“He’s stubborn though. He won’t let you.”
“Then I’ll whack him in the face with a frying pan, and when he’s unconscious, I’ll check his blood. I’ll do it. Just shut up. Just shut up and stop making excuses not to go.”
“I’m not making excuses.”
“You make a lot more excuses than you realize.”
“The fuck I do,” I said.
“I just think you have a bunch of potential. Is that gay to say out loud like that? You probably should have never come back here. You’d already gotten away. I was pretty damn jealous.”
“I don’t mind it here. It’s nice. The ocean’s just over there. That’s nice.”
“Sure, nice. So nice. It’s nice if your family is loaded, like these girls you’re screwing around with.”
“You don’t like them either? Denise says she’s gonna give them black eyes.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Kinda true.”
“I’ve been in plenty of dead-end relationships. Maybe I’m an expert at it. My job. Feral. School. Feral. My job. My cash register job at fucking Dollar Store. Living with my goddamn mom still. Ughhh. And did I mention Feral?”
“You did, three times.”
“Just don’t waste your time on people that don’t love you the right way. That sound fair?”
“Like a battle plan,” I said.
“Where is Feral?”
Trish pointed over by the storage shed where the pool stuff was usually stashed. I didn’t understand why she was pointing at it, but then I noticed all the pool stuff was spread all over the deck.
“Feral’s in there,” she said. “He just passed out a little bit ago. I should wake him up and dump his ass.”
I nodded. I was looking at the boulder wall, the big hunks of moss boulder scattered along the last twenty-five feet of the dune wall. I’d have to finish it today. I needed to get paid. I looked back at the ocean house as if it was a guard on a watch tower. I’d screwed around long enough. The guards would be home tomorrow.
“Come on,” I said.
“Where’re we going?”
“Coffee,” I said, leading her out of the backyard and towards my pickup.
We went and got pork roll, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches; cigarettes and another jug of OJ for her; and coffee for everyone. As we drove back, we joked around about me totaling her mom’s car.
The maroon Le Sabre. The Tin Man lipstick. Little Jackie’s birthday party. Corned beef and cabbage. The art of sliding in the rain.
When we got back to the house, I pulled the tarp off the cement and took a good look. I’d have enough to finish the job. Just a couple hours of work.
Trish wanted to help. I said sure
“What can I do?”
“You can hand me scoops of cement when I need it.”
I made up some cement in the wheelbarrow and went to town. It was quick work. Really, it felt like it was building itself in a way. Sometimes that happens with manual labor. Especially when it’s creative. It’s like making a sculpture. Sure, there is a psychical element to it, but it’s also a lot like painting a picture. You lose yourself in it.
I slapped boulder after boulder down into the cement. Trish kept passing me scoops. Before noon, I was done. A lot quicker than I anticipated.
“It looks beautiful,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“For real. So nice. I hope I have a house someday. Then you and me can build some stone walls there.”
“Of course,” I said.
There was a low, guttural groan from the pool shed. The door kicked open. A pool float went flying out. There was Feral, all sweaty. Hair plastered to his head. Shirtless. Swaying.
“Ahhhhh,” he moaned.
“You look like you were being cooked alive, man.”
“It’s like an oven in there!”
I started spraying him with the garden hose. He just smiled at me.
“I like that,” he said.
I soaked him for a good minute and a half before he said, “Alright, alright. That’s enough!”
“Why didn’t you sleep in your van?” I asked. That was his trademark: sleeping in the van when he got blitzed.
“Nevermind,” he said gruffly.
Trish and Feral said they were hungry, and I was done with my work. So I loaded my wheelbarrow and shovels in the truck, and we drove separately to Jade Garden Temple, a Chinese buffet. I was down to my last hundred bucks, but I bought them both lunch. Figured I was going to get paid the next day from the mysterious Scandinavians anyway.
Feral was quiet and didn’t really want to talk. Trish and me kept joking around.
I said, “Hey Trish, maybe I’ll take you with me to L.A. This grump over here wouldn’t even notice.”
She started to pretend to choke him.
“I couldn’t abandon my savage! I’d miss him.”
He knocked her hands away.
“L.A.? Still talking about that?”
“No, it’s a go,” I said. “Just getting the money together. Two weeks tops.”
Feral grinned, “I got something top secret going on.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Trish from the corner of her mouth. She was smirking at me across the table as she ate noodles.
“Big money,” Feral said.
“What?”
Motioning with his fingers, Feral zipped his mouth and threw away the key.
“That’s lame,” I said. “Locks don’t even work with zippers.”
“If it works out, you won’t think I’m lame at all.”
Just before we sat up from the table, I decided to fix Denise and Seth their own take-out styrofoam clamshells full of food. I figured they were still passed out at Lagoon House. It was a safe bet. I felt bad about what happened the previous night.
Through town, we rolled together. When we got to Lagoon House, Seth’s car wasn’t there and neither was Denise’s. The driveway was completely empty, but the front door was wide open.
I went inside. The stereo was on. KISS Alive II. Blasting. The TV was on too, but muted. I went down the hallway and opened Seth’s door. He was on his bed. I flicked the light on.
“Yo, you awake? Got you Chinese food.”
He didn’t say anything.
“It’s late, man. Even for you. Rise and motherfucking shine.”
He didn’t say anything.
I went back out into the kitchen, shut the stereo off, and sat down at the table. Trish and Feral walked in, the door slamming behind them. Its hydraulic piston was weak and needed to be replaced. It didn’t matter. The house was about to get torn down.
Feral went into Seth’s room and started hollering and making fun of him.
“Can’t party anymore, can you? Weak skills, amigo.”
Then I heard Feral curse. He came out of the room, looking like he’d just been punched in the stomach.
He motioned back towards Seth’s room and then ran to throw up in our sink — full of dishes. Trish was in the bathroom. I heard her whistling “Sweet Child O’ Mine” as she brushed her teeth.
I looked in on Seth.
He was dead.
Trish stopped whistling.
13
I rocked slowly on the yellow curb with my head in my hands. I was in a suit, the only one I owned, but wearing silver Nikes. The Anderson Bradford Funeral Home loomed behind me. People were in there, but I couldn’t bring myself to go in. I was numb, shell-shocked — sick to my stomach. I didn’t have a pair of dress shoes to wear to my best friend’s funeral. What was my problem?
I just sat there slowly rocking. The preceding three days had been a devastating blur.
In a mad scramble, Feral had cleaned all his drugs out of the house and driven away in his van before I was allowed to call the police, who in turn alerted the EMTs, who in turn alerted the coroner. You can’t cut out the middleman. The cops insist on being involved whenever there is a dead body.