

“Well, maybe you didn't.” I already felt mean and she wasn't helping. “I need to talk to you about something. I have a problem.”

She looked all worried then. “I was just kidding, sorry,” she said. “I meant it as a compliment.” She hurried to say what she thought would make it right since she couldn't take it back.

“Whatever,” I said. “Do you want to walk or not?”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” she said, like her life depended on my offer still standing. “You weren't at Spanish Club this morning. I thought you were sick.”

“I thought I was too,” I said, “but I wasn't.”

“Oh,” she said. Now that we were walking and I hadn't split, she relaxed, but not too much, and I was glad. I liked Meredith serious better than when she was trying to be all that.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Are you in trouble?”

“No,” I said. “It's nothing like that.”

“Well, that's good,” she said.

“You know Garrett?” I said. “My parents' friend? He was really my dad's friend.”

“Yeah,” she said. “He's nice, right? My mom and I saw him with your mom at the food carts once. He's working on your house?”

I stiffened. This was a bad idea. “That's not all he's doing.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “What else is he doing? I thought you liked him.”

“I don't know why you thought that,” I said. “But I did. I did like him, but not anymore.”

She got all grave and more serious. “Why not?” she said. “Chris, is he doing something illegal?”

I laughed out loud. I wished that was the problem, that he was doing something illegal.

“Why are you laughing?” She looked crushed and confused. “What the hell is going on? What's so funny?”

I stopped laughing. “No,” I said, “I'm sorry. He's not doing anything illegal. You just surprised me and I thought it was funny. That would be easier. Something's going on with him and my mom. I think they're sleeping together. Or I think they did at least once.”

“Oh.” She stopped to think for a minute. “Why do you think that?”

“This morning I got up early and he wasn't sleeping in the guest room. Then I heard him come out of my parents' room and go downstairs. It was
four-thirty
in the morning. Then when I saw him I could tell he knew I knew. What kind of asshole does that?”

“That would be awkward,” she said. “Why were you up so early anyway? That's crazy.”

“That's not the point. I just was,” I said. “I had work to do.”

She shrugged. “I'm sure he's got to be mortified that you know, if it's true.”

“He should be mortified,” I said. “He should leave, he's so mortified.”

“Chris,” she said. “This is obviously weird and gross, whatever.” She shook her head like she was trying to avoid picturing my mom and Garrett together. “And I can't imagine how you're feeling, you know, with your dad gone.” She was choosing carefully what to say, I could tell. “But what's wrong about it? Your mom's smart, you know that, right? It's their business. He's not taking advantage of her or anything, is he? She's not like that.”

“Well, this is a huge help,” I said. “Thanks a lot. What about my dad? Jesus Christ, doesn't anyone remember my dad died? No, they obviously don't because they're too busy jumping into bed with each other. God, Meredith, that's how you'd feel if it was your mom? I don't think so. You'd be flying off the handle all over the place, never shutting up about it. Long after we're sick of listening to you. Epic drama. Come on.”

“No.” She could have been really mad at what a dick I was being, but she wasn't. “You don't know what I'd do. You don't have any idea, and neither do I. I hope I never find out. People do things they never planned on doing when people die, Chris. Look at the Donner party survivors. Sorry, extreme, forget it. I just think you should cut them some slack.”

“Really, Meredith?” I said. “The Donner party?”

“I said sorry.”

“It just isn't okay,” I said.

“Well, you're not in charge of them, are you?” she said. “Whatever made you think you were in charge of anybody besides yourself?”

I wished I hadn't started any of this with Meredith. No wonder she bugged me. She was an idiot.

She stopped walking and grabbed my hand to stop me too, and then she let it go. “No one has forgotten about your dad. Especially your mom.” I felt like a child getting talked to by his babysitter. I rolled my eyes. “Neither of them have forgotten him—how could they? I'm sure they're just doing the best they can even if it's something you don't like. Even if it is gross to think about them and that kind of thing.” She shook her head again.

“This isn't really what I wanted to hear,” I said.

“Aren't they good friends?” she said. “Aren't you glad it isn't some skanky sketcher? She'd never do that anyway.”

“She has Erin,” I said. I refused to have Meredith's reason sway me, at least in front of her.

“Erin's her best friend,” said Meredith. “Two different things.”

“Jesus,” I said. I was tired. I
had
been awake forever.

She started walking again. “I'm sorry I wasn't any help.” We were half a block from her house. “Even if I didn't help, I'm glad you talked to me. And I'm really sorry about it,” she said. “I won't say anything. Let me know if you want to talk again, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll see you at school.” She walked fast to her house and I stood on the sidewalk, understanding I wasn't invited to follow her.