Текст книги "Touched"
Автор книги: Cyn Balog
Соавторы: Cyn Balog
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Nan had this 1976 Buick that was the color of calcified dog crap. It was built like a tank, all square edges, and had one of those bench seats that took a team of oxen to move into position. The Buick turned more heads than a car accident when it came down the road. It was so god-awful, people would crane their necks to see the unfortunate owner. Not like they could see little Nan behind the massive steering wheel, which was the size of a monster truck’s tire. The Buick wouldn’t fit in a regular garage, but that was fine with Nan because, as she would proudly tell you, we had the only three-car garage in town. Our garage was bigger than our house, so the car was very comfortable among Nan’s strange collections of things, like the scoops from coffee cans and used pop-up turkey timers. It only had twenty-three thousand miles on it, “a classic!”, as Nan would say. She only used it to go to the A&P and church every Sunday. She walked everyplace else.
As the sun began to melt orange against the horizon, I got Nan into the passenger’s seat and slid behind the massive wheel, where Saint Christopher stared at me from a placard on the dashboard. I gripped the wheel and inched out of the garage like an old man.
Wow. I really needed the practice. Taryn would be wanting me like crazy after this ride.
It went without saying that I didn’t like driving. Before that day I hadn’t driven since I passed my driver’s test at the beginning of the summer. Something about seeing all the accidents I could cause rubbed me the wrong way. Once, when I had my learner’s permit, I thought about flipping on the radio but saw a ten-car pileup. There were just too many opportunities to cause bad things to happen on the road. But today Nan was drugged on something that had her snoring between sentences, not to mention she was down an arm, so it looked like I wouldn’t be able to avoid driving. She’d cornered me the second I got home and told me I had to take her to the pharmacy on the mainland, because she’d realized this afternoon she’d run out of heart pills. She’d called Ocean Pharmacy on the island for a delivery, but they didn’t have the kind she needed, and she was desperate.
But that was okay, I told myself. Normally I would have been a wreck. Despite the weird way it had ended, the afternoon with Taryn had me feeling good. Like maybe I could live a seminormal life, with someone who finally understood what I was going through. Getting there, I was fine. I joked with Nan about how she looked like she had been in a prizefight and how she could tell everyone “the other guy looks worse.” I turned up the modern-rock station on the radio and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. I thought about how soft and small Taryn’s hand felt against mine.
On the way back, though, I lost it. It wasn’t simply the act of driving, of pressing on the gas pedal, that freaked me out. I made it over the bridge from Toms River (can’t tell you how many times I envisioned the Buick careering over the railing and into the bay) and all the way down Central, carefully following the You Wills right down to the letter. But when I was navigating around town hall, not half a mile from Nan’s cottage, it hit me.
Glass shards spraying in my face icy water droplets the smell of peanut butter
What the …?
Instinctively I squeezed my eyes shut, and doing so, I slammed on the brakes. Nan grabbed the armrest. A car horn blared behind me and a red pickup swerved around me. The driver gave me the finger.
It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be my future. First of all, I hated peanut butter. The smell made me so sick that I couldn’t stand it. And the car was all wrong. It wasn’t the easily recognizable Buick, with the tan pleather inside and St. Christopher staring from the dashboard. Nothing about it was vaguely familiar. It could have been something that would happen fifty years in the future, or maybe it wasn’t real at all. Maybe it was just me getting all worked up about driving, as usual. I needed to stay away from Skippy, which was no problem since just thinking about it made my stomach churn, and stick to my bicycle; again, no problem because I hated driving anyway.
I looked over at Nan. For someone who’d missed her last heart pill, this was probably not the best experience to have. She started to say something to comfort me and then began snoring again.
I clenched my jaw. No matter how good things were with Taryn, nothing could protect me. This curse always found ways to remind me who was boss.
Thanks, Mom.
Carefully, I pulled into our driveway and inched the boat into the garage. I helped Nan out and drew the massive wooden doors closed, then stared at the cottage. Something was going to be off in there. I felt the tingles already.
I helped Nan up the three stairs to the back of the house, and when the screen door slammed, I heard my mom’s voice. She sounded angry again. I couldn’t tell what she was saying, though, and I didn’t care. Was it me or did the tingles feel like a thunderstorm, like a thousand times worse than before Emma drowned?
“Up here,” she called. Floorboards creaked. There was a floorboard right in the doorway to my mom’s room that groaned whenever someone was standing on it. It made that noise now. She was out of her room, but just barely. Calling to me from the doorway. “Come up here.”
I figured she wanted to tell me something about what I’d found out from Taryn. She knew, obviously, since our futures were tied to each other’s. Maybe she wanted to explain herself. Apologize in person. Whatever. I wasn’t going to listen, even if she begged forgiveness. I was steel. Stone. Finished with her.
“I don’t want to hear—” I started, but stopped when I saw the look on her face. She had made it to the top stair with one white hand on the banister and was staring down at me. The shadows dug into the creases on her forehead, making her look about twenty years older, or like one of those skeletons in the haunted house at the pier. Her eyes were heavy with worry.
I started to say “What?” but before I could she whispered, “You haven’t been able to see the future yet, have you?”
I shook my head. “No, I have, I’ve seen—” Did I really want to tell her about seeing Taryn naked? Or about what happened in the car? “Why?”
“Have you seen anything from next year? Or even next month?”
I shrugged. Weird question. She knew it was so hard to tell when these future memories took place. I just inexplicably felt my bones aching in the ones where I was an old man. Or I’d catch a glimpse of my grandchild and feel this overwhelming love and pride. No, I hadn’t had any far-off memories of my future since the Emma accident, but I only caught them once in a while, when everything was still. And things had been really screwy lately. I tried to call up a memory of the future, but they never came when I wanted them to. Usually, when I least expected it, I’d see or hear or smell something and the memory would pop into my mind. “I have no—”
“You can’t, can you?”
I didn’t like the tone. She should have been begging forgiveness. Instead, she sounded like she was accusing me of something. It was the tone I should have had with her.
“No, but—”
“That’s because you have no future,” she said. “Whatever you did to change things, Nick … now you’re the one who is going to die. Soon.”
According to my mom, Christmas was really going to suck this year. Because not only might I not live out the year, I might not live out the summer. She said that because first, she knew I had trouble remembering anything in the future anymore, and second, she saw Nan dressed in the black dress she only wore to funerals. She was wearing the cast on her arm. The only other thing she could recall was extreme grief.
Well, that was good. I’d hate for anyone to be happy at my passing.
Oh, and that it was a closed casket. Not like she would get the guts to go to her own son’s funeral, but that was what Nan told her. Which probably meant that my body would be mangled beyond recognition.
All really awesome things.
I could almost feel the jagged glass shards digging into my cheeks. An accident. The car accident I’d envisioned on my ride home.
I knew it wasn’t the Buick. The inside was all wrong. I silently told myself I wouldn’t set foot in a car again. That would do it. I hoped.
But the more I tried to see my future, the more I couldn’t.
No wonder Taryn made the memories of my future go away. No wonder she made me feel normal.
This all started when she entered my life. For some reason, because of her, I had no future.
Trouble was, the more I tried to resign myself to stay away from her, the more I felt that big hole, that emptiness. My chest tightened and ached when I thought about it. It didn’t help that I kept seeing myself kissing her, feeling my hands working through her thick platinum curls. For some reason, I couldn’t see anything in the future but that, the most improbable thing in the world.
The morning of Emma’s funeral, I put on my suit and tie. The suit was too tight. I looked like a major loser. It was only ten in the morning, and it already felt like a hundred degrees. There was no ocean breeze. I contemplated staying home about a thousand times. Then I opened up the door to the garage and climbed into the Buick.
You know those cartoons where a character is contemplating doing something, and a devil appears on one shoulder, trying to tempt him to do the bad thing, and an angel appears on the other, telling him why he should do the right thing? It was totally like that. But this time, Angel-me was telling me I needed to go and pick up Taryn, because I’d promised and it was the right thing to do. And Devil-me said I needed to go straight to the funeral, because something about Taryn was seriously screwing with my future. I went back and forth, gripping the steering wheel and mumbling to myself, until eventually the devil and the angel looked exactly the same.
Finally I just shoved the car into reverse. Gritting my teeth, I headed for the cemetery.
I knew it was a cruddy thing to do, leaving her there. I imagined her sitting on the front stoop, waiting for me. But I could explain it away. I was going to die in a car accident, right? Even though I kind of knew the Buick was safe, she’d be a moron to accept a ride with me.
It was a bright, sunny day. My limited knowledge of funerals from television and movies seemed to suggest that this was wrong; it was supposed to be raining, so much so that we would all huddle tightly around the casket in a dense forest of umbrellas. In the backseat Nan had a massive black thing, almost the size of a beach umbrella, that didn’t fold compactly like new ones did. I’d expected to use it. It would effectively seal me off from the rest of the mourners; nobody would be able to tell who was under it.
Instead, the sun shone like a spotlight pointed right on my head as I stepped out of the car and made my way across the cemetery, to the crowd. I spotted Pedro. I hadn’t seen him since that day on the beach. I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to show up, but he was probably feeling as guilty as I did. “Hey, man,” I said when I’d made my way over to him. “How’s it going?”
He nodded, looking stiff in his suit. Funny how clothes could change a person. There was a sheen of sweat mingling with the pimples on his forehead. Finally, he mumbled, “Rather be anywhere else.”
There was no doubt about it. I seconded Pedro’s emotion.
He sniffed and brought a wadded tissue to his face. Allergies, I guessed. He wasn’t the type to cry. But when he pulled the tissue away, it was covered in blood. When I looked closer, I realized there was blood on the collar of his shirt. He didn’t turn to face me, but I could see a swollen, bluish pocket on his temple and under his eye. One thing about Pedro, he was almost girlish about his appearance; he didn’t get into fights. “Whoa, man. What’s going on?”
A few people turned, saw me, and whispered. I knew it was probably, “There’s the guy who tried to revive her. The crazy one.” One old lady gave me a reproachful look and shook her head.
I’d definitely rather be anywhere else.
We stood in the last row, as far away from the rest of the mourners as possible, but suddenly Pedro faltered, almost like his knees gave out. He staggered backward. “I—can’t,” he whispered, staring at the ground.
I stared at him. For the first time I noticed there wasn’t just blood on his collar. It was all down the front of his shirt, spattering his pale blue tie. Bits of dried grass clung to the knees of his dark pants. “What? Who did that to you, man?”
“I shouldn’t have come,” he hissed. I was aware some people were beginning to turn, but then Pedro just broke into a sprint toward the line of cars. It was like he was being chased by the devil. He even looked back a few times, as if he was expecting to see Satan.
It was over ninety degrees, but I shivered. Wow. What the hell had happened to him?
The priest began to speak about finding comfort in one another. He said, “It is unexpected tragedy that brings us together today.”
“The unexpected in life is often the most difficult to deal with,” I mumbled under my breath, along with the priest. I looked over and saw Mrs. Reese with her head against someone’s shoulder. Mr. Reese, I supposed. When she pulled away, I saw that it was a younger guy. Emma’s brother, the one at Penn State. He stared ahead, unblinking, as Mrs. Reese continued to sob into his suit jacket. Mr. Reese, a white-haired version of his son, stood next to him.
The crowd parted for a split second, and I managed to see the coffin. It was a little one. Too little. I bowed my head and rocked back on my heels and wished for it to be over. In my peripheral vision, I could see two pale feet in black stringy sandals coming up behind me. The toenails were painted red. I knew those feet. Hell, I worshipped those feet.
I cleared my throat. I would not look at her.
She stepped beside me and paused a beat, as if to say, Look at me, I’m here, I came anyway, and then kept right on walking, as if being at a funeral didn’t scare her as much as she’d said. Another girl was with her, the girl with the pixie haircut from track tryouts. The crowd accepted them, made room for them, making me feel like I was the one who had been left behind. After a minute, the boy with Mrs. Reese turned and looked hard, right at Taryn. It was the same look Sphincter had given her. She stared straight ahead, at the casket, but it was clear that there was something between them.
Great. First Sphincter, now this guy. She’s going to drive me to an early grave, I thought, before I realized I probably shouldn’t tempt fate.
After the longest twenty minutes of my life, the funeral ended and the crowd spread out. I kept looking around for some hint as to who had messed with Pedro, wondering if they’d pick me next. I meant not to look at Taryn, but I found myself staring right at her when she spun around to leave. I thought she would give me eye daggers. Instead, she smiled. And not a wicked smile, either; a hey-how-are-you? smile. The kind that’s out of place at a funeral. She made a beeline over to me, her friend following at her heels.
“Did you forget about picking me up?” she asked, still not sounding angry.
“Um. Yeah. Oh.” I tried to play it off as if I had forgotten, but realized too late that I should be apologizing. I mumbled a “sorry,” but I didn’t think she heard it.
“That’s okay. You’ve got stuff on your mind, I understand.”
I nodded. Why the hell was she being so nice?
“Anyway,” she said, “I made it. How are you doing with all this?” She motioned toward the coffin.
“Fine. I was just … leaving …,” I said stiffly. Yeah, I had to leave. Pronto. The You Wills agreed with that.
“Oh.” Pixie grabbed Taryn’s wrist and started to pull her away, but Taryn shook her friend loose, looking annoyed. Then it was as if she regretted it, because she smiled, embarrassed, and made the introduction. “This is Devon.”
Devon and I mumbled hi to each other. She looked about as excited as I was. She stood close enough to Taryn to be her Siamese twin, like she wanted her all to herself.
The only one who seemed interested in conversation was Taryn. But she didn’t notice this. “I had to drag Devon along. Didn’t want to go myself. I hate these things.”
I looked away, feeling like crud. She was too damn cute. I couldn’t take it anymore. “So you got a ride with Devon?” I finally asked.
“No, believe it or not, I have my own car.”
“You drive?”
She nodded. “But I hate it. I know, most people can’t wait to get their licenses, but I have this big fear of driving. I always have this feeling like I am going to die in a horrific car crash.”
I thought about the glass shards spraying in my face. It scared me, too. Another thing we had in common.
“Anyway,” she continued, “my parents wanted me to drive because they’re too busy to cart me around everywhere I need to go. So I got my license a couple of weeks ago. I’m sixteen. Almost seventeen.”
“Really? For some reason I thought you were a freshman.”
Now it was her turn to shrink back. Her face turned red. “I am. Well, I was born on the cusp and so my parents kept me back. And then I had to stay back because of … well, forget it. Long story.”
“That’s cool,” I said, dropping it. I figured it had something to do with that wild past she’d spoken of. I knew she was trying to escape that, because really, it wasn’t her. She was a good girl. A good girl with a bad curse. Probably as bad a curse as mine.
“So you want to see my ride?” she asked, motioning Devon along. “My dad bought it for me as an early birthday present.”
“Sure,” I said after a while. I didn’t want to because I had to get going, and because I wondered if it would be a better ride than mine. Then I realized that any ride was better than mine. Some Schwinns were better than mine.
We walked toward the parking area, and she and Devon talked about how sad the funeral was. Well, Taryn talked about that; Devon obviously wanted to get away from me, like most every girl in the world, because she kept saying under her breath, “We really should go.” I kept looking at the headstones, wondering how the people in the ground had died. One stone said MOMMY’S LITTLE ANGEL and from the years engraved into it, I realized the kid was only five. Like Emma. Soon, she would be in the ground, and I would be
Headlights flashing car horn blaring No no Tar watch ou
“Isn’t that crazy?” a voice said. I turned my head. Taryn had said something and now she was waiting for a response.
“Oh. Yeah,” I fudged.
“I thought that it was, but then, like, why was I waking up in the middle of the night?” she said with a sigh, which made me really want to know what the hell she was talking about. Instead I started thinking of kissing her. I could taste her lips. I knew I was turning red, so I muttered an “I don’t know,” which didn’t fit into the conversation at all.
She looked at me curiously for a second, and then said, “Anyway. Here it is. I call her Beauty.”
It was an old, and I mean old, dusty blue Jeep Cherokee. Nothing about this ride could be considered beautiful, since it was coated in dirt. It was also on a lift and looked too tough to be a Tarynmobile. As I moved around it, I saw a sticker on the back: BAD GIRLS LIKE BAD TOYS.
“Bad girls like bad toys, huh?”
She shrugged. “It was there when my dad bought it. Haven’t had time to remove it yet.”
I laughed. “Sure. You like your toys bad.” I studied the other bumper stickers. FAT PEOPLE ARE HARDER TO KIDNAP. And NICE TRUCK. SORRY ABOUT YOUR PENIS. Wow. If you put me in a room with a thousand cars and asked me to pick which one belonged to Taryn, this would be my last pick. I was just about to point that out when I peeked into the driver’s seat and my blood ran cold.
Dark seats. A center console brown with spilled Coke or coffee. A dream catcher dangling from the rearview mirror. In that instant I was transported to a rainy night, to headlights swirling around me, to the low, grating blare of a truck horn. To small, pale feet with pretty painted toenails pressing against the dashboard, and blond ringlets thrown forward over her face as she screamed and screamed. Suddenly her words played in my head like a recording at too slow a speed: I always have this feeling I am going to die in a horrific car crash.
This was it.
This was the car I would die in.
And worse yet, Taryn would be there, too.
