The Long Way Home

The Long Way Home Page 8

I nodded and drank a huge gulp of my marg. The old man I had met up with earlier walked past us, “Hey, did you find the party?”

I nodded, “I did. Thank you.”

He sat in the sand next to where we were standing, “I don’t think I’ll ever catch that damned dog. He grabbed that bag of food from you and he’s been crazy since.”

I flopped onto the sand next to Brian, the old man, “Sorry about that.”

Will sat beside me, giving me a weird look, “You guys know each other?”

I shook my head, passing him the huge glass of marg. “No.” I looked at Brian, “I’m J.D.”

He smiled, “Brian.”

Will waved, “I’m Willy.”

I nudged Will, "He prefers to be called Will though."

He blushed and looked down.

Jack came running over to me, tackling me into the sand again. I managed to grab his collar but he dragged me a little bit.

Brian jumped up and grabbed his collar from me, “Ha, you little bastard. Sorry about that J.D. He's a brat.”

I laughed and wiped the sand off my arm. I felt the petals on my poor dress. They were intact.

“Well, I better get him home. Night you two.”

“Night.” We both waved him off.

Will nudged me, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I would be dying right now.”

I smiled, “I don’t know. My heart hurts but I think my pride hurts more.”

“Do you feel lost? You don’t seem like you’re very lost. I think I would be lost.”

I shook my head, “I would have to say it’s quite the contrary to lost.” I glanced at him, “I feel found, newly found and free.” I took the glass back from him and had a huge gulp of it. It was melting fast. I sighed, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but it was an arranged marriage or sorts. Not a love marriage."

"Yeah, I got that. I hear a lot of blue bloods do that." He played with the sand, “How do you know France?”

I laughed and hiccuped at the same time, and then drank a large sip. The wine was hitting harder with the addition of the marg. “We grew up together. He was a badass kid who played sports and did naughty shit. Our hockey team actually paid for him to go to our prep school because he was such an amazing player. I think his mom hoped we would straighten him out. You know, a bunch of snooty brats would keep him in line. But honestly, I think we just helped him learn to be corrupt on the down-low. He was lost and we sort of helped him find himself, and at the same time, somehow helped him avoid becoming one of us. We’re broken, always have been. The new money is so desperate to be accepted by the old money, they won't do anything that’s frowned upon. The old money is getting fearfully broke in comparison to the newly rich, so that they fear the end of their empire is over. They hang onto the reigns very tight. France ignored it all. He’s always been real and alive and crazy. Not like the people in our cliques. Most don’t have human hearts, probably all the inbreeding to keep the blood blue.”

He laughed, “You’re very deep for a drunk on a beach.”

I laughed, “I have a lot of practice at being polite and put together while under the influence.”

He laughed and I realized something about him made me comfortable. It might have been the wine and margs that did it, but either way, I felt compelled to tell him my something horrid. I took a deep breath and muttered, “My fiancé isn’t just a regular philanderer. He is a pervert who likes younger girls—you know, the barely-legal types. I discovered it today. I suspected he might be having an affair the other day, but today I caught him having sex in my bed with our much-younger neighbor, in a cape.”

“A cape? That was with that the Ashley girl you mentioned on the phone?”

I looked out at the water and answered robotically, “Yes. She just turned nineteen. I hate him.”

“Well J.D., he’s a damned fool.”

I held my glass up, “Fuck him.”

He choked and laughed as I finished the glass. I looked at him, “Tell me something horrible.”

He smiled, making his eyes squint. “My parents’ divorce was a hard year. I got arrested a bunch of times for drinking, and then when I got my license, I drank and drove. I crashed the car and hurt my friend. I never got charged because I was a good player and they didn’t want to ruin my career. They made my friend take all the blame, even though he was the one who was hurt. He took the charges and they told him he would get off. He didn’t. He went to juvie for two months. He’s a drug addict and a career criminal now. He was the good kid. I was the trouble. I ruined his life and mine is awesome.”

I frowned, “That’s awful, but you can't take responsibility for the fact he got in the car with you, took the blame for you, or turned to drugs afterwards. Had he done the time that wasn’t fair for him to get, and been a good kid when he got out, he would have been fine. Kids’ records are sealed when they’re eighteen. No one would have even known it had happened.”

“You know a bizarre amount of shit about youth criminal records and that’s a creepy way of looking at it.”

I laughed, “I volunteer with kids like your friend. We try to get them to stay on the good path so when they’re older, they can have normal jobs. It’s all about making citizens, not coddling them and making criminals.” I shook my head, “You can only take responsibility for the fact you let him take the blame.”

He nudged me again, as if we were old friends, “We should get back.”

I gave him a smile, “Okay. Yeah, France is probably looking for me.” I looked around at our little spot, “What a weird couple days.” I stood on my wobbly legs and took a second to get my bearings.

He got up fast, grabbing my arm to steady me, “Maybe no more liquor tonight.”

I shrugged, “I’m well past the point of return on this. I’m drunk. I can feel it now.”

We walked back to the house. I saw my bag, still on the back deck, and rolled my eyes. Of course France hadn’t grabbed it.

I smiled at Will, “I’m just going to grab my things. I’ll meet you inside.”

He nodded and walked into the house. I dropped to my knees to shove the things that had fallen out of my CHANEL bag back in.

I heard a noise and looked up. France was behind the barbecue and a couple chairs on the far side of the patio. I was about to say something to him, but the blonde girl leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. I wrinkled my nose and grabbed my belongings quickly. I jumped up and ran down the beach.

“Jack! Wait!” he shouted at me but I ran harder. My boot dropped out of the bag. I stopped and picked it up but he was there.

“Where are you going?”

I shook my head, “Coming here was a mistake. I’m going home.”

He was breathing heavily, “Maybe you should let me drive you home tomorrow, huh? You’re pretty drunk, babe.”

I poked his chest, “Don't call me babe. I don’t want to get in the way with the blonde girl. And if I stay, I might molest your nice friend. I suspect he’s too sweet for me to do that to.”

His face tightened, “Jack, I can't let you drive, the blonde is nobody, and if you go near Willy, I might have to kill him.”

My stomach rumbled as I was about to argue my point. I held it tightly, feeling the mess. My eyes flew open wide. I panicked as I spoke to him, “Quickly! Get my shirt and blouse from the bag.”

He grabbed the bag, dumping it. I pulled my dress off and folded it. I placed it delicately in his hands, “Please wrap it in the tissue and put it back into the bag.”

His jaw dropped. He stood there like an idiot, staring at my breasts that had completely fallen out of my bra. I pulled the straps up, shrugged on my blouse, did up one button, and pulled on my skirt. I staggered up the beach to a grassy spot and threw up everywhere. I held the piece of broken fence I was beside.

His warmth was behind me, snuggled up against me. He pulled my hair back as I bent forward and heaved into the grass again, “It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay.”

I started to tremble as I sobbed and heaved again, “I need to lay down, France.”

He pulled me back into him, “Come on. My bed is empty, I swear.” He took my hand in his and pulled me back to my stuff. I stood there, swaying in the wind like the beach grass as he packed up all my clothes and food. The warmth of his hand over mine gave me a chill. I stopped myself from walking with him and shook my head, “Uhmmmm no.” I pulled back, shaking my head and backtracking. “This is a bad idea.” I knew where it would go. I was too drunk to go back there and suffer through loving him and watching the blonde all over him. No.

I turned and ran, faster than I think he or I anticipated I could. I rounded the corner of the tiki huts, pressing the unlock button on the car. I dove into the driver’s seat and slammed the door fast. Mike was slamming on the passenger side of the car as I started it. I heard another noise just as the driver’s door was ripped open. Out of nowhere, there were lights—flashing, bright-white ones. Then there was yelling and I was jerked from the seat. It was too much for me to take in, all at once. Things got blurry.

My face was pressed into the cement. Something was holding it there, pressing on my back. In the dim glow of the streetlights and my hazy vision, I saw France. He looked angry.

The voices greeted him, they knew him.

He picked me up. I nodded, “Hi, Mike.”

He snarled at me and looked back at the man in the uniform, “We good?”

The man nodded, “Get her outta here.”

Wednesday

Light was the enemy. I’d tried opening my eyes a couple times, but it had ended badly. I felt something touch my arm. I jumped, opening my eyes and groaning as the instant headache started.

I was with Mike.

That was all there was.

I looked up, seeing his light and breezy beach house and everything was back instantly. I closed my eyes, “Oh, my shoes really are ruined?”