The Reaping (10 page)

I told Leah I’d be back right after dinner then I hurried home to tell dad.  He was waiting for me in the garage, as usual.  I saw his dirty shoes, this time sticking out from behind the open driver’s side door.

Without preamble, I plunged right in.  “Dad, can I spend the night with Leah tonight?”

I thought he would come out of the car with both barrels loaded and ready to go, but he didn’t.  In fact, he didn’t even answer me for the longest time.  When he did, it wasn’t what I expected.  “Carson, is this about your mother and sister?”  His voice was soft and sad.  Dejected.  I guess he thought I blamed him and wanted to curtail my time with him as much as possible.

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how I felt about any of it.  I hadn’t given it much thought since I found out.  I’d stayed busy and during quiet moments I’d purposely avoided thinking of my myriad troubles.  Too much was happening too fast. I couldn’t seem to get my bearings and it felt better to just ignore it all, focus on what few good things I had going for me and not question the rest.

“No, Dad.  Honestly, I’ve been trying not to even think about all that.  This is just a night at Leah’s.  That’s it.  No big deal.”

He was quiet again.  Finally, I heard him sigh.  “Alright, but be home early in the morning.”

Relief washed over me.  “Ok.  Thanks, Dad.”

I raced into the house to pack a bag before I had to start dinner.  I flipped through my meager wardrobe, agonizing over what to wear.  I settled on a medium weight cable knit sweater, a pair of low-riding jeans and some Ugg boot knock-offs (I’d convinced Dad that I needed them to keep my feet warm on the walk to school in the winter).  I stuffed it all into an overnight bag, along with shorts, a t-shirt and a few toiletries, and headed to the kitchen to start the tacos.

A few minutes after six, I was ringing the bell at Leah’s.  She flung open the front door, took my bag in one hand and my hand in the other and dragged me up the stairs to her room.  From the instant she shut her door behind us, she didn’t stop chattering until Stephen pulled up at the curb.  When she saw his lights, she ran to the window and squealed excitedly.

“He’s here!  He’s here!”

“I can see that,” I teased.  I knew that my excitement should rival hers, especially since I’d been daydreaming about just such a night forever it seemed, but it just wasn’t there.  I could, however, find joy in
her
joy, which is exactly what I did.

She walked me to the door then reminded me, “So, I’ll find you as soon as we get there, ok?”

“Alright,” I said.  “Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Are you kidding?  This is, like, the best night of my life,” she declared.  “
And
it’s only seven o’clock.”

I was still smiling when I walked out the door.  Stephen was just getting out of his car. I guess he had gotten tired of waiting for me.  He hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door for me. 

“You look great,” he said, genuine appreciation glowing in his blue, blue eyes.

Leah had forced me to avail myself of all her newly purchased feminine products, which was a real treat for me, since they were all on the “silly” list seven doors down at the Porter house.  I’d put a few loose curls in my hair with her flatiron and used some of her lip gloss and mascara.  I’d even walked through a sprits of her perfume.  I felt like an alien, but in a good way.

“You, too,” I said, my comment as lacking in imagination as was his.  He did look nice, though.  But then again, he always did.

Once I was seated in the car, Stephen shut the door and rounded the front to the driver’s side.  The car smelled overwhelmingly of some sort of cologne.  It was probably a nice scent—in moderation—but it seemed that Stephen had doused every inch of his car in the stuff.  It was literally breathtaking.  I was forced to crack the window or risk passing out.

Just as I was in the beginning stages of a nasty headache, Stephen cut off the main road onto a dirt drive that cut through the woods.  It dead-ended at the edge of a grassy clearing.   When he parked, I jumped out of the car and took several deep, cleansing breaths.  Between the cologne and the football anecdotes, I was ready for fresh air and a change of subject. 

I straightened my sweater as I looked around.  According to Stephen one of the football players’ parents owned this land.  They had erected a series of cabana-like structures in the clearing that formed a semi-circle facing the lake.  In the center of the ring of tents was a fire pit surrounded by six long benches made from split trees.  A path led from the fire pit down to the dock which was decorated with tiki torches and Chinese lanterns.  Just beyond the dock, across the water, I could see a few more torches on what looked to be a small island a couple hundred feet away.

One of the cabanas seemed to be the site of most of the action.  The curtains were tied back and I could see that a table had been set up just inside.  There were bags of chips and dishes of dip, a cold meat and cheese tray, some crackers, and a punch bowl.  To the left of the table, sitting on the ground in a big barrel of ice, was a keg of beer.  Music poured from a huge portable stereo under the table and some girls were already dancing just outside the entrance. 

I had stopped in front of Stephen’s car to take in the scene, to weigh and measure it against the hundreds of fantasies I’d had about just such an event.  I found that it looked, smelled and sounded much like I’d suspected that it would. 

The one thing I hadn’t factored in, however, was nerves.  I recognized most of the people I could see.  They comprised the elite, upper crust of the school.  Unfortunately, several of the girls had made their opinion of me very clear at one point or another.  And one of the ones who hadn’t was going out of her way to make it tonight. 

Standing in the middle of the dancing girls was Brianna Clark.  The reason she was standing rather than dancing is because she’d stopped to give me the stink eye as soon as she’d seen that I was with Stephen.  She whispered to one of the girls at her side, Ciara Bentley, and then they both started laughing.  I hoped against hope that it had nothing to do with a plot to Carrie-fy me.

Stephen approached to my left and I rubbed my damp palms over my jeans.  Oblivious to the tension, he took my hand in his and tugged me forward.

“Come on.  Let’s go get a drink.”

Beverages were another thing I hadn’t included in my daydreams.  Other than once sneaking a drink of wine from the fridge of one of our neighbors in Ohio, I had never even tasted alcohol before. 

“Um, what do they have?  To drink I mean,” I asked casually.

“Beer, punch,” he said, shrugging.  “I’m sure somebody around here’s got some Jack.”

“Oh, ok,” I said noncommittally, all the while I was thinking
punch, punch, punch
.  I had no idea who Jack was, but I got the feeling he had something I should stay away from.

I followed Stephen into the cabana where he was greeted animatedly by all his friends.  He attempted a group introduction once, but they were all too busy placing bets on whether or not one of the guys from the wrestling team could do a thirty second tap hit, whatever that is. 

I stood quietly by Stephen’s side, taking it all in.  My senses were overwhelmed by sight and sound.  It felt a lot like being at the circus.  While you were watching the elephants, the clowns were juggling and riding bikes, the trapeze artists were doing flips overhead and someone was trying to sell you popcorn and peanuts.  Too much!

Stephen fixed me a cup of punch and handed it to me.  I took a tentative sip.  It had the pronounced tang of citrus, but with a bite of something I couldn’t identify.  It tasted good, though, and harmless enough. 

I sipped it while we watched all the circus freaks.  We made our way around from group to group.  At one point, I found myself watching two guys launch their girlfriends down the dock in shopping carts.  They reasoned that the strongest man would be able to propel his girlfriend the farthest.  I was a little afraid for the girls, convinced the activity was fraught with peril, especially since they were obviously inebriated.  But evidently I was the only one, as everyone else merely picked a spot along the path to cheer them on.

It seemed I had just started my drink when Stephen swapped it out for a full cup; turns out I’d sipped my punch right to the empty bottom.  I sipped some more as we watched round one and the girls went careening down the dock, weaving this way and that.  The second race unfolded in a similar manner.  By the time the third race was starting, I had finished my punch again and Stephen was handing me another.

As two more men ran toward the dock, pushing their respective girlfriends, I found myself cheering them on with the rest of the crowd, smiling and giggling, a pleasant warmth infusing my muscles.  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Leah behind me with Ryan at her back. 

“Leah!”  I was inordinately glad to see her and suddenly very happy she was my friend.  I felt compelled to hug her.  “You’re here.”

Leah laughed, feeling a little stiff inside my embrace.  “Yep, we’re here.  We’re going to get some snacks.  Want to come?”

“Nope, I’m good.  Get some punch and come on back down.”

“Uh, we might.  This seems…” she trailed off.

“You’ll like it.  Trust me,” I said.  “And oh my gosh!  You wouldn’t believe how good this punch is.  You
have
to get some.”

“Oh.  Uh—“

“Seriously.  It is so good, Leah.”

“Um, are you alright?”  Leah asked.  She was eyeing me skeptically, which I found immediately irritating for some reason.

“I’m fine.  If you don’t want to have fun, then stay over there, but don’t be ruining
my
good time.”  With that, I turned my attention back to the race.

It was just then that one of the carts veered to the left and both cart and girl went splashing into the cold water.  The crowd erupted.  Everyone rushed onto the dock to enjoy the wet rescue. 

Stephen grabbed my hand and tugged me onto the dock as well.  When we’d reached the throng of spectators, Stephen kept walking, pulling me along behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something,” he said, winking down at me.

I let Stephen lead me past all the curious onlookers and makeshift rescue workers to a small boat tied near the end of the pier.  He reached down to steady the boat then looked up at me.

“Hop in,” he said, tipping his head toward the boat.

“What?”  Somewhere in a small, poorly lit corner of my mind, a tiny little alarm began to sound.  Unfortunately, it sounded far, far away and was quickly eclipsed by the pleasant buzzing that was taking place in my head.

“I want to show you something.  Get in,” he encouraged.

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“It’s a boat and two oars, Carson.  How could it not be safe?”

At that moment, I couldn’t think of one good argument, one good reason it might not be safe.  So, with his hand steadying me, I stepped down into the boat. 

Stephen got in and sat down across from me.  He untied the boat, took an oar in each hand and began to row us away from the dock.  I couldn’t help but marvel at the smooth way he moved, working the oars efficiently.  His cologne had died down and it was a nice, subtle scent that I smelled only when he leaned forward in his rowing.  When it seemed he was competent enough to take us wherever we were going, I sat back and closed my eyes, ready to enjoy the trip. 

The cool night breeze pinched at my nose and cheeks.  The air smelled of smoke from the fire pit and citronella from the torches.  With the noise of the party receding into the distance, I could hear a gentle lapping as our boat cut through the water.  I felt more relaxed and happy than I could ever remember feeling.  Sublime was the word that came to mind.  All felt right with the world.