Rush (5 page)

“Yeah. It is.” I was thinking of the
woman beside me, though, not the natural scenery.

She flushed, as if she knew what I was
thinking. “I love the river.”

“I love rivers, too.” That was actually
true.

“They make me think of all the places
they pass through,” she said, staring at the water. “I like to imagine drifting
along with the current, just seeing what comes next.”

“There was a ferry crossing near here,”
I said.

“That must be why it’s called Avery’s
Crossing.”

I sang a couple of lines from The
Decemberists’ song “Avery.” It was just a random impulse, because the song
title matched the name of the town. Caroline turned and stared at me with an
open mouth. She was actually gaping at me, she was so surprised.

“You know The Decemberists?” she said.

“Their last album is one of my
favorites. You like them?”

“The King Is Dead. I love every song on
there. Most of my friends don’t even know who they are.”

I winked at her. “We have something in
common.”

She stared at me for another moment and
then pushed off from the oak’s trunk. “Yeah.”

It was taking every bit of my
concentration to not reach for her hand. This walk we were taking together felt
more like a date than just friends hanging out, and I wanted to touch her. But
she wouldn’t welcome it. Not yet.

“So,” she said brightly. “How long have
you been doing graphic design?”

“I’ve loved to draw all my life. I got
into graphics in high school, started my business not long after I got my GED.”

“Ah.” She sent a sidelong glance my way,
and I pretended not to notice.

Was this—the fact I hadn’t graduated but
had to get my GED—the little detail that would turn her off? Make her avoid me
for real? I couldn’t tell yet, since she was putting a good face on everything.

“I think it’s great you have such strong
direction,” she said. “I wish I did. I still don’t know what I want to do when
I grow up.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Probably marry
Trent and have a herd of beautiful blond kids who’d have the world handed to
them on a platter.

She tripped over an exposed root and
tumbled forward, toward the water. I jumped to catch her before she landed in
the river. She barreled into me with surprising force, considering her slight
frame, and her momentum carried us both down to the hard-packed ground.

“Oof,” I said as she landed on top of
me.

She gazed down at me with wide, brown
eyes, her breath coming in startled pants, hair tumbling around her face in a
golden cloud. My arms slipped around her taut waist, holding her to me so I
could feel every curve on her delectable body. My cock began to throb and ache.

Her full, Cupid’s-bow lips parted. She
looked like she wanted to kiss me, which was exactly what I wanted, too. I
lifted my head, bringing our faces closer together.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” She scrambled
to get off me.

I let her go. The bulge in my jeans was
getting painful and I didn’t want her to see it, so I sat up and bent one leg
at the knee to hide myself.

She was still so temptingly close. I
lifted my hand to her face and brushed a tendril of hair from her eyes. She
jerked backward.

“I-I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Yeah.” I dropped my hand. “I shouldn’t
have—sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” She gave me a brilliant,
fake smile as she clambered to her feet.

“Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did
you?”

“I’m fine.”

My butt was feeling a little sore
because I’d landed on a rock, but I wasn’t going to admit it to her. I brushed
off my backside.

“I was afraid you were going to end up
in the river,” I said.

She flicked a glance at me, then looked
away. “Thank you for catching me.”

“No problem.”

“Well...um...I should probably get back
to my dorm. I need to get ready for my afternoon class.”

“Okay. I’ll walk you back.”

She ran her fingers through her curls. “You
don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I want to. I’d like to make sure you
get there all right.”

Her lips flattened into a straight line.
“Max,” she said in a strange tone that seemed to hold both pity and regret. “I
can’t. Honestly. It’s better if I go by myself.”

Damn it. I didn’t want or need her pity.
Anyone’s pity. Words refused to come as I watched her turn around and climb
back up the embankment toward the street. Christ. She felt sorry for me.

***

It was a handgun. A pistol of some kind.
I didn’t know much about guns, but I saw them on TV. It seemed huge and felt
surprisingly heavy in my hands, the dark gray metal cold.

My brothers were in the hallway outside
my bedroom, playing. I could hear their voices, Trent’s high and childish and
Carter’s even higher, with a baby’s lisp. Carter’s little feet made rhythmic
thumping sounds as he ran back and forth down the hall. I didn’t know what game
they were playing but I wished they’d shut up. They were so loud and I couldn’t
concentrate.

I turned the gun over in my hands,
looking at it from different angles. Not down the barrel, though. Even I knew
better than that.

Except it didn’t have any bullets in it.
Didn’t that make it safe?

So I could look down that barrel if I
wanted to, only I didn’t want to. It was just a tube made out of metal. What
was there to see?

A noise made me look over at my door.
Carter stood in the doorway of my room, giggling at something. He did that a
lot. Half the time I didn’t know what he was laughing at or why it was supposed
to be funny. I frowned at him, annoyed. Wasn’t it enough for them to make noise
in the hallway?

“What are you doing?” I snapped.

Carter just laughed.

“Go away. I’m busy right now.”

He looked back over his shoulder at
something I couldn’t see, something in the upstairs hallway. Trent, maybe.
Whatever it was made him laugh even harder. I glared at him, willing him to go
away and quit bothering me. Couldn’t he see I was busy with something off
limits for little kids like him?

I lifted the gun, experimentally
pointing at the blank nighttime darkness of my window, my finger hovering over
the trigger. No way did I want to fire this thing, even if it wasn’t loaded.
But I could point it and imagine what it would be like to face down the bad
guys.

Bam, I thought. Got ya.

Carter darted into my room, laughing
hysterically. I swung my upper body around to glare at him and order him out.
My hand tightened on the gun.

The explosion almost deafened me. Carter
pinwheeled backward and tumbled to the floor, his chest nothing but a red ruin.
He made no sound. Just fell to the floor.

I stared at him, my mind blank and
uncomprehending. Then I looked at the gun. My ears rang with the blast of its
firing. It was the only sound I could hear. I had fired the gun.

Carter! I threw the weapon onto my bed
and ran to my brother. He lay on his back. His eyes were open and staring.

My hands started to shake. I gathered
him up and lifted him into my lap. His little head lolled to the side, his
whole body limp and unresponsive. Blood gushed from the wound, the terrible
wound. It flowed all over my shirt, my jeans, the carpet.

No. No. No!

“Carter,” I said. “Carter.”

As if my words, the sound of his name,
could pull him back from the arms of death. It was too late for that. He was
already gone.

***

Brad and Marie’s farm lay on the western
edge of town. It was pretty small, with a little apple orchard and some cow
pasture. They kept chickens and goats and grew a market garden, which they were
planning to expand so they could get into CSA—community supported agriculture.
That’s where people basically subscribe to receive a weekly allotment of
vegetables, herbs, fruit, eggs and whatever else a farm produces.

I drove up the long, rutted dirt road
that led to their vintage nineteen-thirties farmhouse and parked in the shade
of a huge old tree still covered in feathery-looking golden leaves. A long
drift of the same leaves lay at the foot of the tree. Brad’s beat-up relic of a
pick-up truck was parked over by the barn and Marie’s sedan sat next to the
house. They were home, then.

She came to the door as I walked up the
front steps. Her graying brown hair was tied back in a ponytail and she had a
kitchen towel slung over one shoulder. She pushed the screen door open with a
grin.

“Max!” She held out her arms.

I moved into the hug gladly. “Marie.”
She felt tiny in my embrace.

“How have you been? You should come by
more often.”

“I’ve been busy. Work and school, you
know.”

“That’s no excuse. Get your butt in here
and tell me all about it.”

I followed her into the little house,
which looked like it hadn’t been upgraded or changed since at least the
sixties. Maybe not even then. The kitchen was still almost original and
smelled, deliciously, of cinnamon.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “I just
happened to bake an apple pie today. I’m practicing for Thanksgiving.”

“No wonder it smells so good in here.”

She opened her ancient fridge and pulled
out two cans of soda, handing one to me. “Brad is in the barn, but he should be
back soon. So tell me about school. How is it, after being gone so long?”

“It’s not like high school, so I’m doing
fine with it.” I sat down at the diner-style kitchen table. “Lots of classwork.”

“I’ll bet. Have you found yourself a
girlfriend yet?”

“No.” I tried to hide my flaming face by
lifting my soda can and taking a long swallow.

“But you met someone.”

Marie always saw too much.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Who is she? What’s her name?”

I set the can down and gave a careless
tilt of my head. “She’s just someone I ran across at a party. Not a big deal.”

“No? You’re blushing.”

“That’s because you’re pestering me.”

Marie laughed. “No, it’s not. It’s
because you really like this girl. I can tell.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have come to visit. I
tapped my fingers against the side of the soda can, wishing I’d just called.
She wasn’t as intuitive over the phone.

“I’m still attached to Selene.”

“Oh, that.” She waved her hand
dismissively. “That wasn’t ever going to go anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do. You and Selene are too much
alike.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“How do you like farm life?” I said by way of changing the subject.

“It’s great. A lot of work, though,
especially for Brad.”

He had a regular job in addition to
everything he did here on the farm. It must be difficult, putting in full-time
hours just to come home and work a hard physical job.

“I hope it works out for you.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will.” She gave me a
knowing look. “Now, about this girl.”

“I really don’t want to talk about her.”

Marie sighed. “You’re no fun.”

“I ran into Trent the other day.”

She stared at me over the top of her
soda. “You did, huh?”

“At a party. I didn’t know he was going
to be there or I would have stayed away.”

“How did it go?”

“He ordered me to leave town.”

She pulled her head back in a
disbelieving gesture. “Was he serious?”

“Seemed like it.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re not going to
do it.”

“Of course not. He doesn’t get to tell
me where to live.”

Marie sighed, shaking her head. “I just
don’t understand his hostility.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“This garbage started long before Carter
was even born, so it’s not because of the accident.”

She always referred to my shooting of my
little half-brother as “the accident,” as if I were somehow not responsible. I
knew the truth, though. I was the only one to blame.

“I’m pretty sure he’d be a lot less
hateful if I hadn’t killed Carter.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.”

Whether he would or wouldn’t was
immaterial. I’d shot our brother and Trent would never forgive me. Therefore,
he spent a lot of time trying to pay me back for what I’d done. When we were
kids, he’d had a lot of opportunity, since we’d lived in the same house. After
I ran away, he must have been frustrated as hell with his target gone.