For You

  “Colt, don’t.”

  Colt shoved me out of the way. I came right back, sliding between him and the partially opened door. I pushed against it with my back, closing it again before I wrapped both arms around him, holding tight.

  “Stay with me,” I pleaded.

  “Got a kid. A boy.”

  I shook my head, fast and rough, not able to think about that just yet. “Stay with me, babe.”

  “He had a hand in it. He helped take you from me, do that to Amy, do that to me, he’s gonna answer for it.”

  “Colt, calm down first. Let me call Dad.”

  “Get away, baby, before I set you away.”

  I squeezed him tight, hard as I could, got up on my toes so my face was close to his, and begged, “Don’t do this.”

  He pulled back fast, out of my arms. Then he leaned down and put a shoulder to my belly. I was up over his shoulder and Colt was across the room in a flash. He dipped his shoulder, dropped me on the couch and before I got back up and was halfway across the room he was out the door.

  I followed him.

  “Colt, stop!” I shouted, running across the yard.

  He was in his truck and slamming the door. I hit it with both hands up, still on the run then tried the handle. It was locked.

  Colt started the truck, it roared to life, his foot heavy on the gas.

  At the sound I jumped away from the truck. When he backed out of the drive, I turned tail and ran to the house, locked the door behind me and ran to my phone on the kitchen counter.

  I called Morrie. It took me three goes to scroll down then up when I passed his name in my phonebook then down again, my hands were shaking so hard.

  I put the cell to my ear.

  “Whas’ up?” Morrie asked, I’d woken him.

  “Morrie, you gotta get to Craig Lansdon. I don’t know where he is, but you gotta get to him. Call Sully. Colt’s gonna hurt him.”

  “What?”

  “Craig and Denny Lowe slipped him a mickey. I… it was… way back, at Sherry and Sheila’s party. He… something happened. They slipped one to Amy Harris too. They had sex.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter what!” I shouted. “Denny or Craig or both of them drugged him and Amy. I caught them in the act, I thought it was something else but they were out of it.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Morrie!” I screeched, out of my mind.

  “I’ll call Sully, Sis, we’ll find him. Just calm down.”

  “Stop him, Morrie,” I begged.

  “It’ll be okay, Baby Sister. Promise.”

  Then he hung up.

  Then I called Dad.

  Then I heard Wilson meow at me. I looked down at my cat who was looking up at me, uncertain of the state of affairs.

  I scooped him up, walked to the couch, sat on it and held him to me, staring at the wall, seeing nothing, thinking of Colt saying he saw them cut Amy Harris down. I was also thinking of Denny, ruining my life, ruining Colt’s, taking everything from me, from both of us. He’d led me to Pete. He’d ripped me off the golden course of my life and shoved me down a dark path where I didn’t want to be. I’d got lost, I’d wandered. It took me over two decades to find my way home.

  And Amy? She had a kid, Colt’s kid. A little boy. If Colt didn’t remember, did she? Did she wonder why she was pregnant? Wonder if she’d been raped?

  And Colt, all these years, he never knew, never knew what the fuck I was talking about. Because he didn’t. And now he found this out and that, somewhere out there, he had a kid.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered and Wilson curled closer, “oh my God.”

  * * * * *

  I sat there on the couch cuddling Wilson and staring at the wall for awhile.

  Dad walked in and I knew it was him but I didn’t look at him.

  Mom walked in and I looked at her.

  Then the tears started falling.

  Wilson was gone and I was in her arms, the words pouring out of me through my hiccoughing breaths, coating my tongue with acid. Mom held me, tighter, tighter, swaying gently, cooing once in awhile, whispering “honey” but for once Mom didn’t help me. The tears didn’t stop coming, or the hiccups, or the words.

  “Honey, you need to calm down,” she whispered, but I didn’t, I couldn’t.

  I’d lost the beautiful life I’d been meant to lead. It had been torn from me but it was my fault that that rip was never mended and I knew it. Stupid Feb, keeping it all in, holding grudges.

  Worse, Colt was out there, madder than hell and I knew what he could be like when he got that mad. Everyone did. If he got to Craig before Morrie or Sully, the rest of Colt’s life could be as bleak as his father’s.

  “I’ll call Doc,” I heard Dad mutter because they knew, if Mom couldn’t calm me then I was inconsolable and they were right, I was.

  If I’d been coherent I would have been surprised at how fast Doc got there. One second he wasn’t there, the next second Dad and Mom got me up off the couch and Dad and Doc guided me down the hall. They laid me in Colt’s bed and I cried to Doc, whispering now, telling him all my secrets, all of Colt’s, sharing way too late.

  He injected me with something and it worked quickly. He sat next to me on the bed as the peace he gave me through a syringe stole over me. He pulled up the covers and slid the hair from my forehead.

  “Like I said,” he mumbled, “the dog was dead. Shoulda left him buried.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled back, a calming darkness creeping in around me, “dog was dead, Doc. Denny killed it.”

  Then I was out.

  * * * * *

  I woke up on my side, my legs curled up, Wilson in a ball in the crook of my hips.

  I came out of it slowly as I lay listening, hearing the murmur of voices, knowing I wasn’t alone in the house. Too many voices, all of them speaking low but I knew there wouldn’t be that many and the tone wouldn’t be that calm if something bad had happened to Colt.

  It was growing late, I knew from the feel of the day. I’d been out awhile. But I didn’t get up. I lifted my hand, stroked my cat and he started purring.

  I had a lot of experience with animals. We’d had dogs and cats growing up. I’d learned a long time ago both canine and feline had one thing in common. They sensed a shit storm, they weren’t the type to go running. They stuck close. The worse it got, the closer they stuck.

  So I lay in bed for a long time, kept my head clear and pet my cat.

  Then I got up, went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, pulled a brush through my hair and went to my bag, changed the yoga gear I’d put on that morning to a pair of jeans, belt, t-shirt.

  Then I sucked in breath, went to the bed, lifted Wilson in my arms and walked out of the room.

  Al was sitting at the bar, Meems beside him. The smell of Mom’s spaghetti sauce filled the air, she was at the pot stirring, Jessie had her head in the fridge.

  I walked though the living room with Meems’s eyes on me. I looked to the left and saw all four of her kids lounging in front of a muted television set.

  “Hey Auntie Feb!” Tyler called.

  I dropped Wilson to his feet, waved at Tyler and smiled.

  Kids, too, sensed shit storms and Tyler’s returning smile was cautionary. That kid loved me, all Meems’s kids did. This was because I spoiled the hell out of them and usually encouraged their bad behavior because it was never that bad and because Mimi and Al knew every kid had to have that one adult they trusted beyond anyone just in case life took them to a place where they’d need that trust and the wisdom only someone older could give. That was the brilliance of being the kidless best friend, you got all the good shit, never had to put up with the bad and the devotion that came from that was like a priceless treasure.

  “Now Feb’s up, does that mean we can turn up the volume on the TV?” Meems’s oldest, Jeb, shouted.

  “It’s Aunt Feb, Jeb,” Meems corrected, Jeb having decided he was now too old to c
all me “Aunt” and Meems having decided that she didn’t agree, a battle that obviously still raged. “And no,” Mimi finished.

  “Aunt Feb, Jeb. Aunt Feb, Jeb,” Maisie chanted, most likely in an attempt to simultaneously annoy her mother and brother, her favorite pastime and one at which she excelled.

  Maisie was Meems and Al’s third child, the long awaited daughter. First came Jeb then came Emmett then came Maisie. Meems had been so overjoyed she had a daughter she thought her luck had changed and broke her rule of only three kids (which meant breaking her rule of only two kids, she’d made the third attempt to get a girl) with the hopes of evening out the gender balance in the house. But along came Tyler.

  Meems lucked out though, Maisie was as much of a girl as you could get. So much so, even though Al, Jeb, Emmett and Tyler were about as boy as you could get, Maisie still helped Meems settle the balance of the house with the sheer amount of nail polish she had lying around; not to mention her butterfly stickers which were stuck to everything; and her hair barrettes and ponytail holders with sparkled ribbons attached to them; her glitter pens littering every surface; and her bobby pins with bees and ladybugs on them laid here there and everywhere. Meems’s house looked like a little girl tornado swept through it. The odd GI Joe doll and baseball mitt didn’t stand a chance.

  “Shut up, Maze,” Jeb snapped as I hit the kitchen.

  “You shut up,” Maisie retorted.

  “No, you shut up.”

  “No, you shut up.”

  Good God, I’d had that same argument with Morrie about a million times when we were kids. If my life wasn’t a certified disaster at that moment, I would have felt the beauty of a world that changed all around you in ways you couldn’t control but still stayed exactly the same in ways that were precious.

  “Kids,” Al said and at that one word, both kids shut up.

  I looked at Mom who was still stirring but was now looking at me.

  “Where’s Colt?” I asked.

  “You okay, sweetie?” she asked back.

  I nodded and repeated, “Where’s Colt?”

  She drew breath into her nostrils and looked at her sauce before answering, “With Sully.”

  Something was wrong, she was holding back from me.

  “Mom –”

  “Girlie, let me get you a drink,” Jessie suggested but Mom’s head came up.

  “No, not at least…” Mom paused and said, “Let me call Doc, see if it’s okay Feb has alcohol after that injection.”

  “Good call,” Jessie muttered as Mom hit the phone.

  I looked around at everyone and said again, “Where’s Colt?”

  “With Sully, lovely,” Meems told me, “like your Mom said.”

  She was holding back too.

  “He okay?” I asked.

  “Sure?” Meems asked back. Jessie threw her a look, Al dropped his head and I knew she’d exposed something, I just didn’t know what.

  “Are you sure you’re sure?”

  As Mom started talking into the phone, Al waded in. “Feb, darlin’, Colt’s okay, Craig Lansdon is okay, everyone’s okay.” There it was, they knew all about it, I couldn’t dwell on that because Al kept talking. “Just that, Morrie got to him and Colt didn’t feel like backin’ down. We all know what happens when those two disagree on somethin’ but it’s all right now.”

  That meant Colt and Morrie got physical.

  I closed my eyes and only opened them when Al said again, “February, it’s all right now.”

  “Either of them get hurt?” I asked.

  Al shook his head. “Morrie’s gonna have a shiner, Colt’s good. Morrie didn’t want to hurt him, just contain him, so he didn’t do the first and managed, when Sully showed, to do the last.”

  Mom hung up and announced, “Doc says no booze, food. So let’s get you some spaghetti.”

  I ignored Mom and asked, “When’s Colt coming home?”

  More shared glances, more cagey behavior and I felt a chill slide along my skin.

  “What?” I pushed.

  “Colt’s gonna stay with Sully and Raine tonight, honey,” Mom said, turning the burner on under the water. I could see the oil floating in wet bubbles on top and the thought of Mom’s spaghetti, nearly as beloved as my frittata, made my stomach churn.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Just needs some space, girlie,” Jessie answered, head in a cupboard and she came out with a bag of potato chips. “You want an appetizer?” she asked, shaking the bag which was the extent of Jessie’s ability to provide appetizers unless she called a caterer. Jessie wasn’t much of a cook.

  I didn’t want chips. I wanted Colt.

  But I knew, I didn’t act fast, I’d never have him. I knew, I didn’t act fast, that same seed that was planted in my soul hours ago and was taking root and growing strong even as I slept my hysteria away, had been planted in his too. But he’d been conscious during that time. He had time to work with it, fertilize it, help it grow.

  I looked at Al. “Al, will you take me to Sully’s?”

  Al looked at Mimi and, even edging toward frantic, this shocked me. Al was a man and by that I meant a man. He didn’t often look to Meems to make a decision about what he was going to do or when he was going to do it.

  But Al knew, he fucked up right now with this situation, he’d live with that fuck up for the rest of his life and the panic I was feeling increased.

  “Honey, I’m not sure –” Mom started but Meems nodded to her husband.

  Al interrupted Mom by saying to me, “Sure, darlin’.”

  “Al –” Mom began again but I was on the move.

  I went to Colt’s room and pulled on socks then boots then a jeans jacket. Al was at the front door when I hit the living room and we were both out of the house before I gave in and looked around the room to measure their expressions. I didn’t have a lot of courage in me, I was holding onto a thin thread of strength that was stretched tight and could easily snap. I needed to do this now or I was never going to do it and then, again, I’d lose everything and it hurt enough the first time, it’d destroy me now.

  I climbed in the passenger seat of Al’s truck, he started it up and we took off.

  We rode in silence. Al wasn’t much of a talker, he spoke when he needed to and said as much as had to be said, though Mimi told me and Jessie he was a sweet nothin’s man. I loved knowing that about Al, though I’d never share it with him. My friend Mimi deserved sweet nothin’s and Al deserved to have a woman who he’d want to give them to.

  I wanted to talk though. I wanted to ask him, being who he was, how he was, a lot like Colt, how I should handle the situation I was about to walk into. I wanted advice on how to bring Colt back to me, knowing he’d used the hours I slept in a drugged up unconscious to build a wedge between us. But I didn’t reckon Al had the answers I needed.

  I was all on my own with this one.

  Al parked in front of Sully’s house and Sully was out the door and halfway down the walk before I’d slammed the truck door. Lorraine appeared behind their storm door.

  “Feb, sweetheart, I’m thinkin’ this isn’t a good idea,” Sully said, coming at me, hands up, palms out.

  I walked right by him. Sully was a man, a good one. He wouldn’t do what he needed to do to stop me.

  My obstacle, I knew, was Lorraine. She didn’t want me in her house, she didn’t want me near Colt; she’d be able to stop me.

  I held my breath as I approached the house.

  Lorraine reached to the handle, swung open the door, moved her body aside and held the door open for me.

  “Thank you,” I whispered as I slid by her, tears lodged in my throat.

  “Work magic in there, honey,” she whispered back, I swallowed and went in.

  Colt was in the living room, seated in the middle of the couch, forearms to his knees, a glass of Jack, uncut, not even with ice, held in one hand between his knees. The bottle was in front of him on the coffee table, mostly empty. Only his eyes hit
me, other than that, he didn’t move.

  Sully drank beer and on occasion would spring for a shot of single malt if he was in the mood. Lorraine wasn’t a drinker at all, when she came to J&J’s she ordered strawberry daiquiris which was mildly annoying, they were a pain in the ass to make. Still, she got loopy on them quick and Lorraine loopy was hilarious enough to be worth the pain it was to make a daiquiri.

  That Jack Daniels was in the house for when Colt came around. I couldn’t know how much he’d imbibed, he wasn’t moving or speaking so even though I had years of practice being around people who were drinking, I didn’t know what state of sober, or not, he was in.

  What I did know was that Colt never drank his bourbon uncut. I knew Colt never drank vodka because both of his parents drank it and he also never drank his bourbon uncut. Usually, it was Coke he cut it with if not, some water or ice. This was an effort to prove he wasn’t like his folks who drank their liquor straight, always and often. Colt drinking straight bourbon was not good.

  Colt not moving or saying a word, worse.

  I stopped far enough away he could see me, not close enough to push it.

  And when I started, I didn’t fuck around.

  “I know you blame me,” I told him.

  He didn’t move.

  “I was there, I saw it, I coulda stopped it,” I went on.

  He gave me nothing even his golden eyes didn’t flicker.

  “Or I coulda said something after, so you’d understand, so Amy wouldn’t have had to –”

  He moved then, barely, his body locked and I reckoned this was to keep himself in control and I stopped talking.

  He knew like I knew, I said something even if it wasn’t during the act but after, it would have saved a lot of hurt. Colt, being Colt, would have done something. Dad, being Dad, and Mom, being Mom, would have had his back. Amy wouldn’t have suffered, she’d have had her son and Colt would have had him too. Colt, Dad and Mom would have made us all a family, somehow they’d have made it work. They’d have made it work so Colt and me would still have each other, Amy would have had us all and no one would be dead because it would have stopped Denny before the sick fully took hold.

  I pulled in breath and whispered, “I have to live with that forever.” My voice dipped even lower, the bitter guilt germinating from that seed stark in my tone before I repeated, “I have to live with that forever.”