Feast of Weeds (Books 1--4) Page 15

“I will.”

  “Promise,” I said. “I saved your life, remember? Promise me—don’t leave me for a single moment.”

  “I promise.”

  The fever took me. This time I welcomed it, jumped inside of it, asked it to keep me under a spell long enough to not remember a single moment of what came next.

  The old Victorian house was well taken care of. The porch was painted a cheery white, the grass and landscaping were a happy balance of care and growth. It was the sort of house I took pleasure in walking by. The sort of house that looked humble, settled into itself, inviting.

  Where the house met the sidewalk there was a straggling line of weeds. Coarse grasses and some sort of delicate purple weed-flower poked through the cracks in the sidewalk, overlooked, for now. They caught my eye, like they always do. Living organisms that don’t belong in the spaces they inhabit. Living organisms that hang on to their chosen ground with a tenacity that few other plants could match.

  In spite of Dylan’s earlier warnings, I thought surely we would find enough common ground with a home as lovely as theirs. If they saw beauty and enjoyment in morning glory vines, a miniature weeping willow tree, chamomile bushes and a patch of wildflowers, then Dylan’s parents would be welcoming. They would.

  “You okay?” Dylan squeezed my hand.

  “What? Oh. Just worried, I guess.” We locked our bikes to a street sign pole. I used my free hand to straighten the summer dress I’d bought specifically for this brunch. A cute yellow paisley pattern that showed off my legs.

  Since that first meeting, Dylan had coaxed me into bike riding with him to our various coffee, dinner and hang-out dates. He had a car hidden away somewhere, a green Saturn, he said, but I’d yet to see it. I appreciated having a reason to dust off my beach cruiser. Dylan had tuned it up for me. His insistence and care as he worked on it touched me more than if he had brought me flowers or jewelry.

  Dylan tugged my arm to his chest. “You’ll be fine. It’s my family I’m worried about.”

  “Did you grow up your whole life in this house?”

  “Pretty much,” he said. He pointed to the weeping willow tree. “That used to be as tall as me when I was five.” He pointed to the porch. “I cracked my chin on those steps several times while playing army soldiers with the neighbors.” He held open the fence gate that enclosed the front yard. “But this fence is newer because I backed into the old one the first day I drove by myself.”

  “No,” I said, laughing. “And did that begin your aversion to cars?”

  “Ha, no. I don’t have an aversion to cars, I just like bikes better. Cars are good for some things, but bikes are good for most things. Why would I pay for a gym membership, and then pay for a car to drive me there, when I can just ride my bike and—”

  “All right, all right.” I lifted my hands in mock surrender.

  “Right, you’ve heard this a few times by now. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I kissed him and felt the stubble on his face against the softness of my lips. The feeling was now pleasantly familiar. He dropped his hand to cup my butt through the thin cotton of the dress. We had first slept together a week ago and all of it was still so new and wonderful. I loved the smell of him and I breathed just a bit faster at the heat of his hand through my dress. I smiled against his lips.

  He stepped back reluctantly, allowing a soft breeze between us. He cradled my face with his hands, kissed my forehead, and then kissed the space between my neck and shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.

  “My place tonight?” He asked. “I even cleaned.”

  “Yes,” I said, and left it at that. If I said more my voice might crack. Instead I refocused on the evening’s agenda. Meet Dylan’s parents. Get them to like me.

  “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  We walked to the front door and he rang the doorbell.

  I had expected one of Dylan’s parents. Instead a young man who looked a lot like Dylan opened the door.

  “Good to see you, bro,” Dylan said.

  “You too, big brother.” The brother turned his gaze upon me. He had Dylan’s hair color and build, but a longer hair cut and a paler shade of blue eyes. “This Corrina?”

  “Yep,” Dylan said. “Corrina, this is my brother, Denny.”

  “Our parents liked names that started with the letter D for boys,” Denny said, “and K for girls.”

  K as in Krista. His sister who'd died.

  Denny smiled and held out his hand and I shook it. “Whatever you do, don’t bring up how pretty the front fence is, it’ll get both Dylan and my parents going.”

  Dylan laughed.

  “Oh, I see my warning has come a bit too late.” He ushered us both into the house. “Mom and Dad are barbecuing in the backyard.” He pointed to a landscape painting of some hills at dusk. “That’s Mom’s favorite painting so make sure you compliment it. Dad loves to fish and some of his catch is on the barbecue tonight, so make sure you mention how good it is. Bathroom is down the hall, did you need it?”

  “Yeah, might as well,” I said. Now that we were officially inside Dylan’s house and seconds away from meeting his parents I wanted to give myself a once-over. I walked to the hall bathroom and was about to close the door when I heard Denny’s voice.

  “Nice catch, bro. But did you warn Mom and Dad ahead of time?”

  “I told them I wanted them to meet my new girlfriend.”

  “Did you tell them about her?”

  “Not really, that’s what tonight is for.”

  “Did you tell her about them?”

  “She’s already nervous enough. It’ll be fine.”

  Denny snorted. My hand slipped off the doorknob and made a squeak, but they didn’t notice.

  “Dad’s already in the booze. Mom’s all set to launch into Darren stories. Well, she’s been going all week. His anniversary is next week.”

  Dylan sighed. “I know it.”

  “All right, bro, maybe you know best, but I wouldn’t bring my girl in here without warning her, especially when she looks Middle Eastern. She is, right?”

  “Yeah. Egyptian, if that makes a difference.”

  “It won’t.”

  “It will. I’ll make it matter.”

  “You serious about her?”

  “No question, man. I’m serious.”

  A pause in their conversation made me realize I was holding my breath. I continued to hold it, afraid letting it out would give myself away.

  “I’ll do my best to play interference.”

  “Thanks, bro. I appreciate that.”

  “How’d you end up with someone so hot?”

  Dylan laughed. “Man, my blue Marin.”

  “Your bike? What the hell? No way you’re cruising along on that baby and she, what? Can’t help but fall in love with your manly calves?”

  “Not quite like that. I had to retire the Marin…” Their voices drifted away from me. I guessed they must have moved to the back of the house.

  I locked the bathroom door, sat on the closed toilet seat, and wiped the sweat from my palms onto my dress. After a long minute, I gathered my courage, ran the faucet, and sprinkled some water on my neck to cool down. When I opened the bathroom door Dylan was leaning against the hallway wall. “Ready?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Before we go out there, I need to tell you something. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you sooner. Denny kind of pointed out I was being an ass by keeping this from you, but I didn’t want you to worry or think it mattered or—”

  “Just tell me, please.”

  “Alright, I had an older brother, Darren. He was killed in the war. And my dad, well, he’s not okay with it, and sometimes that comes out when he drinks. And my mom isn’t okay with it in a different way. They hold it against, well, they believe all of the Middle East is the enemy now. It’s been a lot for us. First Krista and then Darren…and if you want to back out, I’ll figure out something to say to them.”

  “
I’m sorry about your brother. I wish you had told me before, but no, I won’t back out. Not unless you think I should.”

  “No, I want you to meet them. They’re good people, just, well…you know how bad things can get after somebody dies.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m sure your parents will be fine. But I kind of want to get this over with. Unless there’s another secret you should tell me?”

  Dylan half-smiled. “Just that, according to Denny, I can be a real ass sometimes.”

  “You know, I really like Denny.” I linked arms with him. He laughed and we went outside. Just before they saw us, he grabbed my hand and kissed it. “It’ll be fine.”

  But it hadn’t been fine. The awful awkwardness, the painful silences, the not-so-silent comments that Dylan’s father made as he finished off one six-pack and started another. Denny tried to help play interference. I tried to help with serving the food, cleaning up, making conversation about my job, asking about their lives, complimenting the house. Dylan tried to be a bridge, talking about the things we must have had in common.

  Denny took the leftovers into the house and I cleaned up our plates. Dylan jumped in and asked about the last fishing trip, and then I complimented him on the fish and Dylan’s dad asked, “Are you Muslim?” I said I wasn’t. My father had been an Egyptian scientist and culturally Muslim, but I didn’t remember anything of that since I’d been born in the United States, and by then my parents had declared themselves secularists.

  “So you’re telling me my son is dating a Muslim and an atheist?”

  “Dad, you should stop talking now,” Dylan said.

  “You’re the one who brought her over.” He drained a can and popped open the next one. “Like you aren’t purposefully shitting on your brother’s grave or his childhood home or the—”

  “Stop it,” Dylan’s mother said. “Stop this right now. Corrina can’t help who she is.”

  I felt a glimmer of hope at her defense.

  “But we can’t help what happened either, or how we feel about it. Dylan, you know this isn’t going to work. You must know.”

  I waited for Dylan to defend us. I feared he wouldn’t. My very existence was causing people deep pain. Even if I didn’t deserve it, I couldn’t blame his parents. I didn’t want to start things out that way—as enemies fighting over Dylan.

  Dylan held my shoulders and leaned me against his chest. “I think we should leave,” Dylan whispered in my ear. “It’s not you that’s the problem. It’s not.”

  “All right,” I said. “It was nice to meet both of you, but I think it would be best if I leave now.”

  “Thank you, dear,” his mom said. “I believe that would be best.”

  “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, Mom. Once Dad is a little more sober.” There was a hint of disgust in Dylan’s voice, and I thought it wasn’t right for him to talk to his parents like that. They were grieving. However wrong that made them react to me, they did it because of grief.

  “You’re leaving, too?”

  “I love her, Mom. I love her, and if she goes, then I’m going.”

  “But Dylan, how can you—”

  “Come on.” He tugged me back into the house and closed the back door on his mother’s words.

  It was the first time either one of us had used the word love. I felt overwhelmingly sad about it.

  Denny stood at the kitchen island. He motioned to three shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “I know, I know, Dad isn’t a shining example of alcohol’s miracle-like benefits, but I do believe you two need a shot before getting the hell out of Dodge.”

  Before I thought about it too hard I swallowed mine. A couple of tears slipped down my cheek. I wiped them away, furious with myself.

  “I’m sorry, Corrina,” Dylan said. “I shouldn’t have brought you.”

  His statement felt like a punch in the gut, like I wasn’t worthy of his family after all. Like maybe even after the declaration of love, he was having second thoughts about me being worth the trouble.

  “You’re an ass, bro,” Denny said.

  I didn’t know why I couldn’t speak for myself just then, but I couldn’t, and I was grateful to Denny for doing it for me.

  Dylan crushed me into his embrace. “I love you.”

  I feared he would come to regret it, but I cared too much to stay silent. “I love you too.”

  “We’re leaving,” Dylan said over the top of my head.

  I kept my head buried in his shirt and took comfort in his clean soap smell. We’d figure this out. We’d find a way to work it out with his parents. To make it right.

  “Yeah, cool,” Denny said.

  I turned at the kitchen entrance and waved. “I’m glad we met,” I said. “Come over for dinner soon.”

  Denny smiled and nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “And thank you,” I said and turned away. I don’t know why but I looked back one more time. Denny faced the back window and the smile had disappeared from his face. He looked like he was preparing for battle. He grabbed the whiskey and drank directly from the bottle, wiped his mouth, then went back outside.

  Dylan latched the front gate behind us and unlocked our bikes from the pole. “You up for a longer ride? I need to burn some of that off,” he said cocking his thumb back to his parents’ house. “I don’t think I can sit still or be pleasant until I’ve worked them out of my system.”

  “Yeah, let’s do it,” I said. I pedaled after Dylan until all I could think about was the burn in my legs. When Dylan brought us around to his place we fell on each other without a word, but with a ferociousness that both scared and thrilled me.

  I woke to deep cold, the kind that sinks into the bones, that makes you forget what heat ever felt like. I wondered if this virus had taken Dylan’s parents and his brother, if they were still normal, or if they were like me, except their memory-rush would include all the ways I had injured their family.

  I woke up as if hit by a wave of cold water. Someone had pushed my jeans down to my ankles and my shirt up to my neck. My dingy, sweat-caked sports bra was skewed, mashing my breasts. Christopher loomed into view. He rested a hand against my bare stomach. I jerked against the ropes before I told myself to hold still. Hold still. Hold still.

  “I love you, Cheyanne,” Christopher said.

  Dylan’s image rose like a ghost before my opened eyes. His face superimposed over Christopher’s. A part of me shriveled up. There was a chastising look on Dylan’s face and his voice echoed inside my head. “You’re not stronger, so be smarter.” I couldn’t remember when or why he’d said that, but I remembered the voice and the worry inside of it and an idea bloomed.

  “Can you untie me? I would like to touch you.” I held my breath. Could you hear during a memory-rush?

  He ran his hands up and down my body. He touched me gently, as if I was his wife and he loved me and wanted to show me kindness and passion.

  I withdrew myself. I turned my head away and stared at the shoelace around my right wrist. I stared at the threads and the dirt and thought about whether it was a half-inch or one-quarter inch across. The threads swam out of focus. I brought them back into focus, and then forced them back out of focus.

  Air rushed across my ear. There was a loud thump, like a stick hitting a couch cushion. Christopher’s hands stopped. His weight fell onto me.

  I screamed and fought with his weight. Hands were at my wrist, and I struggled harder to prevent Christopher from pinning me down.

  “Let me untie them.” Maibe’s voice.

  Christopher’s shirt collar shifted and stuffed into my mouth so that I could only groan and hold still to show her I had heard.

  “Okay,” she said as the bonds fell away.

  I pushed Christopher off and pulled my clothes back together.

  Maibe held Jane’s bat in her hands. She gripped the bat so hard the blood drained from her fingers, turning them white. The bat had a smudge of blood on it.

  “Thank you,” I said. “If you
think you can put the bat down, I could use some help moving him.”

  We pushed Christopher back into his old prison. This time we did what Jane had argued for. We laid him out spread-eagled on the cement floor, ran the rope through some pipes and back to him, and we made sure he couldn’t bring together either his hands or feet. Then I closed the door, but it wouldn’t lock because he had pried off the lock during his first escape. For all I knew it had been my fault for not locking the door correctly.

  We both took turns using the toilet. I wondered how long we’d been out. Hours? Days? The water in the bathroom had stopped running.

  I forced myself to sip from one of the last remaining bottles. Maibe did the same. Ghosts and voices and emotions appeared. My muscles shivered with fatigue. I checked the box of MREs before my legs collapsed. One bar left. How many had we started with? How many had Jane taken and Christopher eaten?

  “What are we going to do?” Maibe asked.

  “I have a friend in New York,” I said, making a joke.

  Maibe twisted her mouth and looked at me sideways.

  I laughed. “Too far? Yeah, just a little.”

  I didn't say what I was really thinking—that part of me wanted to go to Cal Expo to find Dylan, and part of me never wanted to see him again.

  Chapter 10

  Maibe was still very much a thirteen-year-old girl, but spider-web wrinkles covered her skin now, and her face and mouth showed even deeper lines, like someone four times her age.

  I could feel some of it—the dry, papery texture of my face, the way my bones creaked at the joints. I pinched my skin and let it go. It stayed up and took an eternity to melt back into place.

  My brain felt like someone had taken a wire brush and bleach and scoured the inside of my skull, erasing all the boundaries. My thoughts felt sharp and purposeful, and also crowded.

  I saw Maibe, knew where I was and what we were doing, but I also looked at her and saw myself at twelve with that same hair and those same dark eyes, and remembered how it had been at the mall with Jane.

  “I can’t stop thinking about things that have already happened,” I said.

  “Me too,” she said. “Will it stop?”