Harold Bjornson Memorial Park was a two-table, three-swing clearing at the end of Main Street next to Bartleby’s Inn. Cory’s headlights panned the park as she pulled into the gravel lot. The sun had just set, leaving behind a wash of unreliable light, and she didn’t see anyone until a shadow rolled out from behind one of the picnic tables and approached her car. It was Mac.
Cory ran to him. “Were you playing hide-and-seek?”
He didn’t answer but stopped and cupped his face.
“Mac, what’s wrong?” When she reached him, she sucked in air with a loud gasp. She reached for his hand, but pulled away when she felt its moist stickiness.
“These bastards in a car threw bottles at me when I was walking down here. One of them broke on a lamppost and a piece of glass got my forehead. I’ve been under the table, trying to stop the bleeding and trying to stay out of sight. Do you have any clean cloth or rags in your car? I’ve already soaked my sleeve.”
Even without light she could see that his face was a mess. “I don’t have anything. Let’s go to Barb’s and clean you up.”
“No.” He swiped his face and flicked blood off his hand. “Barb had a terrible time keeping Jeff home from the landing. He’s pretty hotheaded and she was certain he would lose it and go after some protester. If he sees me he’ll be out the door looking for a fight. We can’t go there.”
“Let’s find Doc Scudder.”
“And explain what happened? He’d report it to the sheriff. I don’t want to mess with cops tonight, Cory. Anyway, I don’t think it’s deep, just bloody. Take me to your place and I’ll clean up there.”
“Bleeding for five miles in my mother’s car? Mike just cleaned it.”
“Cory,” he barked. “I’m bleeding buckets! Too bad about the damn car.”
She had never liked anyone yelling at her, even for good reason. Cory stepped back, set her jaw, and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. Her right knuckles grazed against cool steel.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I know what we can do.”
Unit 26 was on the second floor overlooking the back lot of Bartleby’s Inn. Cory inserted the master key into the lock and pushed as soon as she heard the click. She hoped Mr. Bartleby hadn’t rented the room.
She pulled the heavy drapes closed and switched on a bedside lamp. Mac whistled. “Is this what a room looks like after you’ve cleaned it?”
Cory blew white dust off the television. “This is construction mess. The bathroom is being repaired.” When she faced him she was nearly felled by sudden lightheadedness. She’d never seen so much blood. “Mac, you look awful. We’re going to the doctor. Now.”
“Let me clean up first and look at the cut. The forehead is a bloody spot. Barb’s kids have been cut there and didn’t need stitches. I bet I don’t.” He looked around. “Are you sure this is okay?”
“It’s not okay, but no one is going to find out. Anyway, we’ll mess up the bigot’s linens and let him pay for cleaning. You lie on the bed. I’ll get a washcloth.”
Mac lay down. “I heard at the cafe that you had quit your job. I also heard why. Good move, Cory.”
“You might not think so,” she said as she walked to the bathroom, “when my money runs out and I make you buy all the pizzas.”
There were no bath linens. Cory turned the tap and reddish water exploded out before settling into a clear stream. “At least the plumbing’s working,” she called. She returned to the other room and sat next to Mac on the bed. A smile was evident under the hand that he held pressed against his face.
“This is my very first time in a motel room with a girl. So romantic.”
“I hear violins. Lift your head a minute.” He obeyed, and she pulled out the pillow and removed the crisp white case. “I’ll use this.”
He repositioned the pillow and set his head back down. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I was so glad to see you drive into that park. I was getting scared.” She kissed a clear spot on his cheek.
When she returned with the wet pillowcase he was sitting up. He was stripped to the waist. “Don’t panic. The sleeve was kind of wet and sticky. That’s why I took it off.”
“Like you’re really attractive now, anyway.” He lowered his hand from the wound and Cory swooned again. She wanted to cry.
Blood bubbled slowly from a line above his left eyebrow. More blood, congealed and dried, was smeared across his face and streaked down his neck. Cory took a breath to steady her stomach and began wiping away the mess. Mac closed his eyes and relaxed.
“I think you’re right,” she said after she wiped the forehead. “It’s not that deep and the bleeding has slowed.” She finished cleaning his face and started on his neck. “This needs to be rinsed off. Just a minute.” When she returned she handed the cloth to Mac. “You do the rest.”
While he wiped his neck and chest she sat and looked at a painting on the near wall. Children picking yellow flowers under a blue sky, mothers with teacups in the background.
“What a lousy day,” she said. “Do you know what happened? Mike kicked Rob out, then left to spend the night at his son’s. Mac, I don’t have anyone to go home to. It’s empty.”
His hand dropped onto her shoulder and began gently massaging. “I hate to see you like this,” he said.
“You’re the one who’s a pulpy mess.”
He drew up his knees and draped the cloth over them. The blood had stained it in abstract patterns of varying shades of red. “I should dry this and frame it,” he said. “Give it one of those artsy ironic titles, like
Spring Spearing
.”
“Throw it away. And that shoulder rub felt good.”
He resumed the massage. “Last winter when I moved to Summer and started school, within two hours of first walking into the building I knew who Cory Knutson was.”
“How did that happen?”
“There was an assembly that morning. You represented the student council when it presented all those dirty books to the school library.”
“Not dirty books. They had been banned in other schools, and we thought Summer High should own them all.”
“You were really funny. That’s how I knew who you were. Then I’d see you in the halls or in the lunchroom, and it was like you were the happiest person in the world. Always. When you showed up at the powwow it blew me away. I couldn’t believe it: Cory Knutson, School Star, hanging out with Indians. I just had to talk to you.”
She shifted so she was facing him. She pulled up her right leg and let the knee rest on his chest. “Did I ever tell you that I was forced to go that night?”
“Many times, Cory. Many times.” He stroked her knee with his thumb and it jerked.
“That’s kind of a ticklish spot, Mac.” He did it again, and she clamped his hand down with her own. “Not funny.”
“Ticklish anywhere else?”
“You’ll have to find out.”
“I just wish you weren’t so sad.” They both knew there was no answer to his wish. Mac reached out and turned off the bedside lamp. Cory lay down beside him. She kissed his bare shoulder.
A chorus of bleating car horns startled them. The noise crescendoed as a succession of vehicles roared past the hotel on the highway, accompanied by an undercurrent of screams and laughter. As the last car passed, an isolated and triumphant yell emerged from the discord: “Spear a redskin tonight!” The shouting and honking moved into the distance.
“I’m glad,” Mac said, “that I’m not on the street.” Cory kissed him again, and he shifted to pull her closer.
“I’m alone with my boyfriend in a motel room,” said Cory. “What happens next?”
Mac’s hand stroked her arm. He kissed her again. “I know what I want.”
Cory leaned forward and tugged the edge of the spread that lay folded across the foot of the bed. She pulled it over them, then resettled in his arms. “What do you want?” she said softly, eyes closed, mind at peace, heart beating at double time.
“An aspirin. My head really hurts.”
Cory sat up. Her heart resumed a normal pace. “I don’t have any, but I’ll take you home.”
“Not yet. I’d just get a million questions from the girls. Let’s at least wait until Barb and Jeff have put them to bed.” He pulled her back. “It’s nice here; it feels safe.”
Cory didn’t feel safe at all. Tucked under his arm, she sensed a peeling away of all resolve and reason. If his hand moved across her chest, or his lips touched hers, she knew everything else would give way. She held still. It would be his move.
Mac giggled. Cory’s spell broke. “What’s the joke?” she said.
“I’m thinking about Tony and Sasha. No way they’d believe that we could be in a motel room for twenty minutes and…
”
He pulled his arm from her and dropped it on his lap.
“And still have our pants on?”
“Exactly.”
“So it won’t happen tonight?”
“You want to? I always thought…you’ve said…”
“A minute ago I wanted to. It passed. It’s okay, Mac. It’s smart.”
“Cory, don’t get me wrong. There have been lots of times when I feel like I want to. Ten minutes ago, when you were wiping off the blood, I felt it. And most evenings after we say good night, I sure as hell feel like it. Feel like blowing a hole in my pants, to be precise.”
“Don’t be crude, Mac.”
A tangle of angry shouts and sharp laughter rose from the parking lot outside the door. They listened until the voices had moved around to the front of the building.
“I can’t risk it, Cory. At this point in my life I can’t risk what might happen to you, or us. I want to, believe me, but right now if I let go—”
“It’s okay, Mac. Please don’t make me feel like I was begging for it.”
“Sorry. Mostly, I’m trying to convince myself.”
“You convinced me. Now, hush.” She shifted until she was holding him, her arm draped around his shoulders, her fingers resting on his arms. She closed her eyes and tipped her head against his. It was good enough.
12
Voices collected outside the door, and Cory rose out of a dream.
A lock clicked, and Cory opened her eyes.
Cold air rushed through the doorway, and she sat up.
The light went on, and she looked straight at Mr. Bartleby. “Damn,” she whispered.
“What the hell?” he said. “Cory Knutson, what the hell are you doing in this motel room?” He was accompanied by three men. One of them laughed and pointed at the bed.
“That’s what she’s doing.”
Mac sat up and swung his legs off the bed. “Time to go, Cory.”
“Good idea, Mac.”
Mr. Bartleby was breathing heavily. His entire chest rose and dropped as he collected air to speak. “I bring these gentlemen up here to show them the only room not taken, and I find you here with your boyfriend.”
“Are my shoes over there, Mac?”
“Yes. Catch. Do you see my sweatshirt?”
“Right here.”
Mr. Bartleby moved into the room. His companions followed, engrossed and smiling. “Did you do this often, Cory? Is that why you would forget the keys, so you could sneak back with this boy?”
“I’m ready, Mac.”
“Me too.”
“Cory Knutson, I oughta call the sheriff and get you charged with trespassing. I oughta, I oughta do that.”
Cory put on her jacket and pulled the key ring out of a pocket. “I really wish I hadn’t quit this afternoon, Mr. Bartleby.”
“Too late. I won’t accept—”
“Because then I could quit now.” She let go of the ring and it dropped with a noisy clatter onto his shoe.
Cory was certain a thousand people stood in the parking lot and watched as she and Mac exited the motel, descended the steps, and walked toward the park and her car. Mac counted seven.
They didn’t speak until they were in the car. “Was that funny?” Mac said. “I think maybe that was funny. I wish I’d been awake to see his face when the light went on.”
Cory started the car. The headlights revealed shadowy figures milling in front of Unit 26. “It wasn’t funny at all. I’d like to kill someone. Anyone.”
“Maybe I’ll walk home.”
Cory wrenched the stick shift into position and pounded the gas pedal. The car lurched back and the engine died. She restarted the car, shifted smoothly, and made a careful exit from the park.
In Barb’s driveway they parked under the spotlight. A curtain moved slightly and then fell back in place. After a moment the spotlight went off.
Cory smiled. “Does that mean they like me?”
“They like you a lot.” He reached for her hand. “How long were we asleep?”
Cory checked the digital time display on the dash. “Maybe an hour. It’s not that late.”
“Would you like to come in?”
“No.” She slouched down in the seat. “Oh, man,” she said in a low, slow moan.
“You’re making animal noises. What’s wrong?”
“School will be awful on Monday. Everyone will know Bartleby caught us.”
“Caught us doing nothing.”
“That won’t be part of the story.” She kissed his hand. “You are a fun date, Harvey MacNamara.”
“Good night, Cory K.”
*
The ringing phone pierced Cory’s sleep. She opened her eyes, established her whereabouts, stumbled out of bed, and walked to the hall phone. She covered her eyes to shield them from sunlight streaming in through a curtainless window.