Текст книги "Swelter"

Автор книги: Nina G. Jones

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“Lilly? Lilly?” Barbie pranced into the living room in her kitten heels. “Oh,” she muttered as she came upon the scene.

“Hi,” Bobby waved at Barbie, flashing that glowing smile.

“Hello . . .” she said tentatively.

“I, uh . . . we all thought you were dead,” was all I could produce.

Bobby shook his head. “I'm not dead, Lil.”

The emotions came in waves so rapid, each one took less than a second to breach. First, confusion. How could he be here? He had been gone for years without a trace and we all had come to terms with that. Next, disbelief. Was I going crazy? Hallucinating from the lack of sleep? Then, relief. Bobby was alive. He looked healthy, albeit scruffy compared to the perfectly-groomed men who lived in our suburb.

A knot formed in the back of my throat as the relief washed ashore. I held it back. I didn't want Barbie to see this. But more importantly, I didn't want Bobby to. And luckily for me, as the waves of relief washed up, a tsunami of anger came next.

He left. He left us all without saying anything. The first year he would send the occasional postcard to his parents from wherever he found himself. They relayed what information they could to us. He even called Rory a couple of times, but the calls were brief. We thought it was a phase and he’d come back home after his wanderlust wore. But then he was drafted, and after their parents died while he was deployed, it was like he turned into dust. Not a letter. Not a call. He didn’t contact us to ask about the funeral or what would happen to the Lightly estate. Even a selfish, greedy jerk would want to know about the money.

Seven years since Bobby first walked away. Seven years since I had last seen him. Six since we last gotten word of any correspondence from him.

I was left behind with his brother, who was broken from the abandonment. Rory was left alone to deal with the deaths of their parents. And now, Bobby thought he could just show up at our doorstep, as if he had just been out of town for a couple of weeks.

My nostrils flared as I swallowed back the lump.

“You were, Bobby,” I replied defiantly.

“Why don't you two head to the kitchen and I'll clean this up,” Barbie volunteered awkwardly.

I hadn't thought to invite Bobby in, but in the haze of shock, I conceded. He followed behind.

“This is a nice house. You two have done well.”

“I suppose,” I replied, pretending to need something from the sink, so that I wouldn't have to face him. I heard him pull a chair from the table and sit. That was always Bobby, making himself at home wherever he wanted.

“You look good, Lil. Really good.”

So did he. So much so that it annoyed me.

I turned. “I uh, I need to call Rory. Tell him you're back.”

“Yeah . . . yeah.” Bobby nodded, his soft tone an attempt to assuage my anxiety.

I grabbed the receiver off the wall and pulled the long cord to its capacity down the hall to be out of earshot.

“Generate, Inc. Mr. Lightly's office.”

“Hi, Jane, it's Lilly. Could you connect me to Rory? It's an emergency.”

“Oh dear, he's not in his office, let me see if I can—oh wait, he's coming down the hall, I'll connect you.”

A few seconds later, the phone clicked as Rory picked up. “Hon? Is everything okay?”

“Everything's okay. I'm fine. I don't know how else to tell you, but . . . Bobby's here.”

“What?”

“Bobby is here in the house. In the flesh. Sitting in the kitchen. He just showed up.” I looked around and guarded the mouthpiece of the receiver as if this information would be a revelation to Bobby had he overheard it. “He’s...alive.”

“Bobby?” Rory went silent for a moment. “Are you okay? Have you been taking too many of those damned pills?” he hissed.

“What? No! I swear. You need to come home and handle this.”

“I—” he sighed audibly over the phone. “But he's dead. I thought . . .” his voice trailed off as he processed the news. If Bobby wasn’t dead, then Rory had to accept his brother had willingly vanished.

“We all did.”

Why else would Bobby not call? We were all so close. I had known the Lightly boys since I was a little girl. We spent many summers at their cabin on the lake. Bobby and Rory had their differences like any brothers, but they were a close-knit family. When Bobby shipped out to Korea and we never heard from him, Rory was certain the only reason for Bobby’s silence was that he was gone for good.

And if by some chance Bobby was alive out there in the world, but had cut us off...well, then he was dead to me anyway.

“This better not be some awful prank, Lilly.”

“I would never, Rory. Don't you dare,” I scolded.

“I'm coming home. Right away. Just don't let him leave.”

Rory hung up the phone but I held it to my ear, unready to go back into that kitchen. What would I say to him after all these years? Bobby always did what he wanted, and somehow always convinced people to forgive him. Bobby, with the smile that made you always smile back, the charm that could disarm even the most frigid of hearts. But Bobby had walked into a minefield in this house. We were already teetering on the edge, barely holding things together. We couldn't support something as shocking as his return. On the surface it seemed like great news, but I knew Bobby brought more baggage than the rucksack that sat on the floor beside him.

The dial tone buzzed sharply as I pressed the receiver against my chest, hoping it would moor me to this spot. But I knew if I was out here too long, Bobby would find me or Barbie would find him. I didn't want them speaking.

I dragged myself into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and sat across from him. Not an ounce of shame was in his eyes and that angered me more.

“Well, I think I got everything,” Barbie said, wiping her hands on a rag upon entering the kitchen. She stood at the entrance for a beat longer. I knew she wanted at least a nugget for her efforts.

“Barbie, this is my brother-in-law, Bobby.”

“Oh,” she said knowingly. She knew Rory's only brother was dead.

“Bobby, this is Barbie, my friend. She lives down the street.”

Bobby came to his feet and offered his hand. As Barbie took it, I watched intently as her interest was piqued. Barbie would have been the type of girl in high school who would have fallen head over heels for Bobby within the first few minutes of meeting him. Well, most girls were. But Barbie was exactly the pert, popular cheerleader type who would have wanted a boy like Bobby. A boy who could have any girl he wanted, but gave her the honor of choosing her. Bobby was never the flashy, ladies-man type. He wasn't even cocky. He didn't have to be. He was just himself, outgoing but prone to fits of mysterious quiet. This made people want to dig in more and seek his approval. People wanted to be in the secret club of Bobby Lightly's inner circle. But I knew there was no such thing. No one, not even his brother, could gain access to that club. And despite that dark quiet, there was a light that shone from him. When Bobby was on, his fire would steal all the oxygen in the room. People wanted to bask in that light, hoping that maybe they would shine like he did.

That's what drove me crazy about Bobby. It was because of that light that people always gave him a pass. I was never that person, and I wouldn't be that person this time.

“Well, I guess I should go!” Sassy, tangy Barbie was suddenly reduced to a fidgety school girl. “Let you two catch up.” I knew she was praying I would ask her to stay.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” I said, much to her dismay.

Her shoulders sank with disappointment. “Well, nice meeting you,” she said coyly. “So glad you're alive!” There it was. Just like that, he turned her into pudding.

As soon as Barbie slipped out the door, a heavy silence was cast upon the room. There was so much I wanted him to say, but at the same time I wanted to hear none of it. There were no excuses good enough. No words that could placate my rage.

“Lil, I know I hurt—”

“You have some nerve, you know that? The way you left. You hurt people. You hurt Rory.”

“Just Rory?” he asked, cutting to the truth without even saying the words.

“You don't get to abandon people and then come back at your leisure. You don't let people mourn you, and then just come back like Lazarus! You only think about yourself, Bobby. That's how it's always been. And I don't care how long you've been gone or where you've been, that will never change. If you really cared, you would have stayed away.”

“You honestly believe that?” he asked skeptically.

“You would have stayed dead, Bobby. There's a reason why people don't come back from the dead. It takes a long time to move on. People can't just pick up where they left off.”

Bobby looked down and sighed, finally relaying a twinge of shame.

“You come back to life and you bring back all the things that died with you. All the things we buried. It's not fair. Everything is always on your terms—”

“Lil. Lil.” Bobby repeated calmly.

“Don't you—”

“Lil!” Bobby raised his voice. Not a threat, but just a way to get through my own protestations.

I finally stopped, and allowed myself to look Bobby in the eyes for the first time since he showed up at my doorstep. I mean really look into them. Not just at them as a target for my soliloquy of betrayal. In them I could see all the stories he had collected, all the regret, all the mistakes he would admit to.

The standoff only lasted a few seconds as the front door slammed and Rory strode into the kitchen. Bobby smiled and rose to his feet.

“Brother?” Rory uttered in disbelief, his face as white as if he had seen a ghost.

“Yeah, man. I'm here.”

Their bodies crashed into each other as they embraced, Rory slapping Bobby's back so hard his chest echoed. Just like that, Bobby was back in Rory's good graces. Rory was so happy just to have him alive, he was willing to forget the selfish cruelty. But this wasn't someone who awoke from a coma, this was someone who willingly let us believe he was gone for good. No, we didn't issue a death certificate, we kept his portion of the inheritance from their parents safely locked away on the off chance he would be back, but those were empty hopes of people who just wanted to leave a light on in remembrance.

“Christ it's hot. Lilly, have you even offered our brother anything to drink?”

“It's okay. Lil, you don't have to get me anything.”

“Well, I'd like something,” Rory said. “And he's just being polite,” he added, as if I didn't know his brother.

I was glad for Rory to arrive as a buffer, so I went to the fridge to pour them some lemonade. I placed the glasses down in front of each of them.

“Thank you,” Bobby said, trying to catch my eyes again.

“So Bobby, tell me about where you've been, you son of a bitch. We thought something terrible had happened. But, we're just so happy to have you back. I can't—this is just unbelievable.”

“I'm going to take a shower. Cool off a bit.”

My words fell on deaf ears as Rory grilled Bobby about where he had been for the past six years.

“Actually, Rory, can I speak to you for a second?”

“What? Huh?” Rory turned to me, clearly annoyed by my interruption. “Yeah, honey.” He turned to face Bobby. “Make yourself at home. Did Lilly show you to your room?”

Bobby shot me a glance as if he didn't want to snitch on me. “I just got here. We were catching up.”

“Alright, we'll do it later,” Rory said as he followed me into our bedroom.

I shut the door. “What's going on here?” I demanded.

“What? What do you mean?” Rory was visibly confused.

“Did you just invite him to stay here? For how long?”

“For however long he wants, Lilly. He's family.”

“Are you going to cancel your business trips?”

“You know I can't do that...I'm up for a promotion.”

“So you're just going to leave him here with me? I have to tend to someone who thinks he can just trounce into our lives?”

“No one said you had to tend to anyone. And Lilly you've known him since you were, what—eight?”

“I don't know that Bobby.” I speared my index finger towards the door. “Rory, have you forgotten what he did to us? Why do you think he's here? He's been traveling and he probably needs money.”

“He has money and he does have his inheritance here, which he is welcome to.”

“Of course, he couldn't come to their funeral, but he could come collect.”

Rory leaned in. “Lilly, he went to war. He couldn't just come back.”

I paced away when I realized my disdain was getting in the way of the greater point. Rory was right. Bobby was likely still in Korea when their parents died. My callous accusation that he was here only to collect money from their deaths was a low blow. That wasn’t Bobby.

“Fine, so he can stay at a hotel with all the money he already has and his inheritance.” I crossed my arms.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Huh? You never liked Bobby. He's done nothing to you.” Rory’s protectiveness towards his younger brother hadn’t diminished one bit during the years of Bobby’s absence.

“He hurt you, Rory. He didn't even say goodbye. I watched you suffer, wondering where he was.”

Rory's eyes softened with sympathy. For so long we had been at odds, that my declaration of empathy towards him eased his combativeness.

“Listen, hon,” he placed a gentle hand on my elbow. “I know. I get it. Bobby is . . . well, Bobby.” Rory let out a heavy sigh. “But he's here, and you and I don't have a lot of family. He's here now. He came back. That took balls and I don't want to badger him with the whys and the whats. I just want to have my brother back for a while. Eventually, we’ll get answers. I just don’t want to push him away.”

That small exchange between us had been the most decent conversation we had had with each other in a long time. No false apologies or accusations, just honest pleading. Rory's need for his brother took me back to all the laughter we shared growing up and how Rory and Bobby defended each other at all costs. I couldn't allow my issues to come between that. I would stay out of their way for now.

“Fine. Fine. He can stay.”

“Thank you,” Rory said, placing a soft kiss on my shoulder before heading back out to resume playing catch-up with his prodigal brother.

I stared at my foggy reflection in the mirror as I ran the shower. Finally alone, the overwhelming reality of Bobby's return began to sink in. While I fully intended on taking the shower, my main goal was the privacy the bathroom afforded me as I rummaged through the medicine cabinet for something to ease my nerves. My shaky hands slipped as I opened the bottle of Miltown and it tumbled, letting the only two pills left fall into the drain. Those pills were what got me through particularly rough days. Lately, I had been taking them more frequently.

Suddenly, I found myself throwing the empty bottle across the bathroom. Covering my mouth with my forearm as I let out a desperate scream. I ripped off my dress, flung the shower curtain open and stepped in, but the water was no relief from the heat that seared me from the inside out.

Bobby was alive.

The reality of those words sunk in. All the implications of his return flooded me. All the things Bobby did and didn't do and what that meant. I finally allowed myself to feel it all, and I collapsed onto the floor of the shower and wept with a mixture of joy and regret.

Against my will, I listened to the men converse at the table as I prepared dinner.

Bobby had been shot in the shoulder while in Korea and honorably discharged. Then he traveled the world, using his skills in carpentry and mechanics, along with money he had stowed away before being deployed, to support himself. Stories of adventure, food, and travel filled the hours since the brothers reunited. And yet, Bobby never offered why. Rory never demanded it. He wanted to hear his younger brother speak, that was good enough for now.

I put the meatloaf and potatoes down on the table, which was my cost of admission into the conversation.

“This is delicious, Lil,” Bobby declared after taking the first bite.

I nodded robotically. Just because I would step out of the way for Rory, didn't mean I would do so for myself.

“So, Ro, I feel like I've been talking about myself non-stop. What about you two? I don't see any little Rories and Lils crawling around yet.”

I gripped my fork a little tighter.

“Yeah, well, we're taking our time. I'm really busy with work at Generate. Climbing that ladder. I'm up for a promotion soon so I've been putting in some long hours. This heatwave has generator sales booming like you wouldn’t believe.”

I scoffed at his comment, not even realizing how loud I was.

The table went silent as both men looked at me, surprised by my reaction. Since I had already made my feelings apparent and was feeling particularly raw, I went full speed ahead.

“Can't we be honest with Bobby? After all, he is family,” I stated sardonically. I directed my next words at Bobby, shifting to an emotionless tone. “We've been trying for years and it hasn't happened. It will, but it hasn't.”

“Oh,” Bobby replied, realizing he had hit a sore spot.

“What is this?” Rory interjected, fussing with the brown square on this plate. “Didn't I ask for anything but this goddamned meatloaf? This tastes like shit.”

“Woah, come on now,” Bobby butted in. “It's fine. It's very good.”

“No, let's go.” Rory stood up sharply. “Let's get some real food and some drinks. Just us fellas. We should be celebrating.”

Bobby looked at me apologetically, but I avoided his pity by bringing my plate to the sink. The last thing I wanted Bobby to see me as was pathetic.

“Thanks for dinner,” Bobby said, nodding at me. “It really was good. You relax tonight and I'll watch Rory for ya.”

I gazed at the table, topped with one uneaten plate of food, and one nearly finished—Bobby's of course.

It was just past eleven at night when Rory came in through the front door, his shirt nearly transparent with sweat, his hair stringy and in disarray. I was sitting in the living room, flipping through a magazine. I waited a few seconds for Bobby to follow but he didn't.

“Where's Bobby?” I asked from behind the glossy pages.

“He's outside. Talking to a few of the neighbors.” I could tell by the look in his eyes that Rory had plenty to drink. He made a beeline straight for the bedroom followed by him making a fuss in the closet.

Despite my aversion to interacting with Rory in this state, I followed him in.

“What are you looking for, honey?” I asked, pretending to be helpful.

“Got it,” Rory stood up with a pistol in his hand.

“What are you doing with that?” I questioned.

“I want to show the fellas.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” I suggested. “You've been drinking.”

“I'm fine,” he answered.

“Please don't.”

“Oh for Pete's sake, Lilly. Can you not try to mother me for once?”

“I'm not trying to mother you. I'm simply stating you've had too much to drink and it's not wise to bring a firearm outside like that.” I clenched my jaw tightly as I spoke, trying not let my words sound confrontational.

“Why don't you just take my balls? Keep them in a case so you can just carry them around?” He gestured toward them with the gun in his hand.

“Watch that thing!”

“It's not loaded!” he pointed the gun towards the ceiling and pulled the trigger. A shot rung out and we both ducked away from it. Dust and plaster puffed down from the ceiling. “Aww shit!” he said, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the hole in the ceiling.

The sound of running footsteps halted at the door beside me.

“What the—? Is everything okay?” Bobby looked around frantically, his eyes full of deep panic.

“I told him he was too drunk to handle that thing,” I pointed over. “Please put the gun down, Rory,” I pleaded in frustration.

“Ro, what are you doing brother?” Bobby walked slowly towards Rory and gently pulled the gun out of his hand. I knew Rory wanted to impress his little brother, who had been around the world and blazed his guns in glorious battles. Now he was embarrassed and somehow this would be my fault.

“It was fine until she came in here, getting on my case. She started hassling me and I forgot to unload the gun.”

“This is my fault?” I asked in disbelief.

“When'd you get to be such a fuckin' drag, Lilly?” Rory asked through gritted teeth before exiting the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked.

“To get some air. Have fun with the nag!”

Now I was embarrassed. I didn't want Bobby to see how far we had fallen. I didn't want his looks of pity. It wasn't just Bobby who had died years ago. No one was the same since he had left. Bobby must have wondered if he walked into the right house. He left us years ago, a newly wed couple, sitting side by side, so much promise before us. But that promise was empty, and beneath the perfect smiles, behind the pale blue siding and the manicured front lawn, there was despair. I looked down at the floor, using every bit of focus I had not to let the tears flow.

“Lil, you okay?” he asked gently.

“You don't get to come here and think you can fix things,” I sniped. Anger was the only way to keep the tears in. If I told Bobby the truth, at that moment, the levy would burst and the tears would flow. “And you can't come back and expect things to be the way they were. You did a fine job watching him for me, by the way.”

I stepped past the threshold into the bedroom and waited until I felt Bobby leave.

I pretended to be sleeping when Rory came back home. Sleep would diffuse the tension until the next morning. Rory was always better the next day. This night's scene was particularly bad. Rory usually gave a couple of days between nights out. He really tried to keep sober and make it up to me. But Bobby returned and Rory felt the need to be out with the boys. Bobby was already making things worse.

I lay awake in bed, listening to the taunting cadence of the grandfather clock, already feeling a twinge of guilt for snapping at Bobby. This is why people forgave him so easily. He had a way of making you feel like you were his only care in the world when he spoke to you. Anyone watching the past day would look at me and think I was the cruel bitch. Bobby took the verbal jabs without a single swing back, and it made me feel like the bully. But it was Bobby who was truly the most vicious and I tried to remind myself of that. His kind words and smile didn't change the choices he made. Someone smiling at you while they rip your heart out doesn't make it any less painful.

Once the clock read past three, I knew it would be another night with just a couple of hours of sleep. Rory's snores had stirred me out of my light slumber. The heat and tension clawed at me unrelentingly. I rose out of bed and headed for the backyard, which was a nice quiet place to sit on a night like this and often cooler than the house. I opened the door and was shocked to find Bobby sitting on the porch swing, nursing a beer.

“Oh—I—I didn't know you were out here. I'll leave you be,” I said, stepping back to close the door.

Bobby sat up tall. “No. Lil. Come out here. Can't we just—can't we just talk? Not about anything, but just be in the same space together?”

My internal debate raged. I was already exhausted by the constant offense I was running against Bobby, and I had cooled off a bit from the gunshot incident.

“Fine,” I relented, stepping outside and leaning noncommittally against a pillar just a few feet away from him.

The dim porch light spotlighted Bobby. I tried not to look, but it only took seconds to fall in. He took a swig out of the long-necked bottle. His sandy brown hair was knotted back carelessly, most of it not long enough to reach the ponytail, so that the locks collapsed in reckless waves. Until his return, I had never seen him like that. The Lightlys always kept their boys clean-cut. He was almost twenty when I saw him last and in those few years he had transformed into a man. His stubble framed a sharp jawline, and only made his roguish smile more mischievous. No one around here dressed or kept their hair like Bobby. And like his fits of quiet, it added to his mystery. Outwardly he would be silent, but quiet Bobby was always the loudest to me. I could almost hear his mind racing with thoughts, a tension that swirled around him like a silent storm. So while he didn’t say a word, I always felt like he was tearing the space apart. I could feel the air pressure change as Bobby raged internally. For all of his yapping growing up, during these silent “fits” was when I felt closest to him.

We didn't say anything for a minute or so. We used to do this sometimes, when we were teenagers. When Bobby and I weren't fighting over something, or sometimes just after we did and had exhausted each other, we would just sit together. Sometimes we would talk, other times we wouldn't.

It seemed Bobby didn't want to pressure me to talk and so it was me who spoke the first words.

“So is it the heat?”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“Why you can't sleep.”

“Oh,” he replied, the steady creaking of the porch swing a backtrack to his words. “No, I don't mind it. I just sleep in the raw.” He winked.

I fought a smile and shook my head at him.

Bobby leaned forward, stopping the swing. The silence this created punctuated his next words. “It's um . . . before the war I used to sleep like a rock every night. After, well sometimes I do, other nights I don't.”

“Oh,” I replied, my arms crossed as I kicked at a dry leaf on the floor.

“Want some?” Bobby tipped his beer towards me.

“Oh no, I'm fine.”

“Come on, you've always loved some beer.”

“Things change.”

“Oh yes they do,” he leaned back and got to rocking, “but the taste for beer. That never does.” He raised an eyebrow playfully.

I glanced up at the little bugs dancing around the porch light, reminding myself not to become like them.

“You don't smile anymore?” Bobby remarked. It took me a second to focus my train of thoughts on his question. My initial instinct was to deny it, but even a cursory examination of the issue proved he was right. I hadn't smiled since he arrived, and even before that, I didn't know how long. I always found myself fighting back my smiles.

“You know why,” I replied.

He nodded. “You had the best laugh,” he said as his mouth curved into a smile.

You had the best smile, Bobby.

“It was so loud, and even when I didn't find whatever it was funny, your laugh made me laugh. And it would get us into trouble all the time. When we were supposed to be in bed sleeping and you would sneak into our room in the summer, and then giggle so loud.”

It was odd to hear Bobby reminisce about me almost as if I had died.

I hadn't thought back that far in a long time. It hurt to think of Bobby at all when I thought he was dead.

“Ah, there it is,” he pointed the bottle at me. “That smile. Maybe I'll get to hear that laugh soon.”

I snatched the beer away from him. “Don't get carried away now.” I took a swig from the beer that had gone lukewarm from the humid night air, but a chill ran down my chest as my lips touched the same spot that Bobby's had.

“When we went out tonight, Lil, I didn't know. He used to be just fine on his own. Never someone I needed to watch. It was usually the other way around. Big brother watching me.”

“Hmm,” I huffed sarcastically into the bottle. Bobby got up halfway and snatched it back. He didn’t care for the final sip of beer, it was his way of being playful.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I don't know. You don't just wake up to an alcoholic. It happened so slowly, I didn't even know I was losing him until he was gone.”

Bobby's brow furrowed. “Has he ever—?”

I felt security in knowing if I told Bobby that Rory hit me, despite his deep love for his brother, I didn't doubt he would wake him up in the middle of the night and kick his ass.

“No, it's not like that.” At times, it had felt like it could get there, but usually Rory would leave to cool off. I redirected the conversation away from my failures back to Bobby’s. “While you were off chatting with Rory, Julia called. I had to tell her and my mother you were alive. Thanks for that fun conversation.”

“Mama Jules,” he recited, his nickname for my rigid sister.

“Needless to say, they don’t know what to make of it. They were in total disbelief. But they seemed pretty upset with you,” I sniped.

“Figured,” his fingertip ran up and down the sweaty bottle as he studied it intensely. “I’ll call once they’ve had some time to absorb the news. Smooth everything over.”

“Ha,” I barked wryly. “Of course you think it’s that easy.”

He leaned forward. “Lil. It’s all I can do,” Bobby appealed earnestly.

Even that response seemed genuine enough to make me regret my previous jab. I didn’t know how long he’d be around, but I wondered briefly if it would always be like this. How many verbal barbs would suffice as punishment for Bobby? When would I feel satisfied? Because so far, none of it felt good. And would it become punishment for me after a while as the constant display of bitterness began to eat me from the inside?

“Rory filled me in on your family. I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He’s a good man.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life.”

“I sure hope there’s more to life than that.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I wasn’t convinced there was.

“Hey um, could I ask you something?” Bobby placed the empty beer bottle beside him on the ground.

“You've been asking questions,” I reminded him.

“No, this one is different.”

My gut clenched at what he might say next. I wasn't ready to broach the unspoken. The things we never got to say to each other. Not now. Not like this.

I nodded.

“Well, I've been on the road a bit and neglected to groom myself properly.” He pulled his hair tie and shook his head like a glamour model, his waves crashing side to side just past his ears and flirting with his neck. “Could you cut my hair?”

I was grateful for a lighter topic of conversation. I stifled a giggle at his luxurious locks and nodded. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”

“Cool, I'll get the beers, you get the scissors.”

By the time I made it back out, Bobby was standing outside with our beers in his hand.

“Here you go.”

“Are you sure you want me drinking while cutting your hair?” I jested.

“What can I say? I'm a risk-taker.” He flashed a dangerous grin.