Darling (12 page)

“Where should we eat?”

“How about in your bedroom?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Dennis took her hand. He was happy to still be in that early stage of a relationship where making love was paramount to everything else.

They went inside.

* * *

Mike arched his neck back to look for Dennis and Eileen. He didn’t see them.

Bet they went upstairs to screw.

“What are you studying in school?” Margot asked.

She was close and he could smell the coconut-scented sunblock she used. He fought not to stare at her breasts, but her eyes and mouth were just as enticing. His erection ached against the rough fabric of his swim trunks and he hoped she didn’t look into the water and see it.

He rotated his hips so his thigh blocked the view. “Um…I don’t know yet. Just kinda getting started, I guess.”

“What I wouldn’t give to be back at college.”

“What…uh…what did you study?”

“Political Science.”

“That’s…um…that’s cool. You work in the Mayor’s office or something?”

She laughed and shook her head, her hair swishing back and forth around her shoulders. “Lord, no. I’m a regional buyer for Victoria’s Secret.” She winked.

He swallowed.

“I’m kidding,” she continued. “Just Sears. It really has nothing to do with my degree, I know, but what do you do?” She shrugged.

Mike looked around again for Dennis.

“I don’t see your friends.”

“No…”

“They’ve been gone about twenty minutes. Must have gone upstairs, huh?”

“Probably.”

“You hungry? They never brought you a dog.”

A way out, he thought. Then: Why do I want a way out? “Yeah, a little.”

“I’m not much for hot dogs. Why don’t you come upstairs and I’ll whip something up for us?”

Mike’s breath caught in his throat. Here it was, he thought. This was like one of his fantasies staring him in the eye, smiling, inviting him upstairs. But he was so nervous he couldn’t say anything. Would he have to make a move, or would she? Would she ridicule him for his lack of experience? What should he do?

The moment stretched out. Her eyes bored into his, twinkling at the edges, her tongue barely visible behind her thick lips. Mike breathed out. Inhaled. Caught a whiff of coconut, of lavender shampoo, of chlorine. Felt light headed.

Someone screamed.

He whipped around to see a woman running toward them. She wore a yellow swimsuit tucked into a pair of blue jean shorts. Her stringy blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, her face covered with streaks of mascara.

“It’s Bobby,” she cried. “Somebody help him!” She pointed to the field behind her.

A handful of people rushed that way, but the rest stayed where they were, rooted to their spots by confusion and panic. Mike swam over to the other side of the pool and pulled himself out. Curiosity nudged him into the field, following the woman as she ran toward a group of young boys. They stood in a circle and stared at the ground. The men that had made their way over (
What were their names?
Kurt? Jack? I don’t remember the others
) were kneeling in the middle. Someone shouted: “He’s not breathing!”

“Someone call 911.”

“Oh, dear God, oh Jesus…”

“Does anybody know CPR?

“…my baby, oh, Bobby, oh, Jesus…”

“Hello? We need an ambulance at—”

“Bobby. Wake up, Bobby. Wake up.”

Mike shuffled into the circle. He glanced over his shoulder at the others running up, then down at the boy.

He was shirtless, probably around eight years old. He had sandy blond hair that hung into his blue-tinted face. He was an apparition of the Blue Boy, called into existence by Margot’s story.

“Does anybody know CPR?”

Mike hesitated. He knew it; Allison had made Mike and Dennis go with her to CPR classes at their church. But he had never used it on anyone. What if he fucked up and the kid died? Would everybody blame him for it?

But what if he didn’t try? Wouldn’t the kid be dead by the time the ambulance got here?

What if CPR doesn’t even help?

This is your chance to be a hero. All your life you’ve never done anything worthwhile. You can save this kid and everyone will pat you on the back and tell you what a great person you are. You can get Margot. Hell, you can probably get Karen, even.

He was shoved to the side. He spun and saw Dennis crouched over the boy.

“I know CPR,” he said. He took the boy and checked his mouth, then pressed his lips against him and pushed on his chest.

Everyone watched. Silent. Hopeful.

Mike seethed.
That son of a bitch. Your chance for glory and he steals it out from under you.

It wasn’t long until the boy coughed once, sucked in a breath, and then launched into a full blown coughing attack. Spittle, blood, and mucus flecked out into the air. But he was breathing and the color came back into his cheeks. Everyone applauded.

That should have been for me.

The ambulance came and went, taking Bobby and his mother (who Mike learned was named Marie Callahan—they lived in 109) to the hospital. The other boys were snatched by their parents to explain what had happened. Marie had wrapped Dennis in a huge embrace and kissed him on the cheek before they went and everyone kept coming up and congratulating him. Patting him on the back. Praising him.

That should have been for me.

Eileen called him “hero” and gave him a big kiss. Kurt brought him a beer. Karen sauntered over, more beautiful than Mike had ever seen her, and told Dennis how fantastic he was as she shook his hand. Her fingers lingered on his and Mike noticed how their eyes locked on each other. He thought about grabbing Eileen and showing her what was happening, but then Karen left for a beer.

He couldn’t watch such a gross display of aggrandizement any longer. He walked over to the edge of the field, where one of the boys was being grilled by his father. Mike pretended to stare out at the supermarket as he eavesdropped on their conversation, curious as to what had happened.

“I don’t know, Dad.”

“Rusty. Tell me what you boys did. The doctors are gonna want to know and it may save Bobby’s life.”

“We didn’t do nothing.”

“
Rusty…
”

“We were just playing, Dad. And then Pete dared Bobby to go into that grocery store—”

“What did I tell you boys about playing in those buildings?”

“I know, Dad. Honest. I swear I told him he shouldn’t go in there. But then Pete called him a sissy and he said he’d go inside and bring something out. He walked up to the doors and they opened—”

“Bullshit.”

“They did!”

“That building doesn’t have any electricity running to it.”

“I dunno, that’s what I saw.”

“More like Bobby pried them open.”

“I dunno.”

“Well, then what?”

“Bobby went inside. Just a few feet. The doors started to close behind him—”

“Rusty…”

“They did! And then Bobby came rushing back out, scared shi— scared real bad. And then we all ran back for the pool and then Bobby started grabbing at his neck and coughing real hard. Then he fell down and Pete went and grabbed Mrs. Callahan.”

“You ain’t telling me everything, boy. We gotta get to the hospital. You got till then to tell me the truth, else I’m gonna tan your hide.”

“It
is
the truth.”

“C’mon.”

Rusty’s father grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off.

Mike shook his head.
Stupid kids.

He looked over at the supermarket. The sun shimmered against the closed doors. It looked like a massive jaw clenched shut. He didn’t like to look at the place; it gave him cold chills and he wasn’t sure why. It was the same feeling he had when he looked over the edge of a bridge, or when pressing the gas pedal in the Saturn—some instinctual dread that crept through him.

A hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey, buddy,” Dennis said. “Crazy day, huh?”

“Hmmm? Oh. Yeah. Guess so.” Mike shrugged the hand from his shoulder and walked back toward the building.

Dennis ran up next to him. “Is something wrong?”

Mike whipped his head toward him. “Yeah. I…” What was he going to say? He was mad that Dennis saved that kid’s life? How petty would that sound? “I’m just sick, that’s all. I need to lay down for a bit.”

“Well…get to feeling better, I guess.”

Carl came up and slammed one hand on Dennis’ back, shoving a beer at him with the other.

Mike could tell he didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. He turned away and went inside, leaving Dennis to his praise.

As he walked through the halls of the building, he wondered what was wrong with him. He should have acted faster instead of being seized by anxiety. He should have been happy that the kid was alive, instead of being angry that he wasn’t responsible for it. But that was his life, wasn’t it? Just one long string of “should haves.”

The hallways were deserted. Anyone who wasn’t outside was huddled up near their air conditioners, trying to wait out the day like a rodent in a hole listening for its predators to scamper off. His footsteps echoed through the halls, the green flip-flops he wore earning their name with every pair of sounds. Something about the noise unnerved him; it was like the building itself told him he had no one, that he was in this by himself.

Rather than listen to
that
, he took the elevator.

It groaned and creaked up the shaft and Mike couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. He turned to make sure he hadn’t missed someone while daydreaming, but the tiny box was empty. Seeing that didn’t erase the sensation. He felt pressed against the doors, felt like an entire horde of people shifted back and forth against each other, trying to fit inside. His breath quickened and he thought he could feel the air warm around him like the heat bodies gave off when crammed into such a small space.

A rough fabric brushed against his shoulder and he jumped. He bit off a scream and whirled around again. It was just him, alone.

The doors
dinged
open and he shuffled out, turning sideways to avoid the other passengers that weren’t there.

The doors closed and the elevator made its way down again. Mike calmed a little. Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. You’ve stressed yourself out. Probably some psychological residue from feeling so crowded out by the pool. He nodded; that’s what it was, of course. What else could it be?

He walked to his apartment, passing Margot’s door on the way. He hadn’t seen where she had gone after Bobby’s mother screamed, but now her door was cracked

—inviting you in—

and he could hear a soft singing inside. He paused, peeking through the crack long enough to see Margot in her kitchen slathering mayonnaise on a slice of bread. He thought about knocking, but didn’t; he’d had enough of other people for one day.

When he entered his own apartment, the heat was stifling. Why had they left the windows shut
and
the air conditioning off? He poured himself a cold glass of Coke and went into his bedroom, shutting himself in and cranking up his wall unit full blast. He grimaced at the boxes still lining his room. He hadn’t finished unpacking, even after five weeks here, and wasn’t quite sure why. He just couldn’t bring himself to. Maybe it was because he was lazy or maybe it was because he kept waiting for his parents to call and invite him back.

He hadn’t talked to them since the night they kicked him out. His mother had shoved two hundred dollars in twenties into his palm and kissed his forehead and that was the last he had spoken to her. He could imagine her jumping every time the phone rang, hoping it was him, but she wouldn’t call. Not yet. Not until his father’s anger cooled enough to allow her to.

He hadn’t tried to call her either. His father’s hold over him, too, he supposed.

He glanced out the window and wished he hadn’t.

The only view from his room was the supermarket. The damned thing seemed to fill his entire window. He usually tried not to look at it, but it drew his gaze in, the way drivers’ eyes are drawn to car accidents on the side of the road. He tried to read the graffiti, but it was too far. Dennis and Eileen had gone down there once and Mike thought he might go with them to get a closer look if they ever asked. But they never had and he wouldn’t go down there alone.

He pressed his face against the glass and tried to get a better look. Something was different. He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something off from this view. Something had changed since he was outside. What was it? Nothing was obvious; no one milled around the thing, it still had four walls, its doors were—

The light no longer reflected from the doors.

They’re open,
his inner voice whispered and he shuddered.
They’re open, waiting for you to enter. Won’t you go, Mike?

He was being silly again, like in the elevator, letting his imagination run wild. They weren’t open. He was just seeing them from a different angle. That’s why he couldn’t see the light reflect from them.

He laughed, but even that didn’t keep him from closing the blinds and turning away from the window. Some things are better left unseen, he thought.

Chapter Eight

Weeks had passed since the incident at the pool, but

Eileen found her thoughts going back there over and over again. Even here at work, a hundred customers shuffling in and out of J. Crew, all of the teenage employees needing her watchful eye as manager, she kept picturing that poor boy being hauled into the ambulance.

It was unnerving, and not just because of its near-tragic nature. No, more than anything, it was the dream she had had the next few nights while tossing and turning in Dennis’ bed. She had come up with reasons why not to spend the night since. Those reasons were wearing thin, though, and she had made plans with Dennis to stay over tonight. The dream kept trying to come back to haunt her, but she refused to let herself think about it. Her mind was a traitor though, and a masochist at that, choosing to at least dwell on the boy’s mysterious seizure.