Rumble

  My tongue explores there, lobe

  and creases, and an earnest moan

  escapes her lips, and I am instantly

  erect. This could go further, could

  easily go all the way, and while

  I would immensely enjoy that, I’m

  kind of glad there’s a steering wheel

  in the way. “I want you,” I rasp.

  “But not like this. Not here, not

  now. I don’t want to take advantage

  of you, or taint what we might

  become. I like you a lot, Alexa.

  Could I love you? I think I could,

  and I don’t want that to happen

  because we have great sex. I want

  great sex to grow from love.”

  She kisses me gently. Okay.

  But tell me, is that ghost of

  Hayden you talked about once

  still standing in your way?

  “Probably. But she’s fading fast.

  And, hey, on the bright side,

  I’m definitely not gay!” I offer

  as proof another round of sizzling

  hot making out. When we turn

  the burners to low, I ask, “So,

  did I answer your question?”

  She smiles. I think you did.

  I think I did, too.

  We Spend the Next Week

  Attempting connection, at school

  and after. It’s a slow, but obvious,

  build of affection, and sometimes

  when we walk knotted together

  along the corridors, I feel like

  we’re on display, especially if

  we happen to encounter Hayden

  or Jocelyn, who, of course, will spill

  anything and everything she observes

  to her gaggle. Hayden tends to look

  away, but the few times she has met

  my eyes, I saw a couple of things.

  One: hurt, which I don’t understand.

  (Was I supposed to remain single

  for the rest of my life, or even this year?)

  And two: something resembling

  self-congratulations, like, “I knew it

  all along.” Whatever. I don’t need

  to please Hayden DeLucca,

  beautiful, backstabbing

  wood nymph, anymore.

  Alexa and I Do Try

  To expand our little dotted line

  into a wider circle, or at least a

  bigger box, and on Friday

  she springs a surprise.

  Marshall’s parents are out

  of town this weekend. We’re

  going to a poker night at his

  house. Ten-buck buy-in.

  I have a lot to learn about

  this girl. “You play poker?”

  Uh, yeah. For years. Do you?

  If not, I’ll teach you how.

  Which makes me smile. Alexa

  makes me smile pretty damn

  often. “I think I can remember

  how, but thanks for your offer.”

  She winks. Anything I can do

  to entertain you, my dear.

  We Arrive at Eight

  I expect a foursome, but there’s

  a bigger surprise. In addition to

  Holly, Lainie and Vince will be

  sharing the table. “What are you?”

  I whisper to Alexa. “A sorceress?”

  Would a sorceress admit

  that’s what she is? Witches

  are craftier than that. No,

  Lainie and I decided it was time

  for you two to get over yourselves.

  It doesn’t happen immediately.

  We nod a curt greeting and when

  we sit at the table,Vince looks

  every bit as tense as I feel.

  The girls chatter on about nothing,

  relatively, as Marshall counts

  out chips and we ante up.

  They’re going to get creamed.

  You have to pay attention when

  you play poker, and I do my best

  to concentrate. The problem is,

  between the beer, which Vince

  supplied, and the inane girl talk,

  my attention span is pretty darn

  short. Not only that, but it’s been

  quite a while since I’ve attempted

  this game. And if I thought luck

  was going to help me out, it was

  wishful thinking. I’m the one who

  gets creamed, but the weird thing

  is, I don’t really care. It’s fun, just

  shooting the shit. Eventually, both

  Vince and I loosen up, and

  when he steps outside for a smoke,

  I invite myself along. He lights up,

  takes a big drag, and I watch his

  exhale disappear into the mist.

  “I know I already told you this, but

  I apologize for being such a dick.

  Not that I’m not still pretty much

  a dick, but I’m working on it.”

  He inhales slowly. I’m not totally

  guiltless, and that’s something

  I can’t shake off. I liked Luke.

  I’m sorry as hell about everything.

  Strange

  Somehow I never considered

  he might be clinging to guilt

  himself. It just never occurred

  to me that any of the people

  involved might give half a damn

  about my brother. Pretty sure

  he’s the only one, though. I ask

  about his parents; he says they’re

  plugging along. I tell him the news

  about mine, and the woman who

  has moved into my home, usurping

  my mother’s place. I expect surprise,

  or at least sympathy. Instead,

  he says, I saw that coming years

  ago, dude. Your mom and dad

  only shared the same room

  when they had to. I can’t believe

  they stayed together this long.

  He stubs out his cigarette,

  goes inside. I hang back

  for a second, enveloped by cool

  rain-infused air. What else do

  other people see that I manage

  to close my eyes to?

  Holly Winds Up

  The evening’s big winner, which

  is irritating because she claims

  it’s beginner’s luck, and I believe

  that. She was totally clueless,

  yet fate smiled on her anyway.

  She and Marshall surreptitiously

  wander down the hall to one bedroom.

  Lainie and Vince go off in search

  of another. Alexa and I take the sofa,

  and I pull her into my lap, tip her

  cheek against the hollow of my chest.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into her ear.

  For what?

  “Just everything.” We kiss, and I think:

  For trying to repair relationships

  I deemed hopeless. For attempting

  to soothe my anger, assuage my guilt,

  silence my ghosts. For doing your

  level best to make me whole again.

  Desire floods through me, scorching

  and beating wildly, like my heart.

  I can feel the flush of Alexa’s

  own heat where the V of her jeans

  straddles my thighs. She works

  at the buttons of my shirt, kisses

  the skin she exposes with lips

  wet from my own, down my chest

  and over my belly. “You’d better

  stop, or I won’t be able to.”

  Instead, she drops to the floor

  on her knees, opens the zipper

  of my fly with delicate fingers.

  I start to protest, but she pu
shes

  back. Let me. I want to.

  If there’s a paradise, this must be

  it—the slow, sure slide of tongue

  and mouth, the urgent coax of

  spit-slicked hands, the gentle brush

  of silken hair, all lifting me up, up.

  Faster. Stronger. Higher. No way

  to stop, I give myself up to pulse

  upon pulse of pleasure. And I almost say . . .

  I Love You

  Except somewhere

  in the hall a door opens,

  and we hurry to disguise

  the evidence of my

  near-nirvana experience.

  Vince comes stomping

  into the room. Freaking

  girls and their periods.

  He takes one look at my

  still open shirt, the guilt

  implicit in our body

  language, not to mention

  my satisfied expression.

  Oh. Please excuse

  the interruption, you lucky

  sonofabitch. Carry on.

  He grabs a brew, returns

  to Lainie, and Alexa curls

  up next to me on the couch.

  And I’m glad I didn’t spout

  those words because I’m still

  not sure if I truly love her,

  or if I just love it.

  The Next Morning

  I’m still processing. I asked her

  for space over the weekend—

  well, I blamed it on work and

  parental interference, both valid

  excuses. I suppose she could have

  come out to the range, which is eerily

  quiet most of the day, at least until

  an obviously inebriated Gus slams

  through the door. G’day, boys!

  I’m here. Ain’t that queer? Heh heh.

  Get it? Here. Queer. Give this poet

  a gun. I think I can shoot straight.

  Uncle Jessie isn’t about to let

  him handle a weapon. Now, Gus,

  you know you’re in no condition

  to be messing with a pistol.

  Gus bristles. Yeah, that’s the word.

  His blood pressure shoots through

  the roof—you can see it in the way

  his face turns red. What you sayin’?

  I’m just looking out for you,

  buddy. A liquid breakfast isn’t

  the right fuel for shooting guns.

  What’s up with you, anyway?

  Uncle Jessie is good at damage

  control. Gus’s face returns to ruddy.

  Is jus’ ah’m nervous. Gon’ see

  that lawyer Monday about cus’dy.

  He’s taking my rent money, but

  that’s okay, long as he knows his shit.

  Bitch wan’s give my babies a new

  daddy, and I ain’t good with that.

  Now he breaks down, in that way

  drunk people do—a complete

  body shudder, followed by

  immense, gut-wrenching sobs.

  Uncle Jessie gives him a minute,

  then goes over, puts his arm

  around Gus’s shoulder. Let’s take

  you up to the house for a while.

  He Leaves Me

  To mind the place while he tries

  to help Gus sober up enough to

  drive home. It takes several hours,

  and when Gus finally gets in his car,

  Uncle Jessie comes in, concern

  etched on his face. I’m worried

  about Gus. Don’t think I’ve ever

  seen a man near so angry with

  the world, or quite so unsure

  about his legit place in it. I hope

  that attorney is good, or that

  his ex’s sucks, because any judge

  worth his beans is gonna see

  Gus is a walking, talking IED.

  Not his fault, not at all. Goddamn

  government can pay for bombs

  and tanks and drones, but can’t find

  enough money to fix their triggermen.

  The Parental Element

  Of my “see you Monday”

  equation is Mom, who shows

  up at home, announced to me,

  but not to Dad and Lorelei.

  I actually have a little fun with that.

  Hey, not my place to interfere.

  She walks through the door

  (which, officially, is still half hers)

  just about the time her not-quite-ex

  and his girlfriend sit down to dinner

  at (still officially half hers) kitchen table.

  I have to admit I enjoy watching.

  Mom, I think, shows great restraint.

  Oh. I guess I didn’t realize we were

  playing Wife Swap tonight, only

  I don’t see my swap partner here.

  By the way, not sure you know

  this, Wyatt, but our bed? You might

  want to get it fumigated. Before I

  left, I was noticing these strange

  bites. I researched. Might be bedbugs.

  You two aren’t itchy, are you?

  Score, Mom. Why does that warped

  brand of humor seem familiar?

  Mom Has Come

  To collect the last of her personal

  possessions.

  Summer clothes—

  shorts and tank tops, swimsuits

  and lacy cover-ups.

  Books, including the Bible

  awarded her in second-grade

  Sunday school.

  Framed photographs,

  excepting those where Dad

  shared the shots.

  Souvenirs and knick-

  knacks she collected

  over the years.

  Anything that bore her stamp.

  She has come with containers,

  expecting to pack them up.

  This surprise is on her.

  Lorelei has already boxed

  them and put them in the garage,

  stacked on top of Luke’s.

  As I Help Load

  Boxes into the back of Mom’s Xterra,

  I can’t help but notice something.

  “Hey, Mom. Did you quit smoking?”

  Her clothing and hair always reeked

  before. But she smells neutral.

  You can tell? She totally beams.

  It wasn’t easy. I picked up that habit

  in high school. But Sophie insisted

  no boutique anyone wants to frequent

  can smell like used tobacco.

  “Wow. That’s awesome. Guess

  you don’t need this, then.” I hold up

  one of her old ashtrays, spilling

  butts and stink. “I can’t believe

  Lorelei hasn’t already sterilized it.”

  I dump the whole mess in a trash

  can outside the garage door.

  “What’s it like, living with hippies?

  Are you eating vegan and running

  around through the woods naked?”

  She laughs. Vegetarian, not vegan,

  and I sneak cheeseburgers whenever

  I’m in town. No nakedness. Ew. Ugly

  thought. But we’re talking about selling

  hemp clothing and such in our boutique.

  “All natural. I’m sure your Heavenly

  Guru would approve.” Probably a lot

  more than Mom approved of my little

  joke. Subject change in order. “So,

  you’re going through with the boutique?”

  Yep. We’re looking at storefronts

  right now, in fact, as well as suppliers.

  We hope to open by midsummer.

  We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,

  but the positive energy is flowing.

  “Positive energy? You’re definitely

 
skewing toward hippie. You didn’t

  trade tobacco for weed, by any chance,

  did you?” Ridiculous, although it could

  explain the upswing in her mood.

  She Actually Winks

  When was the last time

  she winked at me?

  I’m taking the fifth. But I will

  say sometimes the place smells

  pretty darn green, if you catch

  my drift. Not that I’d indulge.

  Wowza! I think she might.

  Guess it’s better than naked.

  “Sort of weird, the way Sophie

  turned out, considering the way

  she was raised, don’t you think?”

  She always did lean more

  toward the spiritual than

  the biblical. Used to piss off

  Mom and Dad that she thought

  animals had souls and deserved

  heaven more than some people.

  “Explains her going vegetarian,

  and if I believed in souls, I’d say

  she was absolutely right. You

  still going to church regularly?”

  I’m down to once in a while,

  actually. Don’t give me that

  look. I’m still a believer, but

  I don’t like the politics. Maybe

  my sister is rubbing off on me.

  What’s going on in your life?

  I tell her about school, the book

  challenge, my attempt at swaying

  the school board. I mention breaking

  up with Hayden, and I tell her why.

  You can bust your behind

  trying to build a relationship

  on attraction, but if you want

  it to last, you’d better share

  common interests. Believe me,

  your dad and I are poster children.

  We stuff the back of the Nissan,

  but there’s no way we can fit

  everything in. Not even close.

  Any chance you could deliver

  the rest? Luke’s stuff, too. You haven’t

  visited your grandparents in a while,

  and Sophie would love to see you.

  I Promise

  I’ll find the time, and I probably

  will. Not like I’m overcommitted.

  And when I do, I’m happy to stop in

  and say hey to Aunt Sophie and Uncle

  Shawn, but I’ll probably find an excuse

  to skip the Creswell GPs. The old

  coots would probably force-feed

  the Old Testament to me. I’m tired

  of people worried about picking up

  the remnants of my unsalvageable

  soul. Yes, they’re getting up there,