Vision (4 page)

But telling himself this didn’t still the wild currents she stirred up inside of him. With both of them working at the restaurant, it wasn’t going to be easy avoiding Gabe, but damned if he wasn’t going to try. He had no choice. He couldn’t risk losing his job over a girl.

Bobby turned off the ignition and kept his hands glued to the steering wheel, dreading the moment when he’d have to speak. In the back seat, grimy and exhausted, Aaron had fallen asleep. Bobby could feel Gabe’s gaze on him, expectant, waiting for him to say something. He dared a peek and wished he hadn’t. In the slanting light, her eyes were silver-gold. Smiling, she’d pushed the hair from her face, revealing a constellation of freckles strewn across her pale nose. Suppressing the shiver that skittered up his back, Bobby gripped the wheel even tighter.

“Thanks, Bobby,” she said. “For the ride and all.”

The sound of his name on her lips was like a strange, new chord strummed on his guitar.

What was wrong with him today? The headaches and hallucinations—and now it was as if he was possessed by this girl; the urge to reach across the seat and push the errant strand from her face was nearly irresistible. But his voice came out as its usual noncommittal grunt and he hated the sound of it. “No problem. See you around, then.”

Gabe nodded repeatedly. “Yep, see you around, Bobby Pendell. And say goodbye to Slugger for me, okay?” She hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if she was about to add something, but instead ruffled Pete’s head, climbed out of the truck, closed the door, and walked away without looking back.

Bobby watched her figure blur into the blaze of sunlight until she was completely swallowed up by it. He rested his head against the wheel and wished he could empty his mind like a jug of water, his memories and wants flowing out of him like a river into the sea.

B
y the time they got home, blue afternoon shadows crawled across the overgrown field that surrounded the house. Aaron was fast asleep as they rumbled up the driveway. Bobby let his mind drift to the memory of his fingers cradled on the frets of his guitar. The melody from earlier had come floating back into his head, as if the rough edges of it had been polished smooth and clean as marble.

From the chaos of his mind, a new song war was forming. Bobby knew it immediately.

The song was for Gabe.

“Crap,” he said out loud. He was in some deep, deep shit.

“Huh?” Aaron yawned in the back seat. “Your head okay now, Bobby?”

“My head’s just fine, A-man.”

Bobby’s stomach flip-flopped at the memory from earlier that day. The red blindness and strange visions had taken him down twice. By sheer force of his stubborn nature, he couldn’t let it happen again—
wouldn’t
let it happen again.

“Do me a favor, bro,” he said, swiveling around in his seat. “Don’t tell none of it to Dad? About the girl, the head thing and all? I don’t want him to get his panties in an uproar, you know?”

Aaron nodded stiffly. “Panties in an uproar” was their code for drunken temper tantrums. Whatever objects could be reached from a sitting position went flying. Once, Dad had grabbed a saucepan of boiling water off the stove and thrown it at Bobby’s head, narrowly missing scalding him with it. After he’d sobered up, he’d apologized for days.

Bobby and Aaron kept a lot of things quiet between them. It was best that way.

Aaron loped into the house. Bobby lingered, tossing a stick with Pete. He just needed a few more minutes to think before he let the four walls close in on him. He took Pete around back and slumped onto his guitar-playing stump beside the logs he’d split earlier.

Gabriella Friend. The name floated through his head like a string of notes, merging with the song he’d already half-written.

One wrong move and he could lose his job. Hands off. Keep out. Private property. Violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. He’d have to travel too far to find a new job, and then his earnings would be eaten up by the gas-guzzling truck. Bobby stood to go in the house, Pete trotting behind him. No Gabe, he vowed.

While Aaron played a noisy video game, Bobby threw together a quick dinner of spaghetti and red sauce. Dad eyed him blearily from his chair. He’d already polished off his fourth can of beer and was clearly feeling little pain.

“A-man tells me his team is going to the playoffs, thanks to his fearsome pitching. Something for the Pendells to celebrate tonight, eh, Bobby?”

Bobby shared a grin with Aaron. “You should have seen that last inning, Dad,” he said, careful to keep his tone even. It took only the slightest spark to set him off when he was like this.

“Wish I could have, but the wheelchair don’t run too good over grass.” Dad went silent for a beat, then added, his voice hoarse. “Too bad there’s no fish tonight to mark the occasion. Too bad alls we got is spaghetti. Why’s that so, Bobby? Why’s there no fish on the night of such an auspicious day?”

Aaron flashed Bobby a look and quietly slipped into their room, closing the door softly behind him.

“I told you, Dad. Fish weren’t biting today.”

“That so?” Sam Pendell paused, his gaze pinned on Bobby. “Heard the Bartley boys caught their fill on the far side of Scratch Lake. Hank called to offer me the extras, but I said you’d bring us our own. Then Jerry said Joe Wilkins saw you at the ball field with your boss’s kid. Hot-looking blonde. That true, Bobby?”

Bobby nearly dropped the jar of sauce. He should have known. Dad’s spy network had the means to track his every move. There were no secrets in Graxton.

“Jeez, Dad. She hurt her foot and I gave her a ride. And that was this afternoon. I was at the lake this morning. You know that.” Bobby stirred the pasta as it came to a boil, his anger simmering along with the water in the pot.

“Do I? Is that right—puttin’ your own needs over the family’s?”

Bobby clutched the edge of the Formica countertop.
Breathe and count. Breathe and count. It will pass
. The man was a cripple. An angry drunk cripple.
Suck it in. Suck it deep in
.

“Have you ever seen her, Dad?” he blurted.

“Can’t say I have. Don’t get out much, you know.”

“Well, if you had, you’d know,” he heard his voice begin to rise, “that there’s no way in hell a girl like that would want a lump of shit like me!” Bobby’s voice bounced around the small living room, surprising him.

But it worked. He’d managed to shock Dad into silence.

After a pause, Dad raised an eyebrow. “Touched a nerve, didn’t I? The lady doth protest too much, eh?”

Bobby hurled the wooden spoon from the kitchen alcove clear across the living room. It landed with a soft thud on the carpet in front of the TV in a blotch of red sauce.

“Fuck you. Make your own damn dinner tonight. I’m done here. I’m gonna go do the laundry.”

Bobby whistled for Pete, swooped up the hamper, grabbed a jar of peanut butter and the last of the loaf of bread, and called for Aaron, his heart thumping. He’d never mouthed off to Dad like that. Out in the truck, he pounded the steering wheel with both fists. He was unraveling faster than an old sweater. How long until he came completely undone?

On the way into town, Aaron sat in the front seat, silent, Pete between them.

The Woods Café was at the other end of Main Street, far enough away from the Spic and Span Laundromat, which was a little too close to the Graxton Grill for comfort. The last thing he needed was to run into Gabe. But he would have to do the laundry at some point.

Coco’s fluorescent-yellow VW bug was parked helterskelter in front of the café, and Bobby sighed with relief. Though they never talked much about most of the stuff on his mind, just sharing a small bit released some of the pressure. And Coco usually had some lame jokes and gossip to crack him up.

Woods Café was a bizarre cross between a hunting lodge, a fifties diner, and an opium den. Cluttering the dark purple walls, moose heads mingled with neon soft-drink signs and war memorabilia. You could never predict the music. Jerry either had old blues, disco, psychedelic sixties rock, or Celtic folk music, depending on his mood or if Coco had commandeered the CD player.

Pete sauntered in, and Aaron made his way to the pinball machine Jerry had rigged to work without quarters. Sunday nights were slow, and right now Bobby, Aaron, Coco, Jerry, and Pete were alone.

“Dude!” Coco occupied his usual table at the front window, his laptop, papers, and books spread over the aluminum surface.

“Hey,” Bobby said, and slumped in a chair across from him. “’Sup?”

“Nothing much, man. Trying to power my way through this paper on Teddy Roosevelt.”

“AP American History, huh?”

“Got the test in three weeks, dude. You got the American history Regents, don’t you?”

Bobby groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Coco flipped the shaggy bangs from his eyes and peered at him over the tops of his horn-rimmed glasses. Bobby didn’t want to think about life after Coco left for college in a year or so. Coco had a future and it wasn’t in Graxton.

“Yeah, man, well, if you ever need help, you know where to find me.”

Jerry Woods was a bear of a man who’d always reminded Bobby of his namesake, Jerry Garcia of The Grateful Dead, one of Jerry’s favorites. He placed a tall glass of lemonade and a heaping sandwich nestled in a mountain of chips in front of Bobby. Bobby’s mouth watered, but he pushed the plate away.

“Jerry, I—”

Jerry smiled, his dark eyes crinkling. “Don’t say it. Sam called. Said he pissed you off and that you stormed out with no dinner.”

“Jeez,” Bobby glanced at Aaron, who was too busy shaking and pounding at the pinball machine to notice much of anything. “I just got—I don’t know what got into me.”

“Guess he realized he pushed you too far this time.” Jerry patted him on the shoulder. “Sam’s in a lot of pain, Bobby. Above from where he can’t feel anything, his back hurts him twenty-four/seven. He don’t mean nothing by his nasty temper. You know that.”

Bobby stared at the table. Since Jerry was a vet himself, he seemed to understand Dad better than anyone. But he hated taking any more from the Woods than he absolutely had to. “I guess.”

Jerry pushed the plate toward him. “Eat hearty now, buddy boy!”

He brought a sandwich over to Aaron, then returned to his place behind the counter.

Bobby’s stomach gurgled. He really hadn’t eaten anything today and he certainly didn’t need to trigger another episode of the red weirdness. But was it really hunger that brought on the strange spells? Something about the whole thing bugged him, like an itch he couldn’t reach to scratch.

“So,” Coco said casually, “summer is really heating up around here. Did you hear about the hot new babe in town?”

Bobby rolled his eyes, his mouth stuffed with turkey and hard-crusted bread. Famously girl crazy, Coco was in a meaningful relationship and had transferred his usual enthusiasm to Bobby. “You mean my boss’s daughter?”

“Hell, yeah. You meet her?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s scorching.”

“I guess.” Bobby took another bite of sandwich.

“Dude, you a priest? The babe is volcanic. And you work with her!”

“Like, I know that, Coco. Forget her. She’s a city bitch and she’s off-limits by my boss’s directive. Besides, she wouldn’t go in for guys like us.”

Coco waggled an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself. Max Friend isn’t my employer. Plus, I know how to talk to girls like her.”

Bobby’s insides squeezed with an involuntary pang. The green devil. Jealousy. Courtesy of his tiny Thai mother, Coco had high cheekbones, olive skin, and dark almond-shaped eyes, crowned with light and sandy brown hair. Slim and agile, he’d inherited his father’s height. Coco might be a bit eccentric, but he was great-looking. And girls knew it. “You wouldn’t.”

Coco narrowed his eyes. “Dude, was that a flicker of resentment on your face? You turned red for a second.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s out of our league.”

A grin spread over Coco’s face. “Don’t worry. I already have a girl.” Coco had been seeing Dana, Sheriff Barclay’s ultra-quiet daughter. Bobby couldn’t imagine what Coco saw in her. Rail thin, plain, with dull brown hair, Dishwater Dana talked even less than he did.

Bobby shook his head. “Give it up. I can’t risk losing my job for a girl.”

Coco stared at him, his smile fading. Bobby flinched. There it was. Pity. They avoided talking about the differences in their circumstances, but sometimes it hung between them like a foul odor. Coco was going places. Bobby was going nowhere.

“Whatever, dude,” Coco said softly. Pete had settled beside Coco, who fed him a scrap of bacon from the remains of his sandwich. The Woods’s kindness toward them never failed to grind Bobby’s insides to chopped meat. He was desperate to change the subject. Searching the tabletop Coco had strewn with papers, his eyes fell on the Sunday
Kingston Daily Freeman
. Under a stiff yearbook photo of a smiling girl, a bold headline screamed, “GIRL VANISHED ON PROM NIGHT STILL MISSING.”

Bobby pulled the newspaper closer. The missing girl was only from a few towns away, but he didn’t know her at all.