The Soul Seekers Page 3

  Talk to me, please.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I understand. I don’t know what just happened but I’ve come here for a reason. And that is to help you, if you want. I brought some food.”

  I pulled the paper bag stuffed with that night’s dinner and a thermos of milk from my purse, and placed it on the floor. There was a five-dollar bill in there as well—a nice touch, I thought, though he might think it presumptuous. Ten would have been outright charity. I didn’t want to be that pushy.

  “Okay, here, I’ll just talk about myself if that makes you feel better. And you can come out when you feel more comfortable.” I closed my eyes for a moment before going on. “You know my name, and I guess you figured out that I’m new to town. We moved here from Colorado Springs. You ever been there?”

  Silence.

  “It’s something else. Really pretty. Pikes Peak looks over the whole place like a big god, though all the white stuff is pretty much melted this time of year. In the winter the snow is so beautiful to look at. You know, I could see Pike from my window, except for when it was about to storm or something, then I couldn’t see her at all. Then sun would come out.

  “Um, okay, so, we left there and came here. We came here. Now I’m supposed to think about a future. How the hell am I supposed to do that? I know I should be smart and have it planned out like other kids my age, but I don’t. I was so worried about my dad that I never thought about anything beyond him getting well. I mean, first he comes home and tells us he has cancer, and they do lots of testing. Then there’s chemo and he’s lying in bed all the time—hair’s gone, his face is puffy—he doesn’t look like himself anymore. I start praying—all the time. I wake up, pray. I eat breakfast, pray. Walk to school, pray. Make dinner, clean the house, pray, pray. I prayed so much that God stopped listening. And that made me so frustrated. Forget my future, I wanted his future. His.”

  I tightened my fingers on the bench, remembering.

  “One day I was fifteen and everything was put on hold and I was willing to stop it, to give all I had to time or fate or whatever. But it didn’t work. It didn’t work, and I’ve tried to be happy, for him. The only thing I know is, I’m alive and I have to get up every morning. That’s about it. Springvale has become a sort of obsession to replace the death. I hate it and it hates me back and somewhere in there I’ve sandbagged my grief. I don’t think I would have made it this whole summer without our little game, yours and mine.”

  I swiped at some tears with the back of my hand and drew up a leg.

  “What’s life to me now, you know? I’m seventeen and I’ve never been in love, never had my own car, never gotten high. I’m still a virgin. Apparently, the rest of the world has already ‘done it.’ But I wanted it to mean something. Everybody gets hot for each other, but nobody thinks about all the stuff inside their skin. I can’t imagine doing it without a whole bunch of love. I mean, we get old and it’s not always going to be about skin. I want more than just skin.”

  A long moment passed, heavy with silence.

  “You’re not going to talk to me, are you? I’m weird, right?”

  A song turned on from inside the Bonneville—some old ’50s tune—slow, sad. I stood up when I heard it and moved down the gazebo steps, trying like crazy to figure out how it had happened when I was nowhere near the car. Must be the old wiring. It had to be. Maybe the fuses were messed up.

  I stopped to listen, leaning over to rest my cheek against a wooden railing. The song kept playing and the breeze stirred up again. I can’t explain how it made me feel: like time was standing still, surrounding me, summoning me. I kept listening, kept waiting. The song played the whole way through, then it turned off and the breeze died once more. I stood there hoping for something to happen that couldn’t happen. It was my brain playing tricks on me. I had wanted to see him so bad that I had imagined his presence to satisfy my subconscious—my loneliness, my grief.

  5: Bluff

  He wasn’t in the library the next day or the day after that. It panicked me, it depressed me. I was worried that perhaps the whole food thing, money included, had been too much. And he’d decided to leave and go somewhere where nosey young women weren’t in his business assuming things, making up stupid games just to get through their ridiculous, messed-up lives. His table was bare and my head felt so empty.

  Why had I reached out like that?

  A whole week passed with no sight of William, and my life became a mess. I was lonely, achingly, terribly lonely. Every night I drove around the square, replaying the beautiful moments I’d spent inside the gazebo, just hoping he’d come back. He never did. He was gone and I was left in this crummy town with no game and no hope. I began to prepare myself never to see William Joe Bennett again.

  I didn’t prepare myself for what was about to happen next, or rather, who.

  I had just backed the Pontiac out into the street after a late-night inventory session at the library. It would have paid to look in the rearview mirror first.

  “Oh, God.” I hit the brakes, craning my head to look out the driver’s side window. “Crap.”

  An older model black Camaro was right behind me, stalled in place against the rear left fender. I pulled the keys and got out with a groan. Grandmother Carrie was going to have a fit. Mom was going to have a fit. I’d have to use my saved money to fix the car and my plans to get out of town would be ruined.

  I walked up to the Camaro. A dark-tinted window slowly rolled down and rock music blasted out. The acrid smell of smoke filtered out to meet my nostrils. Great. Just great.

  “You hit me,” a young man said, incredulous. His dark brown hair swung to and fro as he shook his head. “You fucking hit me. Were you even looking?”

  “Yeah,” I lied, defensive.

  He furrowed his brow, cutting the ignition before getting out. When he stood next to me by the fender all I could think was how tall he was, and how twisted my stomach suddenly felt.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you going to get sick. Girls always throw up at shit like this. Just calm down, okay?”

  I nodded, trying to pull myself together.

  A hand fell onto my shoulder. “It’s an accident. Relax.”

  He moved closer and I felt my stomach twist into a painful knot. It was unbearable. I clutched at my purse strap. “Can I give you an IOU or something? I really have to get out of here.”

  Making a motion to keep me in place, he bent over to examine both fenders. “Looks okay,” he said. “I don’t see any dents, not even a scratch. God, did you luck out, my insurance would have raked you over the coals.”

  “We’re good then?”

  “Hold on.” He reached to unlatch the front hood of his car. “There could be damage inside. Hold tight for another second.” After a few minutes of scrutiny, he came up with a look of dissatisfaction. “You probably screwed up the alignment or something. We’ll have to exchange insurance information.”

  “But you didn’t find anything wrong. Can’t we just agree to never hit each other again and leave?”

  “No.” He flashed a grin. “I work down the street. Hop in and we’ll get this thing settled. We’re talkin’ minutes.”

  Without waiting, he got into the Camaro and shoved open the passenger side door. I paused first, conflicted about all the things I’d been told to never do in my short life. Getting in cars with strange boys was top of the list. And not only that, he was making my stomach go crazy, a serious warning sign if there ever was one. I ignored that, along with all the Jiminy Crickets shouting in my head, and got in. With music blaring—Alice Cooper—he sped us down to the last shop on Main before it turned residential, screeching into a diagonal parking spot.

  “Maybe you hit me,” I muttered, grasping at the dashboard to steady myself. My head was spinning, my stomach swirling. “Do you always d
rive like that?”

  “Yep.” He grabbed the keys and hopped out, coming to wait as I stepped out. “Especially when Phil, my boss, is waiting for his smokes. That’s why I was out. He sends me to Brentwood to get little illegal things like that every now and then.” He swung the door open. “Come on.”

  “Cigarettes aren’t illegal.”

  “They are here.”

  I gave him a confused look. “Why? Why are they illegal?” Why is this town so full of secrets that I can’t understand?

  He didn’t answer. He just opened the front glass door to the sound of Bing Crosby crooning.

  Phil, or at least I was guessing that’s who it was, stood over in the back corner. He was a portly-looking man in slacks and a dress shirt straining against his jowls. He gave us a stiff nod before turning back to his inventory. Funny how I’d never noticed the place before. It was a real record store, one of my other favorite places.

  “You like music?” the boy asked, shoving a paper sack under the front counter.

  “Yeah. It’s an addiction. I used to go to a store in Manitou Springs a lot.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Colorado.”

  He nodded, crossing his arms casually. “You are new.” He said it as a confirmation.

  “And?”

  “And, what?”

  “Who cares if I’m new?”

  He came over to stand in front of me. Too close. “Maybe I do.”

  I moved back. He moved forward.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. It’s just—aren’t you going to get the insurance?”

  His eyes shadowed, and he slumped. “Sure. Hold on.”

  While he was gone I sucked in a few breaths and tried to calm myself. He was only a guy and I was probably just having a nervous breakdown or something. It was me, not him. Repeating that a few times, I turned and began to flip through a bin.

  One record in particular caught my eye, and I couldn’t help but pull it out. The words on the cover were similar to the song I’d heard that night in the square, when the radio had come on. The singer was a handsome black man with combed, shining hair and a beautiful smile. I’d buy it just to see if it was the same song. It didn’t have to mean anything, because he was gone. William was gone.

  The young man came back with a card in his hand. “Here. I might have missed my last payment, I don’t know. I wrote down my info and your insurance people can call my insurance people and make insurance babies. My name’s Jesse by the way. Jesse Limon.” He said it like I should know it.

  “Emma Shay.” I took the card and waited for the nausea to start up. It didn’t. I felt fine. “Huh,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I dug in my purse. “This is my grandmother’s insurance. Look, you won’t really call, will you? I can give you some money.”

  He scanned the card and handed it back. “Nah. Forget the whole thing.”

  “Really? So we’re good?”

  His irises deepened and he moved in. “Not exactly, Emma. I know what I want you to do. I want you to go out with me. That’ll be your payment. Nobody’s grandmother will ever be the wiser.”

  “Go out?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Right now?”

  “Now.”

  “I don’t know.” My stomach began to twist again.

  “Tell you what, you can have that record free of charge. Can’t beat that.”

  He watched as I struggled with my bad girl, good girl options. I couldn’t make up my mind.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let me rephrase this. We need each other. This town is making me crazy, and you’re new here so you gotta be feeling overwhelmed. Right? You and I could be friends.”

  I considered that. Things weren’t going well on my own. Like on a kindergarten field trip, I should have been using a buddy system, holding hands and watching my steps. But this kid was not kindergarten. He was recklessness and rebellion. He was leap before you look, hands held high up in the air.

  I’m not sure how it was possible, but he leaned in some more. I could feel the heat of his breath on my partially-turned cheek. “Drive home, Emma Shay. Say goodnight to grandma, sneak out of your room. I’ll follow you there and wait outside.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It is. It’s easy. All you have to do is say yes.”

  I thought of William and how he had left town. No words, no explanation. He had taken care of his own, and now it was time for me to do the same. I let the words slip out. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Great. Just let me finish my shift and close up shop then we can leave.”

  I nodded and went to stand over by a sales display while Jesse labeled records and counted down the register. It felt like I had just made a deal in some Turkish marketplace only something more important than rings and silk was in order. I caught his eyes and ignored the nausea which resulted.

  Half an hour later we were heading out.

  “Is that thing yours?” he asked, pulling up behind the Pontiac.

  “No, it’s my grandmother’s. She lets me use it for free.”

  “I’d walk.”

  I laughed, grabbed my purse and record, and hopped out to switch cars. Jesse leaned over to talk through the open passenger window. “I’ll follow you home. You make up some story and be out in five minutes.”

  Making up lies was not my strong point. Shifting gears, I hid my insecurity with a little bit of showy talk. “Think you can keep up with me?”

  “What? You’re asking if I can keep up with that old boat? I’ve got the sweetest wheels in town.” He leaned out the window and gave the hood a hearty slap. “I’ll keep up and chew some Pontiac ass for a late-night snack.”

  I halted in trepidation at the sight of two chrome S’s on the Camaro’s sleek black frame. I thought of the coin and how it had the same letters inscribed in its metal.

  We looked at each for a long moment.

  “Ready?” Jesse asked.

  “Sure.”

  My hands shook the whole way home. I turned off Main onto Walters with the bright beams of his headlights breaking, flashing, and bending in the rearview mirror down into my face. When I pulled in the drive, Jesse remained a few houses up the block, turning the loud, rumbling engine off when I got out. His arm gave a good-natured wave out the open window.

  I stepped inside the front room and gave Gran an overemphasized smile. She cocked an eyebrow, as I should have expected.

  “You missed dinner.”

  “Sorry,” I answered back, afraid Mom would hear. I needn’t have worried, she was asleep on the couch with a glass of wine dangling from her fingers. I turned back to Gran. “Thanks for the car. Going to bed.”

  She gave me another look which I ignored. I ran up the stairs and stepped into the dark room, breathing for a moment before flipping on the light switch. Three minutes of my five were already used up—would he really wait? I snuck a peek out the curtain and saw an outline of black parked up the block. Jesse’s dark form filled the driver’s side window. What was I thinking? Of course he was going to wait.

  I threw the bed together to simulate someone sleeping under the quilt and placed a book on the floor, half-open like I’d fallen asleep and dropped it there. Next I made an impromptu visit to the bathroom to brush my teeth. No one would suspect a girl with a clean mouth to sneak out, right?

  Taking another calming breath, I went back to my room and opened the gabled window. The trellis was full of sleeping morning glories, their collective vines strong enough to support my grabbing hands the whole way down. With a nervous laugh, I mumbled to myself how good I was getting at hanging from things. Like a real Tarzan. When my feet touched the grass below, I felt a boost
of confidence surge through my body. I saw headlights flash in a symbol of congratulations.

  “That was fun!” I breathed, sliding into the passenger seat. Jesse had the radio on, turned down low. “Where are you taking me?”

  He cranked the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. The whole car shook with the rumble of pure volume. “You’ll see.” One tap of the gas and we shot forward, racing west toward the bluffs.

  “Relax,” he shouted over the engine when he saw my hands make a grab for the seatbelt strap.

  “Yeah, I will. When you stop driving so crazy.”

  He laughed and sped up some more.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he said.

  I struggled with the topic. The last few years of my life had been about Dad and him getting better. There hadn’t been much time to carve out a solid Emma. “Me? Well, I moved here from Colorado Springs. I like art. I like music.” I was about to say I liked to read, but that might give him the image of a boring librarian chick. “I don’t know. Just an ordinary girl, I guess.” I cringed internally at my answer, sending out a silent apology to Gloria Steinem.

  “Why did you move here?”

  “Oh, we had some family issues and it was cheaper to live out here with my grandmother.”

  “What? Parents got divorced?”

  “No. Look, my father died, and we couldn’t afford the rent out there. But, I don’t miss it.”

  That tight feeling caught in the bottom of my throat. I missed our old house, our stupid old crappy house with geraniums on the front porch and the huge pine tree on the corner.

  “Too bad about your dad. And then you had to move out here—big mistake. I’m guessing you love it here as much as I do?”