17
Stanton
A
bout ten o’clock the next night, we pull into to my brother’s trailer lot, among a sea of pickup trucks. It’s like spring break in the country—teenage kids everywhere. Mary and Marshall disappear into the throng of red-plastic-cup-holding, walking, talking hormones. Sofia pauses to look around as we walk up the path to the door—twinkling lights sparkle in the trees, a full moon hangs in the sky, Led Zeppelin floats out from somewhere in the back.
“It’s nice here,” she says. “Peaceful.”
While she’s checking out the compound, I check her out—again. She looks drop-dead gorgeous in tight, dark blue jeans, knee-high heeled black boots, and a V-neck sleeveless white top that clings in all the right places. Her hair is thick and bouncy, curled at the ends, and a long string of pearls hangs around her neck. My grandmother used to wear pearls—but she never wore them as well as Sofia Santos.
Before I can open the door to the trailer, it’s jerked open for us, and one of my brother’s blond hippie followers—Sadie or Sal—stumbles out. She spots us with happy, glassy eyes.
“Heeey!” She hugs us, smelling like marijuana. “Welcome to the jungle! We’re gonna turn on the Slip ’N Slide down the hill, y’all comin’?”
Sofia smiles indulgently. “Maybe later.”
After hippie girl staggers away, Sofia says, “It’s like college all over again.”
I snort. “Columbia wasn’t anything like this, and I lived in a goddamn fraternity house.”
Just then a guy who looks more my age goes streaking past us—butt-ass naked. I cover Sofia’s eyes. “All right, it
is
like college all over again.”
We head inside, pushing apart the strings of turquoise beads hanging down in the doorway. A stick of incense burns on a shelf, filling the room with a pungent odor. Carter smiles broadly when he sees us through the crowd of bodies that fills the room to capacity. He hugs me, bare chested except for a tan leather vest and prayer beads. “Welcome. Glad you could make it.” Then he hugs Sofia—for a while. “Let’s get you something to drink.”
Carter gives Sofia a tour of the tricked-out trailer and I’m relieved to see adolescents aren’t the only guests at the party. It’s actually a lot like a high school reunion. Everyone in my graduating class who hasn’t left town—which is pretty much all of them—is here. We catch up, and I proudly introduce them to Sofia. About an hour later, she says in my ear, “I’m going to go outside—get some air.”
Colorful Chinese lanterns hang from strings above a line of white rosebushes, framing in the stone patio. A bonfire roars further down, lighting almost the whole yard. I search through the groups of people standing on the grass and—fucking finally—I spot Jenny. She’s talking to tiny, brunette Jessica Taylor—a former member of the cheerleading squad. But most important, JD is nowhere to be seen.
Time to turn on the charm.
I pass Sofia my cup of Jack Daniel’s. “Can you hold this for me?”
She follows my line of sight. “Sure.”
I snap off the stem of a full white rose and show it to her. “What do you think?”
Her grip on the cups tightens. “I think she’ll love it.”
“If all goes as planned, I’ll be gone for a while. Marshall will take you home if you want to go sooner, okay?”
Sofia stares down at her shoes. “Okay.”
I wink. “You’re the best, Soph. Wish me luck.”
But as I walk away . . . she doesn’t.
Jessica Taylor greets me with a hug. Jenn eyes me warily. I hold out the rose to her. “A peace offerin’.”
Her face thaws just a bit, her pretty pink lips forming a reluctant smile. “Thank you.”
Jessica laughs. “Lord, I wish I was as friendly with my ex. He can’t be bothered to even give me rat poison.” She shakes her head. “But you two always were the perfect couple. Remember that football game junior year, after Stanton scored the winning touchdown? And he came trottin’ off the field, straight to you, Jenn? Picked you up and kissed you in front of the whole school—like somethin’ straight out of a Drew Barrymore movie?”
Jenny’s eyes warm and I know she remembers, the same as I do.
I’d been late picking her up, we’d argued. One word led to another, and by the time we got to the field she was swearing she’d never speak to me again. My romantic gesture dispelled her of that notion, and she spent that night after the game in the backseat of my truck, speaking all kinds of wonderful words like,
yes, more, again
.
Jessica moves on to refill her drink, and I don’t stop staring into Jenny’s eyes.
“JD fully recovered?”
She snorts. “Like you care, but yes, as a matter of fact. Carter brought some herbal compresses by the house for him—cleared up the rest of the swellin’. He’s inside the trailer right now, gettin’ more.”
My smile turns tight. “I’ll be sure to thank Carter for that.” Then I lean closer. “Why don’t we—”
I never finish the sentence.
From behind us, on the patio, there’s a whistle, hollering, and rowdy catcalls. I turn and look toward the noise—to see it’s being directed at Sofia. From four assholes I’ve never seen before, whose names I don’t know, but wouldn’t mind reading on a couple of headstones.
Then one of them reaches out and grabs her ass.
When they say
so mad I saw red
, I never knew that you actually see red—but that’s just what happens. My vision tunnels, bordered with hot crimson. I don’t remember walking away from Jenny, I don’t recall crossing the yard. The next thing I’m aware of is my hand around a scumbag’s throat—slamming his head up against the side of my brother’s double-wide.
“Touch her again, I’ll rip your fuckin’ arm off and shove it up your ass.”
His hands claw, trying to pry my fingers off—I just tighten my grip.
Then Carter’s next to me. “Easy, Stanton, we’re pacifists here. You need to settle down, brother.”
When the dickhead’s face turns an acceptable shade of purple, I let him go. He holds his neck, heaving and gasping. And I snarl at my brother, “Don’t tell me to settle down. Tell your friend to watch where he puts his fuckin’ hands.”
With one hand on his chest, I pin the grabby prick to the wall of the trailer one last time, for good measure.
Then I wrap my arm around Sofia and lead her away. Her eyes glow up at me softly. “You know I could’ve handled that.”
“I know. But you shouldn’t have to.”
And I don’t leave her side the rest of the night.
• • •
At 1 a.m. the party is still going strong. Sofia’s silly, happy drunk—sitting next to me on a lawn chair, teaching Sadie naughty words in Por
tuguese. After six or seven Jack and Cokes, I’m pretty shit-faced myself. Carter runs out from the side of the trailer, calling me over, telling me to hurry. I hold my hand out to Sofia and we follow him around to the front. My brother puts his finger to his lips and jerks his head toward my truck.
My truck that has windows as steamed as that car in
Titanic
.
Carter takes one side and I take the other. As I bang on the windows shouting, “Police! Open up!”, he wrenches open the door.
Then he sings, “I see London, I see France, I see Marshall with no underpants!”
We laugh like hyenas as my little brother hops out in unbuttoned jeans and his hat, cursing the day we were born. A pink-faced blonde follows close behind, and much to Marshall’s disappointment, disappears into a group of her friends.
“Y’all suck!” Marshall scowls.
A bit later, we’re sitting around the bonfire—me, Carter, Marshall, Jenny, and JD. Carter takes a drag on a joint, then offers it to me. I shake my head. Sofia declines too. Jenny, however, readily accepts and hits it like a pro.
“I thought you said you weren’t as fun as you used to be?” I tease.
She blows out a cloud of smoke. “At twenty-eight, I smoke for completely different reasons than I did at sixteen.”
JD also takes a few hits.
“Alright, listen up, children—I got somethin’ to say,” Carter announces, and all eyes turn to him. “When Jenny and JD get married on Saturday, we’ll all be one family.”
Nope, not really.
I open my mouth, but he goes on. “Like the buzzin’ bees of a hive, we all must live in harmony for the colony to flourish. And I am sensin’ tension between Stanton and JD.”
JD’s shiny eyes squint. “There’s no tension. Stanton and I get along great.”
Sure. And as far as I’m concerned, we’d get along even better if he moved to China, tried climbing Mount Everest . . . died.
Jenny raises her hand like we’re back in school. “I agree, Carter. There’s tension.” She pats JD’s leg. “You’re just too sweet to see it, baby.”
“We have to purge the negativity,” Carter explains. “I have a foolproof plan to reestablish the natural order and reinforce a functioning hierarchy we can all be happy with.”
JD scratches his head. “That’s a lot of words, man. You wanna run that by me again?”
Natural order
.
Hierarchy.
It might just be the whiskey . . . but that sounds like a damn good idea.
• • •
It was definitely the whiskey.
“This is a terrible fuckin’ idea!”
Life’s funny. One day you’re wearing a suit that costs more than most people bring home in a month, impressing the boss with your skill and expertise. And a week later, you’re in the middle of a cattle pasture at two o’clock in the morning, too drunk to see straight, getting ready to race a tractor.
Yes, a tractor.
That was Carter’s grand idea. Healthy competition, may the best man win, and all that crap. Now my father’s tractors are spitting diesel smoke, rumbling like thunder—me in one, JD in the other. Carter’s got the song “Holding Out for a Hero” blasting from my truck speakers and Jenny’s standing in front of us. “Ready, set, go!”
She throws JD’s hat in the air and we take off. It’s a quarter of a mile to the tree, then we have to circle around and back. I push the pedal to the floor, shifting into high gear.
I hear Jenny scream, “Kick his ass, JD!”
And Carter, “That’s the way, boys! Feel the balance comin’ back—it’s all about the balance!”
Sofia cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Go Stanton! Drive that fucking tractor!”
And I laugh, loud and hard. I glance over at JD and he’s laughing too. Because it’s all so goddamn ridiculous . . . but in the best kind of way. As I start to turn around the tree, that’s when I decide I want to win. It’d be a great way to end a good night. With a victory.
But there’s a reason you’re not supposed to operate heavy machinery under the influence of drugs and alcohol. That reason becomes clear when JD and I don’t leave enough clearance as we both try to make tight U-turns and end up scraping the machines against one another. I move my leg just in time to not get pinned, but the tractors get hung up, caught on one another.
“Back it up!” I tell him, jerking the wheel.
“You back it up!” he retorts.
And just when I consider punching him out and backing up the fucking thing for him, a gunshot rings out, echoing across the field.
I instinctively flinch down. With my ears still ringing from the sound, I look over . . . and see my daddy, dressed in a blue robe and black boots, holding his shotgun.
The party’s definitely over.
• • •
“What in holy hell were you thinkin’?”
The six of us sit at the kitchen table, heads down, mouths shut.
“The two of you with a child! You didn’t act this way when you were in goddamn high school!”
It’s best to just let him get it all out. The more you talk, the longer he’ll yell.
“My son, the lawyer, tearin’ up my winter grass like a fool, with my other son—the drug dealer—helping him along!” he hollers, his cheeks bright and rosy, like a pissed-off Santa Claus.
Carter takes this moment to interject, “It was a bondin’ exercise. I’m a healer, Daddy.”
“You’re an idiot!”
And those are the first words my father speaks directly to my brother in two years. Makes sense.
Carter stands. “You need to relax. Stress is a silent killer. I have some herbs that can help you with that.”
“You can help yourself to my boot up your ass!” my father yells louder.
But Carter is not deterred. He throws his arms around my father’s neck. “I love you, Daddy. I’m so glad we’re talkin’ again.”
For just a moment, my father pats Carter’s back and his eyes go gentle. And I know he’s happy to be talking to my brother again too. Even if it’s just to yell at him.
Then he pushes him away and he’s back to glaring at us. “Every one of you are gonna get up at dawn to reseed my goddamn field, or I’m gonna break some asses!”
“Yes, sir,” JD answers.
“Yes, sir,” Jenny replies.
“Definitely don’t want any asses getting broke,” I agree.
And because she’s a smartass, Sofia adds, “Or cracked.”
I cover my mouth so my father doesn’t start up again. Marshall giggles behind me.
Just as he turns toward the stairs, Mary comes strolling in the back door wearing the same outfit she had on earlier—denim shorts, red top, white denim jacket, blue sneakers. Of course it’s the same outfit—because she hasn’t been home yet to change into anything else.
She screeches to a halt just inside the door, looking at the group of
us like a deer in the light of an oncoming tractor trailer. “What’s goin’ on? Did somebody die?”
No. But the night is still young.
“Are you just gettin’ home?” my father asks, his tone turning more threatening with every syllable.
Her face goes blank. A liar’s face—the kind who’s trying to not show any tells that they’re bluffing. “Of course not!” she claims. “My curfew is at midnight, and it’s after midnight. If I was just gettin’ in now . . . that would be wrong.”
My sister is not a good poker player, and she’d make a terrible witness in a court of law. But my father, like so many others when it comes to his youngest, his only girl—is blind. Or he’s just getting too goddamn old to keep up.
“Then where the hell were you?” I ask, tilting my chair back.
She gives me the evil eye for a split second. Then more smoothly she says, “Couldn’t sleep. I . . . got dressed and went for a walk.”