Traplines (10 page)

Tom had wondered why Patricia kept packing granola bars when Mike never ate them. When he’d told her that Mike hated health food, she’d said he’d specifically requested it. After he thought about it for a while, he realized that Mike was giving him food in a way that wouldn’t embarrass him.

“It’s good for you,” Tom said.

Mike made gagging sounds. “It’s shit. One hundred percent organic, hand-picked, underprocessed shit.”

“Unlike your Twinkie.”

“Fuck off, this is manna.”

Mike pushed his hair back but the bangs flopped down again, covering half his face. He handed Tom a tofu dog and an underripe papaya. They ate in silence.

His mom had come back from vacation that morning. He’d snapped awake when he’d heard the key in the lock. He’d heard her giggle, then the sound of a man’s voice. A man who wasn’t Uncle Richard. Yes! Tom thought as the front door closed. Her pumps clicked down the hallway to
the bathroom. Usually she didn’t let men into the apartment until she’d known them for a few weeks. She’d been careful ever since one of them had taken her purse, her jewelry, and the good TV while she slept. “Screwed,” she’d said. “Literally and figuratively.” She’d looked tough for a few seconds before she’d burst out crying and put her head in her hands.

“Think about it,” Mike said.

It took Tom a few moments to realize that he was back on body piercing. “Like anyone’s going to hire me with a pierced nose.”

“Fuck,” Mike said. “Look at you, man. Your hair’s enough to scare off respectable people.”

“I tie it back,” Tom said.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Hel-lo! Which one of us has blueberry fucking Kool-Aid hair? What’s a fucking nose ring to that?”

“You first.”

“Wuss,” Mike said.

The buzzer rang. Mike kicked the last of his lunch into the corner. “What you got?”

“Physics,” Tom said, yawning.

“Later,” Mike said. He punched Tom in the arm and left.

After a week Tom was used to finding Jeremy lounging around the living room when he got home from school.

“Don’t you go anywhere but your room?” Jeremy asked as Tom came through the door.

Tom put his bike away.

Jeremy popped his head around the corner. “Don’t you have any friends?”

“What?”

“Friends,” Jeremy said this very slowly, like he was talking to an idiot. “Guys you bum around with. You know, guys you go to the pool hall with, smoke with, check out girls with. I can look it up in the dictionary if you like.”

“Bug off,” Tom said.

“Just ragging you, kid,” Jeremy said as he went back into the living room and sprawled out on the lounger, remote control in one hand, a can of Pepsi in the other. “How’d school go?”

“Okay. Did Mom leave me any money?”

Jeremy shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Tom flopped down on the sofa. “She said she might.”

“She didn’t. How much do you need?”

“Seventy-five bucks,” Tom said glumly.

“That all? I can cover that.”

“You would?” Tom hadn’t considered asking Jeremy.

“Sure. What’s it for?”

“Band trip. We’re going to stay over two nights and we have to pay for food and stuff.”

Jeremy reached into his jeans and pulled out his wallet. “I seem to remember you saying you had no time.” He waved the money in front of him. “Any reason for this sudden change?”

“No,” Tom said, blushing furiously.

“Paulina wouldn’t happen to be in band, would she?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Jeremy slowly, making a great show of it, put the money back in his wallet. He turned the TV up and ignored Tom.

“Maybe she is,” Tom said.

“What does she play?” Jeremy said, still not looking at him.

Tom fumed. “Flute.”

“Second flute? Third?”

“First.”

“Is she any good?”

“Yes.”

“How close do you sit to her?”

“Behind her.” Tom watched desperately as Jeremy flipped through the channels. “I’d pay you back.”

“Don’t worry,” Jeremy said. “It’s no skin off my nose.”

“No, really. As soon as I get another job.”

“Yeah, right,” Jeremy said. “Here. Take it.”

Tom ignored the money. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just say I’m not going to hold my breath until I get it back.”

Tom grabbed his knapsack and stood, saying nothing as he left the room.

“Not now,” his mother said when she came home. She rubbed her feet and pulled off the smock of her uniform. “Next year, Tom. We’ll have money next year.”

When he was dressing to go out, Jeremy winked at Tom. “Think about it. It’s just a lousy seventy-five bucks,” he said, putting on his carefully ironed silk shirt. The shirt alone, Tom thought, could pay their electric bill.

“I don’t need your charity,” Tom said.

“Yeah?” Jeremy said. “Could have fooled me.”

Tom turned over and faced the wall until Jeremy left.

When he heard the front door slam, Tom rolled onto his
back and stared at the ceiling. He lay in bed, thinking and waiting.

Jeremy came home late. Tom listened closely as he rummaged through the kitchen, opening and closing doors and rattling cutlery.

“I can wash your car!” Tom burst out as Jeremy came through the bedroom door.

“Christ!” Jeremy said, almost dropping his sandwich. “You want to give me a fucking heart attack?”

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. So,” he said, turning on the light. “You want to wash my car.”

That Saturday Jeremy woke Tom up at seven. They drove to the nearest gas station. It was too cold for it, but Tom asked Jeremy to put the top down. He wished Mike could see him. When they got to the gas station, Jeremy pulled out the cleaning equipment. Tom groaned.

“We don’t need all that, do we?” he said.

Jeremy said, “You want the money?”

First, the car was rinsed (in the shade, never in the sun), then washed (warm soapy water and a natural sea sponge). Then it was rinsed again (careful that no gravel or sand had gotten on the sponge) before it was rubbed dry (soft cotton cloth). After that, the car was waxed. Tires scrubbed. Seats and floors vacuumed. Windows washed (inside, then outside, never the other way around). Dashboard dusted (never washed). Trying to lighten Jeremy’s grim concentration, Tom splashed him with the hose. But the second the water hit Jeremy’s T-shirt Tom knew he’d made a mistake.

Jeremy looked up slowly.

“Oops,” Tom said, putting the hose down. “Sorry.”

Jeremy advanced. Tom backed away, putting the car between them.

“Come here,” Jeremy said, beckoning with his finger. “Come here, Tom.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you. Come here, come on.”

After the fourth time around the car, Jeremy charged, and Tom tripped on the hose. Jeremy yanked him up and held him by the collar.

“You’re going to wash my car once a week,” he said, pulling Tom close. “Every week. Until I leave.”

“Jump off a bridge,” Tom said. “I don’t want your money anymore.”

“You will do it,” Jeremy said.

“Or what?”

“Or I will go to your school. I will find Paulina.” He leaned toward Tom’s ear and whispered, “And I will tell her everything you’ve told me.”

Tom stood completely still, furious.

“And a few things you didn’t,” Jeremy added, laughing.

“Well, Tom,” his cousin said before he went out that night. “Looks like you have a job.”

It wasn’t too bad, really. Jeremy bought groceries, cleaned up after himself, and minded his own business most of the time. He’d disappear once in a while and return when he was strung out. It must be genetic, Tom thought.

His mom really did have the night shift tonight. She kissed Jeremy on the cheek to thank him for buying dinner, even though she’d been too hungover to eat much. After she left, Tom finished his homework in the kitchen, then did the dishes.

“Where you going?” Jeremy said from the living room as Tom wheeled his bike from the closet.

“Out,” Tom said, kicking the bike stand up.

“Where?”

Tom heard the lounger squeal as Jeremy got out of it. He bit back a “None of your damn business” and made himself calm by closing his eyes. “Just for a ride.”

“This late?”

“It’s only twelve-thirty.”

“It’s late,” Jeremy said. He was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. “And it’s a school night.”

The trick, he remembered Mike saying, is to believe you’re unstoppable. “I’m going for a ride. Get out of my way.”

“Go to bed. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

Tom pushed the bike forward, right to Jeremy’s feet, then stopped. Jeremy looked down at him.

Tom said, “You got no right to tell me what to do. You’re not my father. You’re not even my brother. You’re some guy who’s too cheap to get his own place.”

Jeremy’s face froze. “I’m trying to help.”

“We don’t need your help.”

“You moron,” Jeremy said. “Do you know what kind of freaks are out there?”

Tom reached for the door and Jeremy slid out of the way. “I can take care of myself.”

He expected Jeremy to stop him, but he didn’t.

Tom didn’t bike far, just to the little park off Fraser that the city had created out of a traffic intersection. Tom sat on the swings.

It started to rain, a blotchy, half-hearted drizzle. He liked the color of wet concrete at night, the smell of the grass and dust, and the way the traffic hissed by.

A prostitute he hadn’t seen before was smoking on a nearby bench. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then ignored him. Only one or two of the women had ever talked to him. He didn’t mind. It felt better to be sitting with someone than to be sitting alone.

When she left, the park felt empty and he wanted to go home. Instead he stayed. No one, not even his mom, told him what to do. If he wanted to go riding at midnight, that was his business. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He knew what he was doing. Besides, this was Vancouver, for Christ’s sake, not New York.

He stayed in the park another half hour, figuring that Jeremy would be asleep.

When he got home, Jeremy was sitting at the kitchen table with a calculator. He didn’t look up, though Tom went and stood beside him. He had papers scattered around him. Tom looked closer and saw that they were bills—the electric bill, phone, rent. The shoe box he kept them in was lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

Jeremy punched the calculator buttons. “You can take care of yourself, can you?”

“Those are private!” Tom said.

“How much are you in the hole?”

“None of your goddamn business! Get out!”

“Sit down,” Jeremy said calmly.

“Get the fuck out! Get! Out!”

Jeremy finally looked up at him. “They’re cutting your power off in three days. What are you going to do?”

“I can’t believe you went through my things,” Tom said.

“Your things? Have you told your mother?”

“Jeez,” said Tom, grabbing the bills, shoving them back into the shoe box. “Don’t. She can’t … she just, she’s going through a rough time. Just leave her alone.”

Jeremy tweaked the shoe box and pulled. Tom pulled back, then let go, and Jeremy slid the box over to his side of the table. “Sit,” he said. “Sit.”

Tom reached for one of the chairs. He sat down, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Jeremy was staring at him. “I don’t want you to tell Mom. It’s okay. I’m handling it.”

“How?” Jeremy held up Tom’s medical bills. Tom flinched. Jeremy opened his wallet. Then he covered the bills in fifties. Jeremy spread out the last electric bill, the phone bill, the notice of back rent due, his mom’s Mastercard and did the same thing. When Jeremy had finished, he looked at Tom. “Do I have your attention?”

Tom swallowed, unable to take his eyes off the money. How much money was on the table? Two, three thousand dollars? God, where did he get that kind of cash?

“Earth to Tommy. Do I have your attention?”

“Yes,” Tom said quietly.

“Then let’s make a deal,” Jeremy said, suddenly cheerful.

Tom felt alarm creep along his spine. It had to be a fucking sick joke.

“What kind of deal?”

Jeremy smiled. “Remember what you said before you left? How you don’t need my help?”

Tom said nothing but he knew his face was flushed.

“Oh, I don’t hold grudges.” Jeremy winked. “Don’t get mad, get even, that’s my motto. Look, it’s really very simple. I’ll pay off your bills, one bill a week, and I’ll help with rent and food, and all you have to do is one itty bitty little thing.”

Tom said cautiously, “What?”

“Oh, it’s simple. All I want you to do is be good.”

Tom stared at him suspiciously. “When you say ‘good,’ what do you mean?”

“No more sneaky wandering around at night alone. No staying overnight anywhere without phoning. You ask me if you can stay somewhere. You ask me if you can go to parties. You listen to me when I tell you what to do.”

Tom had to suppress his annoyance. “But—”

“No buts.” Jeremy leaned forward. “Do we have a deal?”

It was tempting. A little freedom lost. A little financial security gained. Just long enough to finish classes without worrying about rent. If his cousin wanted to play Mother Teresa, who was he to say no?

“I guess.”

Jeremy got up and clapped him on the back. “Good choice. You won’t regret it. Now get to bed. See? Is that so bad?”

Tom pushed back his chair and stood, feeling lightheaded. He went to the bathroom, locked the door to make sure he had a few minutes to be alone, to think. He brushed his teeth absently, staring at himself in the mirror. How bad could it be?

That Saturday, Tom lay in bed reading. His arms hurt. Shoulders ached. Five hours of washing Jeremy’s stupid car, scrubbing the goddamn apartment floors, and being Jeremy’s fucking maid. Jeremy could take his money and shove it. There was no way he was going to spend another day like this.

Jeremy knocked. Tom knew it was Jeremy because his mom never knocked before entering a room. Frowning, he hunched down and stared at the book, no longer seeing the words.

“Still sore at me?” Jeremy said cheerfully.