Pretend You Love Me (32 page)

But she was Ma. My mother. I wouldn’t hurt her.

I piled the stuff beside her on the sofa. I placed the remote in her lap. Easy. Gently. “Here,” I said.

She was shaking. Protecting herself with her hunched up body. I realized suddenly she was afraid of me. My own mother was
afraid of me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my throat constricting. Sorry for whatever I did to you. Sorry for you. Sorry for me. As I backed out
of the room, she snatched the remote and clutched it to her chest. She fumbled around for a channel. “Sorry,” I repeated.
Sorry for being born.

I curled on my bed like a baby. No covers. My quilt was trashed. I thought about working out the pain with curls or crunches.
A hundred crunches. A thousand. There weren’t enough crunches in the world.

It didn’t matter. There was no pain to work out anymore. No feeling at all. Only numbness.

I craved a beer. A quart of Old Milwaukee. Absolut. The hard stuff, yeah. Burn my brain. Rip me bad. Find a tower.

They’d be going to the hayride tonight. This would be the first year I missed. So what? She’d be there with him.

She’d changed me. Ever since she came into my life, every day of my life was different. Out of kilter, out of joint. My inner
connections were compromised. They were leaking. Every junction, every elbow, every vee, wye, ess, they’d all pulled loose,
pulled apart. As if they—I—had lost the glue that’d held everything together. My whole system was breaking down, and I didn’t
know how to repair it. Or replace it. I’d been waiting so long.

Waiting. It was the waiting that was unbearable.

What was I waiting for? A miracle? That he’d come back and show me how to fix it? Fix me. That she’d love me. Heal me.

Xanadu.

I rolled over onto my back and stared at the water spots on my ceiling. A picture of Dad flashed into my mind. Him giving
me a
ponyback ride to bed. Neighing through the kitchen, the living room, the hallway. He’d buck me off onto my mattress, then
lean down and touch his nose to mine. The sweet odor of booze on his breath, the cigarettes. The smell of Dad. The comfort,
certainty. I’d wrap my arms around his neck and nuzzle into it; feel his stubble of whiskers against my cheek.

“Good night, baby,” he’d say. He’d hold my face between his strong hands and kiss my forehead.

“G’night, Daddy.”

We’d both whinny. And laugh. I never stole him, Ma. He was never mine to take. You can’t own a person. You can’t take her
from someone she loves.

“Hey, chest hair.” Darryl pounded on my door. “You got company.”

I blinked back to the moment. Company? Who, Jamie? He’d come to rub it in about how delusional I was. He was right. I was
so out of touch with reality, I lived in a fantasy dream world, worse than his.

The door swung open and Darryl stood aside. Xanadu rushed into my bedroom. “Oh God, Mike.” She flew across the room and flung
herself on top of me. “He hates me.”

D
arryl lingered in the doorway, hanging onto the knob, eyes popping out of his head. He opened his mouth to say something,
but I guess he changed his mind. He stepped back into the hall and shut the door.

Xanadu was bawling, really bawling. I struggled to sit up. She was weighted onto me, holding me down. Her head burrowed into
my neck and her arm pinned my shoulder to the bed.

“What’s wrong?” I said quietly.

Her chest heaved.

A strand of hay stuck in her hair and I plucked it out. “Xanadu?”

She cried louder.

I stroked her head. “Tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

She rolled away from me to lie flat on the mattress and swiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He hates me,” she said.
“I told him about…,” she paused, her eyelashes slick with tears, “you know. Everything. He thinks I’m evil and horrid. He
thinks I’m possessed,
that I’m Satan.” A tear slid out the corner of her eye and down her cheek. “He got all mad; asked why I hadn’t told him before,
why did I wait so long? Why did I do it? ‘Why did you
do
it?’ he says. Fuck, I don’t know why I
did
it.” Her voice rose. “I don’t know!” She covered her eyes with her forearm and sobbed. “I made a mistake.” She hiccuped.

I didn’t know what to do. She was so close, her body generating heat, moisture. I propped on an elbow and rubbed her arm.

“He said he couldn’t handle it.” She sniffled. “He couldn’t handle being with me anymore.” Her voice broke and a flood of
tears gushed from her eyes. She closed her fists, curled her wrists under her chin in the curve of her neck, and her whole
body vibrated.

What could I say? I’m glad? I wasn’t glad. She loved him. He betrayed her. I despised him.

Tenderly, lovingly, I brushed back her hair.

“I thought I could trust him, you know?” She twisted her head to look at me. “The way I trust you. God, Mike.” She arched
upward and disintegrated in my arms again.

I held her. Held her close. I felt her hurt, deep down and unrelenting. I wanted to do major damage to Bailey McCall. I could
too. I could take him. One face-altering blow with my fist…

Xanadu murmured into my hair.

“What?” I drew back from her slightly.

She swallowed hard. “Can I stay here tonight? With you?”

My heart beat a pneumatic drill. “Sure.”

She rested her forehead on mine. “I better call Aunt Faye so she doesn’t send the fucking FBI out looking for me.” Xanadu
rolled over to the edge of the bed.

While she punched numbers into her cell, I gathered all the Power-Bar wrappers and weights and dirty clothes off my mattress
and kicked a bunch of crap into the closet. I’d missed a pair of Dad’s boxers and an undershirt. So what? I heard her say,
“No, overnight with
Mike. If you don’t believe me, here, you talk to her.” Xanadu shoved the phone at me.

I’d never used a cell phone. Where did you talk?

“Hello, Mike? Is that you?” Faye’s voice.

“Um, yeah.” I didn’t even see microphone holes. “I’m here,” I spoke into the numbers.

“Is Xanadu staying over there, or are you covering for her?”

I gulped. “No, ma’am. I’m not. I mean, she’s here. She’s kind of upset because she and Bailey…” I glanced at Xanadu, at her
vacant expression, her eyes taking in my nudie posters on the wall. “Broke up,” I finished.

There was a long pause. “Where are
you
sleeping?” Faye said.

I eyed my bed.

She added quickly, “Never mind. All right. Tell Xanadu to be home by seven tomorrow morning in time to get ready for school.”

“Okay.” The phone buzzed in my hand.

Xanadu smiled at me. Her eyes softened. “Thank you,” she said.

She perched on the edge of the mattress and kicked off her shoes. Standing, she shimmied out of her leather pants. She lifted
off her shirt. The skimpy bra was black. She slid in under the top sheet and fluffed my pillow. After a minute, her eyes found
mine.

She lifted the sheet.

I hesitated. Dad’s face flashed, so clear and vivid. His voice: “Nothing’s ever going to hurt my baby. Not if I can help it.”

“Mike?”

I shimmied in.

She was so near I could feel her heart pounding, her lungs expanding and contracting. She ran a hand down the side of my face
and said, “You’re the only one I can trust. The only one.”

I don’t know who kissed who first. Her soft lips on mine pressed deeper and harder, pressing, moving into me. She used her
hands, her mouth. I let her. I helped her. I loved her.

When I woke, Xanadu was gone. The room was bathed in the warm glow of dawn. I could still feel her skin melded to mine, the
heat of our bodies bonding us together. I heard her breathing, smelled the sweetness of her. I closed my eyes and drifted
away.

She wasn’t at school on Monday. Bailey was there, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. Good. Last night was the first time
in two years I didn’t bolt awake at three
AM
from the nightmare. Falling, falling,
thud.

I thought about calling her at lunchtime. I got as far as the reception desk, then bailed. She was tired. Needed sleep. We
hadn’t slept much either. I’d see her later today at the game. She’d come to my game, I was sure of that. She’d want to watch
me play.

She’d want to be with me now.

The game was against Scott City. They were fourth in the standings, out of the running. Quarterfinals started Saturday, but
I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Coalton Cougars were 15-4 this season, second only to Sharon Springs.

You could tell by the intensity of their warm-up, Scott City didn’t come to take batting practice. Last game of the season,
they wanted to win. I respected that. It was going to be hard to keep my head in the game.

As I watched the stands fill, I limbered up with side stretches and knee bends. I didn’t want to work up a sweat. She was
still on my skin. I didn’t want to wash her off.

Where was she?

The pep squad had squeezed into the middle section of bleachers. I still didn’t see her. I would though. She’d be here. She
was my girlfriend now.

Girlfriend. Wow. I had a girlfriend.

Behind the backstop, Jamie caught my eye and rustled a pom-pom. I wanted to yell at him, “You were wrong. You were wrong about
her. Wrong about me too. Wrong about everything. Anything is possible.”

One more scan of the bleachers.

“Mike, what are you doing?” Coach Kinneson called from the lean-to. “We’re ready to go.”

Everyone had finished warm-ups and returned from the field.

I jogged over. Hey! Coach Archuleta was back. We all crunched him in a hug.

He smiled, that crinkly, reassuring smile of his. I’d missed that this season. His trust in us, my faith in him. T.C. said,
“You’re just in time, Coach A. You only missed the whole season.”

He tugged T.C.’s cap down over her eyes. “You don’t need me,” he said. “Look at your record.”

It wasn’t about stats; he had to know that. My eyes strayed to Coach Kinneson, who was staring back at me. She seemed… hurt?
Because we liked him better? No. More sad. Bereft, as if she’d lost the whole season. Or lost me.

“Now that we’re together,” Coach Kinneson switched to automatic, “I’d like to congratulate you girls on a tremendous year.
First of all, you survived me.”

There were titters of anxious laughter.

“Second, you managed to pull together as a team and get yourselves into the playoffs. I’m proud of you. Every last one of
you. There wasn’t a game we played that you didn’t put out a hundred percent. Maybe that first game with Sharon Springs.”

We groaned.

She added, “If you work hard toward any goal, success is guaranteed. Isn’t that right, Mike?”

“What?” My face flared. Why was she asking me? “I, I guess.”

“You guess?” she repeated. There was challenge in her eyes.

Gina piped up, “The team party’s tomorrow night at my house. Who all’s coming? My dad needs to know how many steaks to buy.”

We raised hands and Gina tallied the count. Dr. Kinneson shook her head at me. What?

The ump lumbered over to the lean-to. “We’re ready to go, Coach.”