Blindness (10 page)

Cody’s indifferent and just shrugs at me.
“Whatever,” he says. I hate that word.

I turn to Trevor last. “Whadaya say?” I’m
putting him on the spot. He knows I’m better than him, and he knows
I’ve been holding back. I also know he doesn’t want to be
embarrassed in front of Kevin, but right now, I don’t give a shit.
I’m in total tantrum mode, pissed that I’m being ignored, and I
want him to weep from his loss and break his clubs over his knee
when he has to pay me for every hole.

Trevor stares at me, trying to get a read on
why I’m even suggesting this, and finally gives in. “Okay, but take
it easy on these boys,” he jokes. I know what he really means—take
it easy on him. Not a chance.

I know it’s Cody that really has me angry,
and deep down, I know I’m being childish. But all it takes is one
more visit from the beverage-cart girl to send me over the edge. He
actually takes his sunglasses off, for the first time all day, and
leans in to kiss her on the cheek, smacking her ass a little as she
leaves. Trevor just rolls his eyes, earning him a pass, but Kevin
high-fives him. Cody slides back in next to me when she leaves and
leans over just enough to keep his next words between us.

“I bet she has more than one talent,” he
says, raising his eyebrows and biting his tongue.

That’s it—game on.

For the next hour, I’m so focused it’s
unreal. I drive the ball 240 yards off the tee, every time. I par
out and even birdie the eighteenth. I’d be celebrating my best game
in years if I wasn’t so goddamned mad.

I win every hole, no one else even coming
close. I can tell Trevor’s deflated, and I feel badly that I’ve
embarrassed him. My senses are actually starting to come back to me
by the time we’re parking the carts and are heading into the
clubhouse, and when it comes time to settle up, I talk Kevin into
keeping his money. This seems to make Trevor happy; I don’t think
he wanted his girlfriend to take money from his mentor’s nephew,
and I’m half-mortified that I even suggested the idea.

Trevor and Kevin head out to the car to load
their clubs, while I stay behind. I pretend I have to use the
restroom, but I’m really waiting for Cody to finish checking in his
clubs. I sit at one of the tables on the outdoor patio, right in
his path, and my heart is racing in anticipation. I notice the
drink-cart girl lingering by the bar, and I know she’s doing the
same thing I am. God, I’m really no better than she is.

My breath hitches when I see him step
outside, and I hold it while I watch him reach into his pocket and
glance toward the bar. I think for a moment that he’s going to walk
over there and join her, leave her a card with his number, or buy
her a drink. But he doesn’t even acknowledge her. I silently
rejoice when I notice her pout. My heart is speeding up with each
step Cody takes in my direction, my mind racing through things to
say, ways to explain myself—my behavior. I’m toying with the idea
of crawling under the table the closer he gets when it’s suddenly
too late.

“Hey, so that was all just a game. I’m sorry,
I got a little carried away…I was mad at Trevor. You know? For
ignoring me,” I say, only giving up a half-truth, but glad to see
Cody stopped at my table. His glasses are still on, so it’s hard to
read his expression. I’m about to begin the onslaught of apologies
and tell him to keep his money when he drops two fifties on the
table in front of me.

“Keep the change,” he says, before he steps
around me and continues his way to the parking lot. I just stare at
the money on the table—money I know he can’t afford to give away
without good reason—and instantly I feel dirty. On the surface, he
was settling a bet, a bet I coerced him into without even giving
him a chance. A bet I used as a way to lash out at him, to throw a
fit like a little spoiled girl because some chick caught his eye,
even though I’m taken, and am happy to be—
at least, I thought I
was?

But Cody knows I wasn’t going to make him
pay. He was making a point—that I just threw him away because of
pride and jealousy.

And for the second time in only a few short
weeks, I feel the urge to cry.

Chapter 6:
Mac and Me Time

Kevin ended up spending the entire evening at
our house for dinner. Trevor said I had really won him over, and
that he was insisting I look at getting on Western’s golf team. I
was flattered, but golf wasn’t really where my heart was anymore.
It had always been a way to lose myself when I was a teenager, a
sport I could do alone, on my terms. And when Mac started joining
me for all of my matches, it quickly became about
us
.
Competing just hasn’t felt right since Mac left.

Besides, I planned on finishing out my
semester at Western, and then transferring somewhere closer to
Trevor. The schools I was considering weren’t really the kind that
had extracurricular programs. And if I got on with a firm in the
city, my internship would eat up most of my time.

It’s been six days since Trevor left, and
seven since I’ve seen Cody. The loneliness is starting to chip away
at me. Jim is still in Chicago, and I honestly can’t remember the
last time I’ve heard Shelly speak. She’s not really much for
company, and when I bring my books downstairs to study near her,
she usually grabs a bottle from the cabinet and heads up to her
room.

The sky outside is clear for the first time
in days, and the chill is strong. It’s almost Halloween, and I know
the snow is coming. Halloween makes me miss Louisville—it was the
one time of the year Mac was always with me, even before we got
along so well. I think being a cop made him fear something terrible
happening to me while I was out trick-or-treating, so he always
handled that night on his own.

Being alone has me missing my father even
more. It’s been months since I’ve talked to him in my head, so I
make plans to start a new conversation with him tonight. I’m behind
on calculus homework, so I pack my bag with my books and a few
snacks, and grab the blanket and a pillow from our bed. I step
outside, but head to the far side of the house so I’m out of the
view of the garage. I’ve been forcing myself to stay away, not even
allowing myself to check at night to see if Cody’s light is on.
It’s better to make a clean break. I’m pretty sure I was forming a
bit of an obsession—almost like a teenage crush.

After two hours of studying, I’m making great
progress, and am down to one final calculus problem when the
sunlight finally runs out. My blanket is littered with snack
wrappers and empty juice boxes—it seems when Trevor’s gone, I take
on the eating habits of a fourth grader.

Feeling pretty satisfied with my studies, I
close up my books and lay back with my arms tucked under my head.
The sky is a deep orange, and the color is fading fast, blues and
grays filling in where the warmth was only seconds before. I can
still see a few of the brightest stars through the clouds, but I
know they’ll be covered soon, too, and it makes my chest heavy.

This was
our
thing—Mac and I would lie
on the hood of his car and wait for shooting stars. It was a
nightly tradition we started the summer right before he died. He
had heard about a big meteor shower one night and thought we might
be able to see a few from our driveway. We didn’t see a single
shooting star that night, but we ended up talking until the sun
came up.

Mac told me stories about his family, about
my grandparents whom I never met. And he talked about Caroline with
great affection. He worried over his sister—constantly. And lying
there, listening to his stories, made me realize for the first time
exactly how big his heart was.

His big heart was how he met mom. She had
been struggling with drugs. Dad was new to the force, and he met
her at a bar one night after a long shift; she was pretty strung
out. He said there was something about her that made him feel like
he had to fix her, so he begged her to get help. And she did. Mom
got sober for almost six months, and in that time, they started
dating.

Dad never used the
L word
when talking
about his time with my mom. It wasn’t a word he used a lot,
actually, minus the few times he said it to me. I think part of him
loved her, but she was so gone—so twisted—by the end of their
relationship; it was hard to imagine anyone
loving
that.
Sabrina got pregnant—
with me.
And she started using again. I
put the facts together on my own, never really needing Mac to come
right out and say it. Mom wasn’t really the kind of woman who
wanted kids—clearly not the right material. And my existence? Well,
that drove her over the edge.

Sabrina ran off soon after she found out she
was pregnant, never telling Mac about me until she dropped me off
seven years later. It was a miracle I came out without any
deformities, too, because I’m sure she got high the second the
pregnancy test came back.

When we looked at the stars, Mac asked a lot
about my time with mom. I know he was feeling guilty that I had to
grow up there, but I assured him that I wasn’t emotionally wounded
or scarred. I know he always felt responsible anyhow, though. He
took in everyone else’s failures and made them his responsibility
to correct. He didn’t know any other way to be.

God, I missed him. I was usually really good
at pushing down my hunger to hug him once more, to hear his raspy
chuckle, and smell his smoking pipe. But every now and then it
snuck up on me—like a beast I just needed to feed for a while so I
could function. When it happens, I look to the stars. I don’t have
to talk out loud, though sometimes I do. I know he hears me either
way. And tonight I just need the clouds to stay away—just long
enough.

I choke a little when the first drop runs
down my face. It’s the same thing every time I feel the threat of
tears. I breathe deeply and will them away. I feel another drop,
and then another, and I realize that my skin is feeling the sky
open up. There won’t be any talking tonight—the stars are gone, the
darkness of the clouds all that’s left, illuminated by the full
moon.

The downpour comes on fast, and I’m
scrambling to wrap my homework, pillow, sweater, and shoes in the
blanket. Suddenly I feel the weight of the comforter lifted from
me.

“I’ve got this, you run inside—fast!” Cody
says.

I do what he says, only because the wind is
kicking up, and the heavy drops are starting to sting my face. I
rush to the front door and hold it open from the force of the wind
as he follows me inside. I shut it behind him and follow him to the
den down the hall. He drops my blanket filled with my books and
wrappers on the floor, and then stops for just a second to look at
me before he turns his attention back to his feet, passing by me
closely with his head down.

I’m instantly irritated, and I let him know
it while I follow him into the kitchen. “What the hell?” I say,
catching the swinging door that he doesn’t hold for me as I enter
the kitchen behind him.

He’s not talking to me, instead just moving
to the fridge and pulling out a packet of sandwich meat before
moving on to the pantry to look for bread. He’s making a
sandwich—
unbelievable
! I haven’t seen him in days, and then
he shows up, just in time to save me from what I’m sure he’ll say
is the storm of the century, and all he can do now is slap some ham
on wheat?

I’m livid.

“Uh, hello?” I say, waving my hand in his
line of sight. I’m being a child, but I don’t care. He stops what
he’s doing and looks me in the eyes because of it, and I feel
satisfied.

“You’re welcome,” he says, then turns his
attention back to his food.

I stand there next to him, my mouth open, and
my fingers digging into the counter to prevent me from shoving him
off balance. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me want
to shake him. And I hate that he feels vindicated, like I needed
his help in any way. I’m about to scream from the pressure building
inside me when Shelly slides into the kitchen—just in time to halt
what I’m sure was going to be a string of choice words.

“Codes, honey, come here. Give mommy a hug,”
she says, her words barely coherent. She’s hammered—and it’s not
the kind of drunk I’ve seen at the bars near Western, or the kind
of drunk Trevor gets after a night out celebrating. It’s not even
the kind of drunk I hear some nights on the phone with Aunt
Caroline.

I know I’m staring at her, and I’m sure my
face is full of pity. She’s wobbling on her feet as she teeters to
the fridge, opening it up and leaning her full body inside, like
she’s looking for something in the back of a closet. I look back to
Cody, waiting for him to do something, but he’s just eating his
sandwich. What is it with people in this house pretending
everything’s okay?

No longer able to take it, I decide to try to
get Shelly to open up, thinking maybe if Cody hears the state his
mother is in, he’ll feel compelled to do something about it. “Hey,
Shelly? When’s Jim coming back?” I ask, hoping she understood
me.

It takes her four attempts to set the bottle
of wine flat along the counter, each time leaning it crooked and
watching it slide sideways. I’m about to ask her again, when Cody
interrupts.

“You know he’s up there fucking her, don’t
you?” he says, and I’m immediately speechless, trying to replay his
words again to be sure I heard them right. Cody doesn’t say
anything more, just continues to eat his sandwich while his mother
purses her lips, her eyes bloodshot, but wide.

“Don’t you dare speak about your father that
way!” she yells, this time her words perfectly clear. She slaps
Cody as she says it, and the popping sound reverberates throughout
the empty house. His cheek is red, and she’s looking at it, almost
like she’s proud of her work—a half-smirk on her face, but her eyes
still void of emotion.