She was too fucking close. I stepped back. She looked hurt.
“Here, and you’re welcome.” She threw two packs of cigarettes at me. The packs bounced off the black rubber mats.
I bent down and picked them up. Without making it obvious, I sucked in a long breath hoping that an extended exhale would usher out my embarrassing speech impediment. “I need to stop sucking on these cancer sticks anyway.” I swallowed back the thickness in my throat. Sometimes, all I had to do was look into her blue eyes and my throat would tighten. We’d only know each other a few months, but sometimes, like right now when we were standing face to face, with no nurses or doctors interfering, it felt as we’d known each other forever. Sugar saw right through me as if I was as transparent as a clean window. But it was a two way pane of glass. She could just walk into a room and I’d know how she was feeling, and there was no way she could walk into a room without me reacting. But it wasn’t just me. When Sugar walked into a room, it seemed like even the walls and furniture took notice.
I stuck the packs in the pockets of my jeans and took another hit off my cigarette. I exhaled slowly, and she watched me through the smoke. “Don’t do it again, Sugar. Please don’t touch that guy again. Not for me, anyhow. I’ll go without the smokes.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t just for you. Peggy, in the room next to me, has been in a really bad way. I can hear her crying all night. I promised I’d get her a joint. So, don’t go believin’ that was all for you.”
“Fine, then I won’t think it was for me.” I leaned against the bar again. Sometimes, I just allowed myself the pleasure of looking at her without emotional strings attached. “How the hell did you end up with a name like Sugar anyhow?”
She jumped up on the bar, hooked her knees on it and pulled herself up to perch on top. Sitting still was rarely an option for Sugar, and watching her made me dizzy, and not just because I wanted to yank her into my arms and kiss her and do everything that I knew she did with other guys.
She smiled down at me from the bar. A long strand of hair had come loose from her bun during her climb, and she pushed it off her face. “My mom was trying to piss off my grandmother, or at least, that’s what I figure happened. Rhonda, as I usually call my mom because it suits her better than Mom, was in her hospital bed. She was dating that rock star who used to wear leopard print midriff tops and black leather pants. Shit, what was his name? He always sang about fast cars and fast women.”
“That could be half the rock stars from the nineties.”
Sugar rocked precariously on the bar as she lifted one hand to wave at Harold, a guy who was in and out of this place so much that he had his own reserved room. He was big on crossword puzzles and had taken a seat on a bench across the grass. Sugar shifted slightly to one side. My heart jumped as she slipped backward. She swung her legs around and somersaulted off, landing perfectly on her feet.
“Fucking hell, Sugar.” I pressed my hand against my chest. “Scared the shit out of me.”
She laughed. “Those gymnastic lessons really paid off.”
I shook my head. “You’re certifiable, you know that?”
“Uh, hate to break it to you, sweetie, but we are all certifiable at this place. That’s why we’re here.”
“Yeah, speak for yourself.” I took another draw on my cigarette. “So, you were named Sugar to make your grandmother mad?”
She came up to me and took the cigarette, making sure to brush my finger with hers as she reached for it. The end of my cigarette slid between her lips. Her cheeks sucked in, and she rolled an impressive smoke ring off her tongue. The ring was gone and dissolved long before I caught the breath I’d lost watching her. She handed me back my smoke, knowing full well that her erotic little puff on my cigarette had just made me hard as concrete. She walked across to the opposite pole and, as usual, my eyes dropped to the tattoo on her lower back.
She spun back around and leaned against the pole. “I think his name was Denver Smits or something like that. Anyway, at that time, he was a big name, and my mom said the nurses kept coming into her room pretending to be helpful and attentive but they just wanted to see the rock star. He wasn’t my dad or anything like that. But my prim and proper grandmother had come to see me at the hospital too. When the nurse came in to get the information for the official birth certificate my mom hadn’t really given my name much thought. She had nothing. So, my grandmother told the nurse to write in Susan, because that was the name of some sister she’d lost in a car accident. Denver said you should call her Sugar. And my mom, who was always pissed at my grandmother, looked at the nurse and spelled out Sugar.”
“And you know all this because—”
“My mom has told me the story about ten times. Always gives her a good laugh. My grandmother was kind of an old, rich prune. She lived in a big house that always smelled like powder and properness, and she sent me monogrammed towels for Christmas. Don’t know what the hell I was supposed to do with towels that had a big S on them but whatever. One time, I convinced her to make rice krispy treats with me. As I swirled the big marshmallowy glob around in the pot, she decided they were too messy. She dumped them in the trash. I mean how fucked up do you have to be to drop a perfectly good lump of rice krispy treats into the trash? I never asked her to bake with me again, and she was glad. She died three years ago, a burst blood vessel in her brain. Being uptight will do that to you.”
I smiled. “Is that right?”
“Yep.” She took a second hit off my cigarette. Another ring lifted off the tip of her small tongue, and I watched her, again, like a hungry dog watching a steak.
“Who taught you to blow smoke circles?”
She tapped her chin as if it could have been one of a number of people. Her nails were trimmed short, but she’d still painted them pink. I pushed away the notion of what she might have done with Lawson to get him to sneak in a bottle of nail polish. Short nails was a rule. Apparently, some of the previous guests had figured out how to carve gashes in skin with long ones.
“That’s right. It was Griffin, boyfriend number six for Rhonda. She would shop, and Griffin and I would fuck and afterward he would pull out a ciggie and teach me how to blow rings.”
I stared at her trying my hardest to not flinch at her words.
“I’m going in. I heard they’re serving watermelon for lunch.” She strolled away, knowing full well that I was watching her. Because I was always watching her.
“You keep telling me shit like that just to shock the hell out of me,” I called to her as those long legs carried her across the lawn, her tattoo rocking back and forth like a boat made of ink. “And damn if it didn’t fucking work every time,” I muttered to myself. I brought the cigarette to my mouth hoping to catch the slight taste of her lips on the tip. I gazed through a screen of smoke and watched as she sidled past Lawson on her way inside. He made a point of looking at her ass, but she didn’t give him so much as a glance. I was absurdly happy about that.
Lawson was one of those oversized fools who’d, obviously, been hired for the position of ward assistant more for his brawn than his brains. He wore his hair real short, and most of the time, his nostrils were flared like an angry stallion’s. He outweighed me by a good thirty pounds, but they were a soft thirty pounds.
He surveyed the yard and headed straight for me. “Shit.”
Lawson turned his squarish shaped head back to make sure no one was around. Then he returned his beady eyes to me. He motioned toward the cigarette. “Jameson, you know there’s no smoking allowed at this facility.”
“So I’ve heard.” I stuck the cigarette in between my lips and sucked hard. Long fingers of white smoke reached out and circled his wide face.
He fanned it away with his hand. His mouth pulled tight with rage. “Look, what you saw in there—”
“It’s not going to happen again.”
His mouth dropped open, and now, he looked even dumber. “What?”
“It’s over. You’re not goi
ng to touch her again.” I took another hit.
He pushed his thin lips up into an ugly grin. “Technically, she was touching me. And it was fucking nice.” The asshole knew he was stabbing me with each word, but I kept my cool. He wasn’t worth getting my ass arrested.
I tossed down the cigarette and smashed it with my shoe against the black rubber mat. “You like your job, Lawson?”
He lifted his finger to my face, but my expression made him lower his hand. “Look, you coke snorting little rich boy, don’t be threatening me. You walked into the controlled substance closet. Don’t know how you got in, but that alone can get you kicked out of here.”
“So?” I said. “I’ll just be going back to my coke snorting, rich boy life. You’ll be out of a fucking job. Here’s the deal, Lawson. We both keep our mouths shut. You keep your fucking paws off of Sugar, and if you yank that dick of yours out in front of her again, I will twist it into a fucking pretzel. Oh, and I like Camels best.”
Dumbness turned to confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I like Camels. Two packs a week should do and then you can keep your job.” I brushed past him, wanting badly to clash shoulders with him but deciding against it.
I could still see the dumbstruck goober’s reflection in the front window of the building as I walked inside.
Chapter 3
Sugar stacked the watermelon rinds in a curved tower on her plate. She had skipped the sandwiches and filled her plate with the fruit.
“Guess you really were looking forward to watermelon,” I said.
Her lips were watermelon red, and, no doubt, watermelon sweet too. “A good piece of watermelon is like a thousand dollar bottle of wine. Rich and fruity and delicious. Not that I’ve ever tasted a thousand dollar bottle of wine, but that’s how my uncle, the one with the California winery, describes it.”
I avoided the topic of my conversation with Lawson while she gnawed away like the cutest little rabbit on her fruit. Mandy, one of the patients, or residents as doctors and nurses like to call us as if we were all part of a big, fun neighborhood, had been sitting nearby. She was someone who was always completely preoccupied with herself. She’d been in a few movies, ones I’d seen but I couldn’t remember her in any of them. Apparently, she didn’t make a big impression on screen. Off screen, she was pretty and confident and thought highly of herself because she’d been in movies. Here, at Green Willow, she faded into the pale green walls, a nobody, like the rest of us. Only Sugar didn’t fade. And it seemed Mandy had developed a healthy dose of disdain for her because of it. After picking at her sandwich for a few more minutes, Mandy got up and left.
Aside from two nurses taking a lunch break on the opposite side of the room, the dining area was empty. I looked over at Sugar. She licked the tip of one finger, which stopped me cold for a second. This was a purposeful tease. Once I recovered, I figured it was time to confess. “Lawson and I had a little talk. He’s bringing me cigarettes, free of charge. So, you can keep your hands and whatever else to yourself.”
Sugar slumped back against the chair and stared at me for a long moment. “I already told you, Mr. Center of the Universe, I was getting a joint for Peggy. So, fuck off and don’t tell me what to do.”
Now it was my turn to stare hard at her. She didn’t flinch. I wanted to respond, but the truth was, she was right. I had no say in anything she did. My tongue was already twisting up, and I knew that if I opened my mouth to speak, the words would get stuck. I stayed silent.
The cold glare Sugar had produced especially for me, softened as she looked over my shoulder. She smiled, but it wasn’t for me.
“Hey, Jules, you didn’t eat lunch,” she said cheerily as if we hadn’t just been sitting in a block of ice.
Julian headed straight toward our table. Like a horse with blinders on, he rarely noticed anything that was happening beyond his line of vision. His blue eyes, blond hair, boy next door features and sinewy build made him seem like the kind of guy girls would go nuts for, but his complexion was bleached white from lack of sunlight and he wasn’t exactly the type who could charm a girl out of her panties, or anything else for that matter.
He had his favorite blue cap pulled down low on his head, the one that had been autographed by some famous mountain climber, a French sounding name I could never remember. He had a lot of caps, kind of an obsession of his along with the mountain climbing thing. But this cap was the one he always wore. Besides Dr. Kirkendall, Sugar and I were two of the only people he talked to. He looked amped up about something. It was weird, Julian always looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin, and at the same time, you got the feeling that the guy had a complete cerebral understanding of the universe.
He ignored Sugar’s comment about lunch. Besides blinders, sometimes the guy had in imaginary earplugs too, like he could just drop himself into a Helen Keller world and turn off all his senses and be completely alone with his big brain, his massive fucking brain.
He leaned over the table. Rock climbing chalk was smeared on his forearm. “I want to show you two something. Come by my place if you’re finished.” My place, the guy always referred to his room as ‘my place’ like it was his home or something, which I guess it sort of was. He told me once that he’d always had much greater respect for his grandfather, old man Fitzpatrick, his paternal grandfather, than for his own dad. Maybe being here kept Julian closer to the man he loved and further from the man he wasn’t so crazy about.
Sugar stood up. “Wait, I’ll walk back with you, Jules.” She showed him her plate of watermelon rinds. “You missed out.” But Julian had something on his mind, so food didn’t matter. As they walked out, Sugar dropped her arm around his shoulder. Julian stiffened at first. If it had been anyone else, anyone but Sugar, he would have pushed the arm away. Physical contact wasn’t something Julian was into, or maybe I was wrong and maybe secretly the guy craved it. Maybe he secretly enjoyed it. It was Sugar, after all, and a guy would have to be fucking nuts not to crave her touch. Maybe, just maybe, beneath the strange, uneasy exterior, Julian wasn’t all that nuts.
I tossed the last half of my sandwich and headed down the hallway to Julian’s place. Three fast knocks and two slow ones. That was the knocking pattern Julian had devised for Sugar and me. That way, he knew it was us. I could hear Sugar’s voice through the door as she came to open it.
Her blue eyes smiled. She was through being pissed. “Tommy, nice of you to drop by.” It was like that with Sugar and me. One minute, anger would put a wall up between us, and the next minute, everything was chill. And in between our mutual mood swings, I never stopped thinking about her.
Being the grandson of the man the building was named after had its perks. While the rest of us had plain, peach colored walls adorned with pleasant paintings of the ocean and flowery meadows, Julian’s walls were dotted with fake rocks. An entire rock climbing wall had been constructed from one side to the next. On the wall over his bed, he had pinned up his collection of hats, every color in the rainbow and then some.
Since the ceilings were only nine feet high, Julian did most of his climbing across instead of up. He’d calculated that the distance from the starting point rock to the final rock on the adjacent wall was sixteen feet of mountain. Hanging on the wall at the end of the rocks was a whiteboard where Julian kept track of the distance he climbed. His goal was the highest point in the United States, Mount McKinley, at just over twenty thousand feet. Today’s total had been scribbled hastily in blue marker— eight thousand, thirty-five feet, and he’d calculated that to miles, which was one of those long decimal numbers.
Julian stared wide eyed at me. “Did anyone follow you?”
I glanced back at the closed door and held down a smile. “Uh, don’t think so, Jules. Just me.” Julian’s paranoia was not new to me, but sometimes, it was hard not to find it humorous. Sugar caught the sarcasm in my tone and scolded me with a silent scowl. Julian hadn’t caught it. He was leaning over his computer clic
king away fiendishly like some mad doctor working hard to bring his creature to life. The guy swung easily from manic to depressed, but he swore they couldn’t pin the bipolar label on him because he had too many other symptoms that just didn’t fit the mold. One thing was for sure, they gave the guy a lot of prescribed drugs to tame whatever demons were bothering him. Sometimes, if I ran into him in the morning, he seemed as heavily drugged as a horse getting readied for castration, like my grandfather’s stallion. My mom and I had driven to his ranch, and as we pulled up to the barn, Grandpa’s gray stallion, Rebel, was stretched out on the dirt with its legs splayed apart like a rubber horse and there was blood everywhere. ‘I-i-is the horse dead’, I’d asked my mom. The scene had me upset enough to stutter out the question. Mom shook her head and considered her words carefully. ‘No, Thomas, they’re just castrating him to make him nicer.’ I hadn’t understood the word castrating at first, but later, that night my grandfather laid it out in simpler terms. ‘Tommy, cutting off a horse’s balls takes the dragon out of him. Now ole Rebel will be just like a puppy dog when you go out to visit him in the pasture’. I nearly puked, thinking about how much it must have hurt Rebel, and I couldn’t figure out why anyone would rather have a puppy than a dragon.
“All right, this is it.” Julian raised his finger over the keyboard as if he was the president about to press the button in the nuclear football. His finger went down. Sugar and I braced ourselves as if the roof might lift off. There was a sucking sound and then quiet, pure quiet.