Bunches (10 page)

I’m seriously late to the
Remember, and Jessie doesn’t understand why it’s a problem.

“I don’t see what the big deal
is,” she says. “You work every day. Yesterday was the first day in weeks that
you didn’t go in at all, and you didn’t even see me.”

That’s probably the fourth time
she’s brought up our not seeing each other yesterday, and every time I hold my
tongue instead of pointing out it was her choice to cancel our plans for a run
yesterday. She didn’t want to come to the block party, and I was hanging out with
Ben and Katie.

“I told Lila I’d be in,” I say in
frustration. “She wasn’t supposed to work behind the bar this late.”

Jessie shrugs. She still clearly
doesn’t care.

“Want me to take you home first?
You can clean up?” she starts in, but this time I interrupt. I feel bad about
doing it. I hate seeing her lip quiver, but she knows I have to work.

“Can you just take me to the
Remember?”

“Fine,” she mutters, and her
lower lip stops shaking.

“Want to come in for a while and
hang out?” I say. I don’t know why I ask that. Maybe just to prove to her that
she hates my job.

“I have a lot to get done at
home,” she says. Jessie is twenty-two and in grad school. She lives in a
cottage on her parents’ property in the summer.

I look out the window. We’re
almost there.

“Okay,” I say.

“See you later,” she says,
putting her hand on my arm. We kiss goodbye, but it’s quick.

I hurry into the Remember. I’m
now about two hours late and I have a lot of work to do. I go into my back
office and work for a solid two hours.

Finally, getting through the
worst of the never-ending paperwork, I sigh and decide to check on the floor.

I’ve been feeling nervous all
day, but it has nothing to do with my girlfriend troubles or the fact that the
bar isn’t doing quite as well as I would like it to.

I told Nora who I was and she
didn’t hate me. That was one thing. Good. I’m glad. I have a feeling that once
she thinks about it she’ll want to know more about my role in that night. But
we aren’t there yet.

I also think she will have
searched out my family history. There was a spark of a question in her
beautiful, haunted eyes. She wanted answers and by now she’s probably gotten at
least some of them.

But neither of those facts is
what’s making me nervous. My past is my past. It’s worse than some people’s and
probably a bit better than others’.

What’s making me nervous is the
fear that after I talk to Nora she won’t like me.

To deal with my nerves I stand up
and head for the front. I know there’s a steady stream of customers, and I need
a walk. I’ve been at my desk for too long.

The first thing I see when I
enter the dining area is Nora, and everything else fades away. I don’t look up
and down the bar to see if anyone is sitting there and if they have drinks. I
don’t check to see if I know, as I’m sure I do, any of the patrons at the other
tables.

I study Nora’s profile and my
mood lifts instantly. She’s more relaxed than I’ve seen her at the bar or last
night. She’s laughing at something Noah has said. The instant I met Noah I
liked him, mostly because he was obviously smart enough to befriend her, so I’m
glad to see him making her happy.

When she smiles her whole face
lights up, her shoulders rise, and her hands curl at the fingers just a little,
like she’s ready to break into laughter at any moment. When I see her like that
I forget how much sadness she carries.

Before I can move or go talk to
Lila, who came into the back a while ago to see how I was doing and ask a
couple of questions, Lizzy looks up and spots me. Her whole face lights up with
mischief and she waves me over.

I don’t hesitate. I stop at a
couple of tables to greet regulars, then I’m with Nora.

“Hey,” I say, to the table at
large, doing my best to keep my voice light. Nora goes rigid. I feel my jaw
tighten in frustration. We’ll never get anywhere if I always just remind her of
pain.

“Remember me? I’m the bartender,
and we saw each other at the coffee shop and at the block party? JJ? Would it
make you feel better to meet me for a third time?”

Nora can’t help but grin.

“I think I got it,” she says.

“Hey,” they all chorus.

“How’s your meal?” I ask,
smiling. “Everything satisfactory?”

“It’s delicious,” said Noah,
indicating his empty plate.

I’m about to turn to Nora and ask
her specifically how her meal is when there’s a commotion at the door.

Before I go to investigate I
touch Nora’s shoulder, lightly, but she still jumps a little at the pressure of
my body on hers. My eyes widen a little. I didn’t know I had that kind of
effect on her.

“This does not count as you
coming to talk to me,” I murmur lightly. She gives me a startled look, probably
because I said it in front of her friends, but I leave before she has a chance
to say anything else. I want her to know I’m glad she came, so it’s one less
thing for her to have to worry about. By the delighted look Lizzy is giving her
I can tell she’s going to get an earful now.

The commotion at the door is bad,
because it’s related to the problems we’ve been having with the Black Jack.
Their patrons get way too drunk and then have a habit of staggering over to the
Remember and harassing girls here. My talk with Cuben has obviously done no
good, and he goes through managers like water through a strainer, so I haven’t
been able to get anywhere with them, either.

The Black Jack has several
bouncers, and two of them are standing at the door now. They are big and stocky
men, both easily bigger than Ben.

“Afternoon,” I greet them,
strolling over and nodding to Melissa, the hostess on duty. She’s married and
in her thirties now, but she’s worked at the Remember since she was a teenager
and my grandfather owned the place.

“Hey JJ,” she murmurs, before she
rolls her eyes and hurries away. I glance at Ethan and Zane. I’m not a fan of
either of them, but they’ve never given me any big problems.

“What can I do for you?” I ask,
leaning my elbow against the hostess stand.

“We just wanted some breakfast
and Mel said she wasn’t sure if she could seat us,” said Zane, a guy with a
shaved head and bulging muscles.

I shrug. “You know you aren’t
supposed to come around here. It upsets people,” I say. “And it causes problems
on the weekend.”

Ethan cracks his knuckles. His
nose looks permanently smashed, probably from too many bar fights.

“We don’t have a problem with you
if you don’t have a problem with us,” he says. His eyes are dark and growing
darker.

I want to keep this simple. “I
don’t have a problem with you,” I say, still trying for casual, “just what
happens on the weekend.” Before either of them can argue I continue, “Why don’t
you guys grab a table and I’ll send someone right over?” I say. “Happy to have
you.”

I’m really not. These guys are
trouble, and given the way Zane is leering at Nora, I’m liable to throw a punch
before all is said and done. But I have to attempt to stay on good terms with
them, so all I can do is give it a try and hope for the best.

“Sorry for the confusion about
seating you,” I add for good measure. The guys shrug and I see them to a table.
Melissa raises an eyebrow at me. I was the one who instructed her that I wanted
to keep these guys out, and now I’m letting them in with barely an argument.

Jessie’s a pretty girl. I’ve seen
guys check her out before. It hasn’t really bothered me and not because I know she’s
mine. It hasn’t really bothered me because I don’t really care.

I want to take Zane and Ethan and
slam them against the wall.

I have a problem. A really big
problem. And she’s beautiful.

“She’s catatonic. Are you sure
that man didn’t upset her?” My mom’s shrill voice rings out. She’s frantic.
She’s been frantic since they pulled us out of the water.

I hear a doctor’s murmured reply.
What man is she talking about? The only man I’ve ever known slipped out of my
cold grasp and died.

There are bright lights and a
terrible smell. I hate the smell of chemicals and I feel like gagging, but my
body doesn’t have enough energy to gag.

I reach out blindly and feel my
mom’s grip on my wrists. She’s hanging onto me for dear life, as if she’s
afraid I’ll drown too if she lets go. Maybe I will.

“It’s okay, honey,” she murmurs.
Her mouth is so close to my ear that I can feel her breath on my neck.

“He saved her life,” says the
doctor. “He got to her first and got her out of the water. She was refusing to
let go of her friend.”

“He was her boyfriend,” says my
mother angrily. “Of course she wouldn’t let go of him.”

“I understand,” the doctor says,
“but she was cold and she was traumatized and he got her out of the water. He
did his best and she’s better for it.”

I don’t feel very good and I
wonder if it’s possible to feel worse. Obviously my mother thinks I should be
fine.

“Mom,” I say. “I’m . . .” Well,
I’m not okay. I’m not nearly, but I don’t even know who she’s talking about.

“Who are you talking about?” I
ask thickly, my mouth dry.

For the first time I look up and
meet her eyes. She solidifies in my gaze, and her shoulders relax a little and
the tiniest of smiles appears. She’s glad I can see her. I feel the tears come,
and she moves forward, wrapping her arms tightly around me.

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” she
murmurs, stroking my hair. It sounds like she’s crying too. “You’ll get through
this.”

“But who are you talking about,
Mom?” I ask, almost stupidly.

“No one,” she says hoarsely. “It
doesn’t matter anymore.”

She’s right. Nothing matters
anymore.

“What happened?” I remember
water, and Michael. I remember screaming and strong hands pulling me out. I
remember fighting them, because of Michael. I didn’t want to be saved.

“Michael died, didn’t he?” I
whisper. I already know the answer, because I saw it happen, and some things
you cannot un-see. I saw him drown. I saw the search lights. I heard yelling,
even my name called. That’s why I fought.

“They said you were wild when
they found you,” my mom whispers through painful tears. Some fall on her hands,
some fall on mine.

“I didn’t want to leave him,” I
say by way of explanation. “It should have been obvious.”

“Honey,” my mom says, “that’s not
what Michael would want for you.”

“Michael would want us to be
together,” I say. My throat is closing and my eyes are starting to sting,
because they want to cry, but I don’t have any tears left. My head pounds.
“Michael would want to be there for my birthdays, my graduations, my jobs and
my job changes. He would want to be there for the big events in my future and
the small ones. He wouldn’t want me to have to go to them alone.” A few tears
dribble down my cheek and I swipe them angrily away, releasing my mom’s hand.

“Honey,” she says, “get some
rest.”

I nod, mostly just to get her to
go away. I love my mother, but I’m alone in this. Once she’s gone I continue to
sit, replaying the events over and over in my mind until I’m nearly hysterical.

In the end the doctors sedate me,
and I sleep. Mostly there are flashes of pain and fear, but every once in
awhile I see the spark of a bright light, a deep voice, and strong hands
pulling me out of the abyss.

The next day and the day after
are no different. I’m physically fine. My mother takes me home.

I’d been cold in the water. That
was all. There will be no lasting damage . . . physically.

My dad wants to pretend nothing
happened. My mom wants me to move on and be the bright kid I used to be. What
she doesn’t understand is that any light in me was because of Michael, and the
light inside me was extinguished in those dark waters.

None of Michael’s family visits
me. They won’t speak to me either. I ask Mom if I can call Amelia, but my mom
gets a dark cloud over her face and tells me not to.

She looks stricken.

I don’t understand. At least it’s
still summer and I don’t have to face school yet. Lizzy stands by me. When my
parents are working she’ll come over and hang out. I can see there’s a clear
effort not to leave me alone.

“Why haven’t I heard from
Michael’s family?” I ask Lizzy, almost a month after it happened. We’re sitting
outside on her deck, her parents are grilling nearby. It’s a pleasant late
summer night. I sit quietly, holding a cup of tea that Lizzy’s mom made me.
It’s as comforting as anything can be.

Lizzy’s face clouds. Her
beautiful features pucker. “Um, your mom said not to talk about it with you.”

“Mom’s not here,” I point out.
“We’re starting junior year. After that is senior year. She’s never going to
treat me like an adult. Don’t let her drag you into that as well.”

Lizzy sighs and looks out at her
lawn and the deeply green forest beyond.

“Amelia doesn’t want to talk to
you because her mom blames you for what happened to Michael.” My friend’s eyes
are locked on mine, full of concern.

I feel like I’ve been punched in
the gut. The world continues to spin, Lizzy’s parents continue to grill, but my
own world has come to a standstill.

“She blames me for his dying?” I
ask, confused.

“I guess she never liked that you
two went out there, and she always told him not to swim,” Lizzy says. “So, he
wouldn’t have been out there if not for you.”

I’m silent. There’s just nothing
to say. Lizzy reaches across the empty space between us and touches me on the
arm. I jerk at the contact as if I’ve been stung, and her eyes dull a little.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says.
“It was an accident, and it wasn’t your fault.”

My lip quivers. It was Michael’s
idea to go out there that night. But his mother is right, he wouldn’t have been
out there if not for me.

I feel ill.

“She just misses her son,” Lizzy
says. “Amelia wants to support her mom. They’ll come around.”

I wasn’t so sure. Michael’s mom
had never wanted us dating. She thought we were too young for a serious
relationship and had told Michael so.

“All kinds of teenagers do stuff
every day that’s way crazier than you and Michael ever did,” Lizzy continues.
“It was just a freak accident.”

I can’t sit there any longer, so
I dash into the house and cry in the bathroom. Lizzy lets me, because she knows
I need my space and I need time to heal. I remember that night again and I
remember Michael. I’m afraid I’ll forget certain details, so I replay them a
million times over in my mind. It can’t possibly be healthy.

When I make my way back out to
the patio, Lizzy’s parents and Lizzy are sitting around the table. It’s a
Saturday, and her dad is just now sitting down to read the newspaper. They’re
talking in hushed tones.

“It’s just awful,” Lizzy’s mother
says. “That poor boy.”

“What poor boy?” Lizzy asks,
frowning as she takes a big helping of spaghetti. Lizzy is one of those girls
who can eat a massive amount of carbs and still stay stick thin. Sometimes I
wonder where it all goes.

“Jackson’s dad was arrested for
beating his mom a few days ago. There aren’t a lot of details about what
happened, but the neighbors think it’s been going on for years. Jackson’s mom
died yesterday,” Lizzy’s dad says quietly. They all look at me, but I’m too
preoccupied to wonder why.

“He was such a nice young man,”
says Lizzy’s mom. “Always so polite. He must be devastated.”

“He used to mow the lawn, didn’t
he?” Lizzy asks.

“He did all sorts of odd jobs
around town,” answers Lizzy’s dad. “His parents’ income was pretty erratic.
That’s probably why they sent him to live with his grandfather so many times.”

I pick at my food, remembering
that night, the water, the loneliness. I look up at Lizzy and wonder if I’ll
always be lonely.

I gasp awake, drenched in sweat.
I look around my room. It’s still dark. I don’t keep a clock in my room because
the lights bother me, but I grab my phone and see that it’s three a.m.

I have work in the morning, and
reliving nightmares couched in memories is not a good way to get to sleep. I
get up, grab a drink of water, and look out the window, trying to forget.