Skinny (22 page)

“This
has
to be a Yankee thing.”

The rain began to gather strength. And when I looked up, I saw Whitney. If I hadn’t looked at precisely that second, I would have missed it—she didn’t make a sound. Her body landed with hardly a splash, drilling cleanly, gracefully, through the surface, as if, just as she’d suspected, the water had been waiting to swallow her.

The campers had assembled near our bench, dripping puddles from their bathing suits onto the pavement.

“Was that Whitney?” Brendan said. He turned to Miss, who was holding his elbow. “I can’t believe it! Whitney in the water!”

Bennett and I stood at the first crash of thunder. We would have to find Lewis and receive instructions.

A few minutes later, when Whitney made her way back to the group, soaked, baptized, stunned, she stood before us with a blankness in her eyes as if she’d had a revelation.

Miss momentarily separated from Brendan to hug her.

We all looked at Whitney. She was wearing a black one-piece bathing suit. It was pilled and sagging, a few sizes too big. Her hips looked whittled down. It occurred to me that she hadn’t necessarily been suffering from fear of water, from posttraumatic stress, but from the agony of how she looked in a bathing suit, the fear of wearing a bathing suit in front of members of the opposite sex. I understood: It was less mortifying to be naked than it was to wear a bathing suit, that relentless antagonist of the imperfect body.

I wished I had known. I would have told her it wasn’t so bad. She looked better than Miss, better than Harriet. And who would have judged her anyway?

“I want to do the Death Drop again,” she said.

And why not? When you’ve finally come through something, when everything’s changed, the last thing you want is to get on a bus and ride back to where you were.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

On the bus back to camp, Lewis sat beside me. “I’ve made a decision,” he told me. “I’ve spoken with my wife about it. But I haven’t told anyone else. Can you keep a secret?”

I’d been looking out the window, watching the rain. I turned to him. “That’s one of my specialties.”

“At the end of the summer, I’m going to save Pudge.”

“Pudge?” I twisted in my seat and looked to the back of the bus, where Pudge and Whitney were kissing industriously, holding each other’s faces, her leg slung over his. Across the aisle from them, Brendan sat massaging Miss’s shoulders. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy. I turned back around.

“He and his mother are going to move in with me in Durham. Pudge has only finished ninth grade. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“He’s going to be eighteen in a few months. Eighteen with a ninth-grade education. I’m going to enroll him at my kids’ high school. I’m going to save him.”

“For how long?”

“What?”

“For how long are you going to save him? Won’t it get expensive?”

“His mother will have to get a job.” He counted on his fingers. “Six months? I’ll give her six months to find work. I’ll support them until then. Like family. And then they’ll have a new life. Where they live . . .” He whistled. “They could die out there. In that trailer. If Pudge keeps getting fatter and fatter, he’ll die. He’s been hospitalized a few times now. One time a priest came to his hospital bed and did last rites.”

“Who told you that?”

“Pudge.”

I looked at Lewis’s face, where the skin sagged at his jawline, where the bags under his eyes were the color of bruises. I saw him, for just a second, the way he might have been as a child—the one whose clothes were too tight, the one who was either invisible or too visible, maybe the one who carried around an unwieldy black instrument case and a filthy backpack; or the one who once, while wearing sweatpants, got a hard-on in math class that everyone discussed for a year.

“That’s really nice of you,” I told him.

Lewis smacked his thighs. “Lewis Teller is the nicest guy in the world,” he said. “If anyone needs help, I help them.”

It was pouring when we drove through the entrance past the Carolina Academy sign. It wasn’t even noon yet. The kids would need lunch. And then there would be rest hour. And then a movie, or a game of dodgeball in the gym. A day of laziness and bad hair. The campers filed out of the bus and ran, screaming, for the dorms, their arms wrapped uselessly over their heads.

“See you in a bit?” Bennett said before we hurried in opposite directions.

We touched hands briefly. And then I ran toward the rest of my life. Not that I knew that. How could I have known? But as I ran through that rain, I thought (really, I thought this; it’s not rosy hindsight),
Rain is cool and magnificent.
I lifted my face to it. I also thought other things, like,
This sucks, I wanted to go for at least one more run today.
And,
I might really kill myself if I have to watch
Bugsy Malone. But I did enjoy those last few seconds. I did. I loved that rain.

I ran to the side door of the dorm because it was closest. But if I hadn’t, if I’d gone through the front, what happened would have happened differently. I get hung up on that sometimes, even now: thinking about all the various ways in which many things could have been different.

Inside, at the base of the stairwell, in the dim light, on the gray linoleum, I saw him. He was sitting on a step. He was wearing a windbreaker I’d never seen. That was my first thought:
I’ve never seen that windbreaker.
It was black and blue, like something hurt.

“Mikey.”

He stood. He reached for me. Looked hard at my face. Then he pulled his hand back like I’d bitten it. And then he started to cry.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Mikey was addressing me with his back. He kicked the wall. The sound echoed, and the sole of his sneaker made a little black streak on the plaster. When he turned around, he had stopped crying, but his eyes were wet, laced with red squiggles. I reached for him, wanting to hug him, not because I was glad he had come, but so that I could hide my face.

The hall where the youngest girls lived was filled with noise. From where I stood, I saw several of them dancing outside their rooms. Music was blaring: “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard . . .”

I winced. “Is something wrong?” I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.

Mikey’s lips turned up for a second, as if he might smile or grab my throat. He looked the same. He looked like Mikey. He needed a haircut. I could see whiskers on the spot under his chin that he often missed when he shaved. But he also looked different to me. Had he always had the posture of a dying flower? Had his face always been so ashen, his eyes so dull, as if he hadn’t had a glass of water in months? I looked at his jeans, where they sagged in the back. Had he never had an ass? Had he always been so out of shape?

I knew he wasn’t the one who had changed. But he just looked so unhealthy. He leaned on the banister now, as if even standing up straight were too much exercise.

“I thought I would see you and I would know right away that it wasn’t true. I thought I would see you and you’d be so happy to see me, the way you used to be happy to see me.”

“I’m happy to see you.” My voice sounded like an automated recording, echoing in the stairwell.

For a moment, Mikey pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Then he let go and locked his eyes onto mine. “I thought I’d see you and you would be the old Gray and I’d know it was all a lie.”

“Know what was a lie?”

“But I saw you and I knew.” He snapped his fingers. “Right away.” He pushed his hands over his hair. “Jesus Christ. Of all the things. I thought this was the thing we would never do to each other. But it happens to every couple. Eventually. Right? No reason our relationship should be different. We’re just like everyone, in the end.”

“How . . .”

“How what? You thought I wouldn’t find out?”

“Um. How did you get here?”

“This whole year I’ve been so patient with you. Yeah, your dad died. I get it. That’s hard. And you have all your daddy issues. But a year with hardly any sex? What guy would put up with that? But I did.” He flattened his hand over his chest. “I put up with it. I gave you your space. I didn’t say anything. And when girls came up to me after shows, I didn’t even flinch. I swear to God, I hardly ever even glanced at any of them. And then I’d go home to you, and you’d look right through me.”

“Mikey.”

“You never used to be so wrapped
up
in yourself. This whole year . . . I’d come home and maybe I’d have things I wanted to tell you, but you’d look right through me. You’d be reading that dumb, life-affirming crap. It was like everything that used to be cool about you was gone. And I was left with this person who read self-help books and didn’t want me around. And then you’d go to sleep without even saying good night.”

“I said good night.”

Mikey stared at me. He stood up straight, towering over me. Outside, I could hear the rain subsiding. Nearby, I heard one of the little girls say, “I’m going to lie on my back and you should put pennies all over my face and then take a picture.”

“Was this some kind of game for you?”

“Was what—”

“Was it fun? Telling everyone here about me. Telling them my name. Directing them to my website? While everyone here knows you’re fucking someone else. Was I the joke? Everyone could laugh at your boyfriend back home while they watched you cheat with some douche bag personal trainer?”

I held my head in my hands. “What are you—”

“I thought it was some kind of joke. I was like, ‘It’s camp. The kids can’t use the Internet at camp.’ ”

I held my stomach. “What kids?”

Mikey didn’t understand that this wasn’t a real camp. The kids, those who didn’t have Internet access on their phones, used the computers in the library.

“Sheena? Wasn’t Sheena the girl He-Man?”

“No, that’s—” I sucked in air. It made a sharp sound. The rain grew louder outside—an exclamation point—and then slowed again.

“So you’re fucking a personal trainer.”

“Sheena
told you that?”

“You fucked him in the arts and crafts building. I was like, ‘What in God’s name is an arts and crafts building?’ I mean . . . you and I are not the kinds of people whose lives include arts and crafts buildings.”

“I don’t know what kind of person I am,” I said. “I’m trying to figure it—”

“I do.” Mikey shoved his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. “You’re selfish. Look. You helped me. You did a lot for my career. I’ll always be grateful for that. But it wasn’t because you loved me. It wasn’t because you believed in me. It was because you had a score to settle with your dad. You think you were fooling anyone? You’re selfish, Gray. And not because your dad died. It’s just you. It’s a character flaw. He died over a year ago—”

“What is it with the one-year cutoff? Everyone’s like, ‘The first year’s so hard, but then you’ll be perfect.’ I get a pass for one year? And then I’m supposed to be over it? Says who?”

“You despised your dad.”

“That’s a shitty thing to say, Mikey.”

“A year after the fact, you should be like, ‘Well, the shock’s worn off, and now I can enjoy life without that asshole in it.’ ”

I stuck my palms to my ears. “Stop it.”

Mikey stepped close to me. He grabbed my wrists and yanked my arms back down to my sides. “You
hated
him.”

“Don’t.”

“You wouldn’t speak to the guy. And honestly? Why should you have? You and your mom . . . the two of you pretended he was the king. But
God
. The way he would flirt with waitresses in restaurants, right in front of her? The way he would cut her off if she tried to speak? The way he would sip scotch and swish it between his teeth? What a schmuck. And here I was, a man who was good to that guy’s daughter, and he hated me. He hated me because I made it harder for him to control you.”

I felt sweat break out on my hairline. “Why are you saying these things? This is my family.”

“Because it doesn’t matter anymore.”

I reached for his face. He jerked his head away. I started to cry.

“Don’t bother with the tears. Look. I just wanted to come here to see. I wanted to see if it was true. I thought,
If I get there and she’s happy to see me . . . if I see it in her face right away that she’s not cheating . . . that the e-mail was some kind of prank . . .
” He watched me for a second. “I knew I’d be able to see it on your face. So I thought,
If it’s not true, if she’s the old Gray, I’ll drop to my knees and make that girl marry me. It’s been long enough
.”

“Mikey . . .”

“But it is true. And I’m not entirely unhappy to be free of you, Gray. I feel relieved. Already.”

“How can you—”

“I feel lighter.”

“Lighter?”

“Yes.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“You used to be fun.”

“I’m still fun.”

“I feel sorry for that trainer dude. I do.” He was looking past my head to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I’ll break the lease tomorrow, find a studio, find a girl to bring home this weekend. Find another girl for next weekend. Respond to some of those e-mails I’ve gotten from girls after my shows.”

“You’re being disgusting.”

“I’m an idiot. You took everything you owned out of our apartment. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I didn’t know. I still don’t.”

Mikey stepped past me and pushed the door open. Then he turned back to me, his feet on the threshold, his body backlit by the sun that was fighting to shine. “I know I’m a good person. That’s why I’ll be okay. You’re the one who has to live with yourself. You’ll always live with this. You’ll always think,
I had a boyfriend who loved me so much. He understood me and he loved me anyway.
Deep down, you’ll always know that you made all your choices according to what your dad would have wanted, or wouldn’t have wanted. You used me to piss him off.”

“You’re being crazy, Mikey.”

“And then he died and I became useless to you. You let your father rule our relationship. He’s been standing between us the whole time.”

I saw him then. I saw my father step in front of Mikey, facing me, concealing him. I saw him laughing, his hands on the swell of his belly.

“You wrecked everything,” Mikey said from behind my father’s body.

“Maybe it takes two. Maybe I’m not the only one who should be getting blamed.”

“Right. You ruined us and I let you. I kept letting you.”

“You’re oversimplifying—”

“But it
is
simple! I would have done anything for you. I always told you I wanted to marry you. Down the line, you’ll think about that. You’ll remember all the times I told you I wanted to get married, all the times you made a bad joke to change the subject, and you’ll be like, ‘Why did I think I’d have a better offer one day?’ You won’t have a better offer.”

“Are you cursing me or something?” I wiped my eyes with the heels of my hands.

“I’m just giving it to you straight. You were special to me because I loved you so much. But you’re not special. You’re just a person. Like everyone else.” He pointed to me. “You have a bald spot, by the way.”

My fingers moved to my temple.

“So you lost some weight this summer.” He patted his palm with his fingers, golf-clapping for my weight loss. “You think that’s some earth-moving development? You think you’re so much hotter than you were a couple months ago? You think you can do better than me now? You think losing weight is going to change your life or something?”

My father faded into the air. Mikey pulled his hood over his head. Stepped outside. The door closed behind him. And that was the last I saw of Mikey Cosenza for a very long time.