That One Day (That One #1.5) (11 page)

The ride back to Michigan takes me three days, and it’s definitely less dismal compared to the drive down to Tucson. This time I even shave, shower, and change my clothes, making sure I don’t end up looking like a homeless person again.

When I’m about an hour from my hometown, I pull over at a gas station. I get gas and then move the truck to the parking area, just sitting and staring into space for a few minutes.

Fuck, I need to do it. I take out my phone, still knowing the number by heart, and hoping it hasn’t changed.

On the second ring, someone picks up.

“Okay, I told you a million times, I don’t need to buy life insurance, or a cable subscription, and I also don’t have a need for pills that will make him stand longer or grow bigger. There have been no complaints in either department.”

I start laughing loudly, realizing how much I missed Dave.

“Ben? Fuck, is that you, man?”

“Yeah, it’s me…” I trail off, thinking about what to say next.
Please, don’t hang up. Sorry I fucked your sister and left. Please don’t let the dogs out when I pull up in front of your house.

But I don’t have to say anything because Dave does the talking. “Holy shit, Ben. Where the fuck are you?”

“An hour from home. Could you meet me at the old drive-in theater?”

We used to hang out there a lot when we were younger. No one ever came out there and we could just chill and listen to music, get drunk, and make out with girls. “I know it’s the day before Thanksgiving and all,” I say, hoping he’ll agree.

“Sure thing, man.”

I let out the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.

“Thanks, Dave.”

I’m about to hang up when I hear, “Glad you’re back.”

It makes me a total pussy, but I’m so relieved right now I could bawl like a little kid. It seems like Dave doesn’t hate me, and, considering he’s been more my brother than my friend, that’s a big weight lifted off my shoulders. If I have him on my side, it’ll be easier to get Frankie there, as well.

***

An hour later, I pull up onto the large, abandoned lot where the drive-in theater used to be. I notice Dave’s green 1972 Ford Torino sitting in the middle of the field facing toward where the screen used to be, as if he’s watching a movie. The car was his graduation gift from his dad—a car like the one Clint Eastwood drove in the movie
Gran Torino
, one of Dave’s favorite movies.

When I pull up next to him, he gets out of the car, and walks over to where I stand beside my truck.

I’m preparing myself for the worst, but when he pulls me into a hug, it’s a relief. He doesn’t want me dead, which seems like a good sign. He pulls back, and I start to relax when out of nowhere his fist connects with my jaw. My head flies to the side at the sudden impact. Stumbling back, I grasp the truck for balance. He definitely has gotten better with his left hook.

“What the hell?” I ask, rubbing my jaw.

“We’re brothers, you asshat. You think you can disappear for nearly eighteen months, not say a fucking word, and I’ll not knock you on your ass for it? Now care to tell me what’s going on?” He walks by me, hopping onto the hood of my truck and reclining back.

I rub my jaw a moment longer, hoping it won’t bruise, before I take a seat next to him.

“Listen, I don’t want to go into detail. Some shit went down with my mom, and I had to leave and figure some things out. I needed to clear my head, and I didn’t want to put you or Frankie in the position of having to lie for me.” At the mention of Frankie’s name he gives me a skeptical look but doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t want to talk about what shit it was?”

“No.”

“The shit taken care of now?”

“Yep.”

“And since we’re meeting here I’m guessing you don’t want your mom to know you’re back?”

“Correct.”

“You’d like to spend Thanksgiving with us?”

“If you guys will have me after the stunt I pulled.” I’m not only referring to my disappearing act, but also to the way I left Frankie behind, wondering if Dave or his parents actually know what happened.

“Not a question. My parents will be ecstatic. You’ll probably be treated like the long-lost son. If we don’t sit here for another hour in the fucking cold, we should be home before Frankie arrives. At least according to her texts.” He looks at me with a grin tugging at his lips.

“She’s coming home for Thanksgiving?” I try to ignore my pulse speeding up at the thought of seeing her again.

“Yep, she wouldn’t miss it for the world.” With that, he hops off the hood, walks over to his car, and says over his shoulder, “Welcome home, bro. You can follow me home and park in our garage so your truck isn’t visible. No worries, though. Your parents are spending the whole Thanksgiving weekend at the bed and breakfast. They have a tourist group from Germany and promised them an American Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks, man.” When I get in the truck, I let out a loud sigh. Not only has it gone better than I hoped with Dave, although I’m sure there will be some more questions later, but I also don’t need to fear running into my mom and Ron. Now, I only need to survive Frankie’s wrath.

Drumming nervously on the steering wheel, I follow Dave to his parents’ house, hoping their reaction will be just as positive as his. I don’t know what possesses me, but I skip a few songs until the first notes of “She Hates Me” by Puddle of Mudd start playing. It feels weirdly fitting, and despite my nervousness, it makes me laugh.

It seems like Dave doesn’t know about Frankie and me. If that’s the case, there is no chance her parents know, which is one less thing to worry about. Although it makes me curious why she hasn’t told anyone, especially her brother. They’ve always been close.

Ten minutes later, I park my truck in their garage, grab my duffel bag, and follow Dave inside.

“Yo, Mom, Dad! Look who’s here.” His voice is loud enough to be heard throughout the whole house.

I stand next to him when his mom comes out of the kitchen. Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my God!” Before I know it, she’s hugging me. “It’s good to see you, Ben. We were worried sick about you.” She then swats my upper arm. “Don’t ever do that to us again.”

“Well, if it isn’t the lost son.” I hear Mr. Gilbert’s voice when he comes around the corner from the living room. He too hugs me, clapping my back so hard that I’m unsure if it will make me burp or lose a lung.

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks. I’m glad to be back.”

Before I can say anything more, Mrs. Gilbert ushers me into the kitchen, hooking her arm through mine. “You must be starving. Follow me, I’ll fix you something to eat. I’m so happy you’re here.”

We talk for the next hour. Knowing Dave’s parents like to talk about themselves, I ask a lot of questions about their work and hobbies. That keeps them preoccupied for most of the hour. They try to learn more about where I’ve been, but I manage to keep the answers vague enough. When that isn’t working, Dave’s ready to help me out, taking the attention off me.

“Glad someone asked how my life in Florida is going. Great by the way. I’m having the time of my life. By paying my tuition, you not only guarantee me an education, but great parties, a fulfilling sex life, as well as an awesome tan. Thanks, Mom and Dad.”

I laugh and so do his parents, his dad winking at him. “Watch that mouth, Dave.”

Just then we hear a car pull up.

“Oh, I guess little sis is here,” Dave says before getting up, but his mom beats him to it and is out the door. Considering Frankie hadn’t been close to her parents when I left, I’m surprised by her mom’s eagerness to welcome her daughter home. But maybe things have changed in my absence.

Dave follows her, but stops next to me, talking so low that his dad can’t hear. “Don’t be a jackass or you’ll have another one coming.” He taps his jaw, reminding me of the left hook he gave me earlier.

What the hell was that? Why would I be a jackass? I wonder if I’ve nodded off and missed part of the conversation, but I don’t have time to contemplate it when his dad makes his way to the front door. I guess now it’s my turn. For a brief moment, I stand behind the door that’s fallen halfway shut again and take a few deep breaths. Either there will be a lot of shouting in the next few minutes, or hopefully, and this is my preferred option, a lot of hugging and forgiving.

I open the door and freeze, staring at the woman I couldn’t get out of my head for months. She looks different now. Her hair is short and black, complementing her slim face and making her green eyes pop even from the distance. She’s still slim, but her curves seem curvier now, her body softer. The way my heart is beating at the sight of her, I might be heading for a heart attack.

I can see the moment she recognizes me. Her body tenses up, her eyes go wide with surprise or shock, which of the two I’m not sure. But then her mouth draws into a fine line and her eyes are shooting daggers my way. I guess my assumption she might hate me wasn’t far off. But even in her anger, she’s more beautiful than ever. If that’s the last thing I’ll see before she takes me out, so be it.

My gaze fully focused on her, I don’t even hear what her mother is saying. I merely register someone’s talking.

This is what I came back for. Her. It’s always been her.

She walks over to me, her movements stiff as if she has to force her legs to move in my direction. Her jaw is tense and her nostrils flare with each breath she takes. When she reaches me, she stretches out her hand.

What the hell? I’m not a bank representative. I ignore it and move closer to take her into my arms. It’s like hugging a stone sculpture. Cold, unyielding, hard. She’s not hugging me back, even though I hold her longer than necessary, breathing in her smell—sandalwood and jasmine. A smell that is uniquely her.

There’s so much I want to tell her, so much I want to say, but instead I lean down, my mouth at her ear and I only say one thing, “Sorry.” I didn’t think it was possible, but she goes even more rigid in my arms.
Well, that was the wrong thing to say.

“Fuck you,” she hisses at me, quiet enough so no one else will hear. As soon as I let her go, she’s gone. It’s as if she can’t get away from me fast enough and fuck, it hurts. I know she has every right to be angry, but I hoped for a different welcome. I didn’t expect the vibes of pure, unadulterated hate she’s sending out.

At the same time, it’s oddly reassuring. If the night meant nothing to her she wouldn’t hate me as much. I’m surprised she’s so passive though. That’s not the Frankie I know. The Frankie I know would be calling me names and kicking my ass seven ways to Sunday right now. Instead, she is controlled, distant, and cold.

I watch her busy herself with the luggage when a voice cuts through my thoughts. When I look to my right, her mother is standing there holding a baby. “Look Archer, this is Uncle Ben.”

Archer? Uncle Ben?
Who is this kid and what the hell is she talking about? All air has left my lungs, while I’m trying to come to terms with what I see. I tell myself that it’s not possible, when Frankie’s words cut through the air and into me as if she’s wielding a knife.

“He is not his uncle.”

“Of course. I know that. But he has always been like a son to us, so why shouldn’t Archer call him that?”

What goddamn alternate universe did I end up in? I wonder briefly if I hit my head somewhere, or if the left hook from Dave gave me a concussion. It can’t be. This can’t be Frankie’s kid.

As I turn away from the baby, my gaze zeroes in on Frankie, who looks like she’s going to lose it any second. She’s breathing in and out slowly before she speaks.

“Because to be part of my family, you have to earn the right. So we will refer to him as Ben.”

Her mother walks past me and my eyes follow her and the baby in her arms.

Finally, the things I see seem to register as my brain kicks in again, and all I feel is shock. I’m frozen to the spot, my mind working overtime to come to terms with what I just witnessed.

Fucking hell, Frankie has a son. I clench my fists, anger and jealousy coiling around my heart like a noose. It takes a lot of effort not to punch something.

While I've been living like a fucking monk, she went out and got knocked up. I want to rip the guy’s head off, or better yet, his dick and then feed it to him. And here I am like a fucking idiot wanting to win her back. I wonder where the baby daddy is and what kind of fucker she hooked up with.

Dave’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as he walks over to Frankie’s car. “Wanna help?” He points to his sister and the bags she’s getting out of the trunk. Not like I can say no, so I join him. She bristles when she notices me, as if she smelled something really disgusting. She’s got some balls. Not like I’m here with a kid.

I can’t take my eyes off her despite the jealousy and anger running wild through my body. I feel like a menopausal woman when the jealousy is joined by a feeling of regret. I can't blame her for moving on, for finding someone to share her life with. But damn if it doesn’t make me go crazy. And that only reminds me of my father, and now all my other emotions are joined by fear. For the first time in months I miss whiskey.