Chapter Eight
The house was quiet when I hopped off the front of Gordie's bike. It looked dark and foreboding but if Chris was as nervous as I was, he didn't show it. I slid off of the handlebars and hesitated where I was.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I told him.
"Let's maybe get your bike first in case we need to-uh- you know-"
"Make a quick get away?" I said sarcastically.
Chris laughed a little uneasily.
"Hey, listen. I've had to make a few quick get aways in my time."
I took a breath. I wasn't mad at him. I didn't know who I was mad at to be honest, but my stomach hurt. I started to head for the back of the house where the old garage was sat. It wasn't much, and Stan never kept his truck inside, but the last time I remembered seeing my bike was in that garage.
Chris followed me round the side of the house, into the shed before kneeling down to inspect it.
"Looks like a puncture. Chain could do with oiling too."
This didn't surprise me. I hadn't used it in almost two years.
"No big deal." I shrugged. "Let's go."
I brushed past him as he stood in the doorway and he put a hand out and touched my shoulder.
"You gonna go inside?"
No, I wanted to scream at him. I didn't want to at all. But he had come all this way for me. To support me.
"Uh, yeah, back in a second." I called.
"Want me to come with?" I turned back to him and shook my head.
"Nah, I got it.
Stan was passed out drunk on the couch when I walked in. The house smelt of booze and cigarette smoke, a nostalgic reminder of a hazy childhood.
"Thought you was never coming back." My mother's face was pale and vacant, the smooth imprint of a hand gliding darkly over her left cheek.
"Oh, Mom." Despite her failings as a mother, I hated to see the mark on her face.
I glanced over at the snoring Stan before crossing the room and taking her hands.
"You don't have to put up with this. We can leave. Both of us."
She dropped my hands and shook her head.
"I can't, Christina. He's all I've got."
Despite the anger welling in my chest, I tried not to surrender to it.
"No, Mom, you got me too."
She looked at me then, her eyes sought out my pleading ones before she shook her head again.
"You got your own life now, Christina. If you want to get some things together, I suggest you do it before Stan wakes up."
A slap in the face would have been less painful.
"How can you choose him over me?" I hated the desperate lilt to my voice but I couldn't help it.
Mom sighed, running her hand through her untidy hair.
"It ain't a choice really, Nina. It is what it is. Couple of years and you'll be off having babies and leaving me behind. I don't blame you but what will I have? Only Stan."
"Or a life without getting smacked every time you turn around?"
She sighed heavily.
"Please, Nina. Just get your things and go."'
I stood there for a few seconds, alternating between devastation and furious anger before I turned and walked into my bedroom.
It didn't take me long to pack up my things. Once my rucksack was full, I cast a last look at my bedroom and headed outside.
Chris was sat waiting on Gordie's bike when I came out of the house. He gave me a questioning look as I neared but I dropped my gaze. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me upset.
"All okay?" He asked finally when I walked around the bike and started to lift myself on the handlebars.
I didn't answer.
"So was Stan home?"
When again, I didn't respond, Chris sat still and unmoving, waiting or I guess hoping that I would answer him.
"Can we just go?" I muttered hoarsely.
Chris paused for a few more seconds before pushing off on the bike.. I struggled to keep down the lump in my throat and to block out the fact that I was now officially homeless. It was chilly on the downhill ride to Gordie's neighbourhood and I was comforted by the warmth of Chris's jacket against my back.
The sun was setting as we cycled across the backfields, out onto the roads and against the backdrop of browning trees and yellow meadows.
Finally, in a wooded glade, Chris stopped the bike.
"What's up?" I barely whispered, my throat tingling from choking back tears. If he noticed my sadness, he tried not to show it, raising his voice in exaggerated exhaustion.
"What's up is I'm beat, woman. You're no feather weight."
I couldn't bring myself to smile. Instead I slid off the handle bars and looked for somewhere to sit down. A large oak had been blown over in the last storm. Somebody had chopped it into pieces to allow access through the glade and I moved to one of these sections of log to sit myself down. Removing my backpack, I breathed heavily and put my face in my hands.
After a few seconds I felt Chris come over and settle down beside me.
"So how you doing?"
Ace asked me these questions all the time. 'How you doing?' 'How's it going?' 'How you been?'
But over the years I'd realised these weren't real questions. All Ace wanted to hear were the words 'I'm fine'.
So I used them. Over and over. I learnt how not to complain.
"I'm fine, " I told Chris automatically.
He glanced sideways at me with a small smile.
"It's okay, you know. I know I'm not Gordie, but you can tell me if you're not fine."
"I'm fine," I repeated.
Chris stood up and moved into my line of vision.
"Look at me and say that."
"I'm fine!" I snapped. But I couldn't meet his eyes. He took my hand and pulled me to my feet where I rolled my eyes before glaring defiantly back at him.
"What?"
And then he did something nobody had ever done to me in that situation. He hugged me.
Usually when I got angry people backed off. It worked with Ace, it worked with Gordie, but for some reason it didn't work with Chris Chambers.
I struggled for almost two seconds before I realised that the hug felt good; so good. I hugged him back and buried my face in his jacket. And then Goddamn it, I started to cry.
I cried for all the times that my Mom had chosen Stan over me. I cried for all the times that she had stood by and let him beat or humiliate her. I cried for all the times she never protected me or put me first. I cried until I didn't feel like I could cry anymore.
Chris' jacket was soaked through by the time I was done bawling.
When I finally lay still against his shoulder, he said:
"So you gonna tell me what happened?"
It hurt to say the words out loud.
"She told me to leave," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. I felt Chris breathe in sharply before his arms tightened around me. "I'm sorry," I whimpered "I bet you wish you'd never come along."
He finally released me and stepped away to look at me head on.
"Stop talking crazy, Willis. I'm not sorry I brought you here, I'm just sorry your Mom and Stan are acting like this."
"Yeah." I straightened up and picked up my bag of clothes before remembering something. "Hold on a second."
I dug into the bag and produced a waterproof cream jacket with a hood and a zip that ran from waist to throat. My Dad's only living relative, Aunt Norah, had sent it to me at Christmas, and even though it was way too small I hadn't had the heart to throw my only Christmas gift away.
Chris gave me a strange look as I handed the jacket over.
"I don't think this is gonna fit me," he grinned.
"Not you, stupid. Becky."
Chris' expression fell. He looked back at the coat and then looked at me, shaking his head.
"I'm gonna buy her one when I get paid."
"Well, buy something else. The coat was a size small when I got it anyhow. Someone might as well get some use out of it."
I felt like i had to explain myself because he looked embarrassed. Embarrassed that I had given him something. Embarrassed that he couldn't provide for his family.
"Thanks, Nina," he said hesitantly. "Becky will be real happy to get this."
"She's a great kid."
"When she's not driving me crazy," he responded. I knew it was talk. I knew from Gordie that most of Chris' bruises were the result of protecting Becky and his other younger siblings.
Chris sat down on the bike and motioned for me to get on but I shook my head slightly.
"You mind if we just walk awhile?
"My driving that bad?"
"Nah, just sometimes- sometimes I need a walk."
Chris hopped off the bike, using the handlebars to push it as he fell into step beside me.
It was a nice day for a walk. The sunset filtered through the trees and the birds whistled in a muted tone as though they knew dusk was approaching.
"So what's the deal with you and Jennette?" I asked him. "You two going again?"
For a long time there was nothing but the sound of our sneakers in the dirt.
"We were never going," Chris responded. "She used me to get her jock boyfriend all riled up. He picked a fight with me. I kicked his ass. Then he came back with the whole team to finish the job."
Subconsciously, Chris touched a prominent scar on his head. I had always assumed it was given to him by his father.
"You liked her, huh?"
"What's not to like? She's pretty and smart and she doesn't care that I'm a Chambers."
I laughed.
"I think she was interested BECAUSE you're a Chambers."
"Huh?"
He didn't understand that.
"Bad boy image," I explained. "Broken home, moody loner, tough guy reputation. All the rage."
"Is that what you see in Ace?"
"No." I tossed my hair. " And he is not a loner. He's got tonnes of friends."
It was Chris' turn to laugh at me.
"I'd say they're more like servants."
"Either way, he ain't a loner."
"Neither am I. I got Gordie…."
He trailed off, looking troubled.
"Well, I think Jennette's an idiot," I told him. "Jensen Brady is an empty head with a big nose."
Chris smiled.
"She's not an idiot, she's a manipulator. And you gotta get wise to these kinds of people."
At the word 'manipulator' I forced the image of Ace from my mind.
Problem was, it then floated back to my mother.
"What now?" I asked Chris. "What happens to kids like us?"
Chris kicked at the dirt with his sneakers.
"Two things, Christina. Kids like us get tough. Or they get weak."
"So which kid are you?"
Chris looked at me with determination blazing in his blue eyes.
"Neither one. I'm the kid that's gonna get out."
He looked so sure of himself that I was jealous of his confidence. Chris Chambers may not have an easy life but he always knew who he was, what his principles were and where he was going.
"Wish it were that easy, Chambers." My voice was light. "Take me with you?"
I expected him to laugh, but his face remained serious.
"Christina Willis, you can go anywhere you want to. You just need to start believing it."
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"Are you gonna say a single word to me tonight?"
I was staring glumly into space while Gordie sat at his desk writing. Usually I would be driving him insane talking while he shushed me and tried to write, but tonight was different.
"Sorry."
"Don't say sorry, just tell me what happened." Gordie threw down his pen and pushed back his chair.
"My- My Mom told me not to come back. That I was old enough to take care of myself."
"Like…forever?"
I nodded miserably and lay down on Gordie's bed.
"So, what're you gonna do? I mean, you can stay here and all, but it ain't gonna be much fun having to hide upstairs until you graduate, is it?"
"I can stay at Ace's sometimes."
Gordie slid his hands uncomfortably over his jeans before he sighed.
"LIke he ain't got enough of a hold on you already."
"Ah, please, Gordo, not tonight, okay?" I rolled over onto my stomach and pressed my face into his pillow.
"Hey, come on, it'll be alright." Gordie came and sat on the edge of the bed. "No more Stan at least, and it ain't like you'll ever be left homeless for real."
I kept my head in the pillow.
"Nina, you're a fighter. Sure, this is gonna make graduating harder, but life's hard anyway. You'll get there."
The last thing on my mind was graduation.
"I might drop out. Least then I can get a job and maybe rent a room somewhere."
"You wanna give up your education to rent a room in a strange house?" Gordie sounded kinda outraged but at this point, I didn't care.
"Oh, I don't know. Can you do me a favour and just not talk to me about the future right now?"
I lifted my head up slightly to peek out from under the pillow. Gordie was nodding gently, his chocolate brown hair slipping into his eyes.
"That I can do. Wanna hear my new story?"
"Sure."
I would have been happy to listen to him read the dictionary if it meant my mind would be occupied. Gordie went up to the desk, picked up his note book and came to sit beside me on the bed. I lifted my head out from under the pillow and waited for him to start.
'Buck Avery was employed at the Road House across the corner from the Five and Dime. The Road house owner, Mr Frederick , was a mean son of a bitch-"
"Can you say 'son of a bitch' in this competition?"
"Shhh," Gordie said irritably.
'The Road House Owner, Mr Frederick, was a mean son of a bitch. He came from a long line of Tavern Landlord's and every generation became a little less likeable.
Buck's father was the town drunk, a man that Buck had loved and loathed in equal measure. He'd spent his whole childhood dragging his old man out of the Road House and carrying him home to his mother. He'd done that right up until the day his Daddy died.
Buck had never taken a drink himself because he feared the alcoholic gene was hereditary, so when he walked into the Road House, looking for work, Mr Frederick slapped his knee and roared with laughter.
"Well, Sober Joe wants a job here. You musta cost me a fortune all them nights you dragged your Daddy home on pay day. God rest his soul." Frederick said as an afterthought.
"Is the job going or not?"
"Oh, it's going alright," Frederick said. "Any man safe from drinking my profits is welcome behind my bar."
And so it began, the crippling night shifts that he could never quite sleep off. Buck didn't like to listen to other people's problems but the people sure liked to tell them to him. He would listen to them stony faced while he wiped down the bar and they would blabber on sometimes until he walked them to the door and locked them out. Yeah, Buck was good at his job, good at handling the rowdy customers, decent enough never to spill a stranger's secrets.
But contrary to Frederick's assumption, Buck drank a shot of whisky every night after closing. Not because he enjoyed it-he didn't like the taste of alcohol- but because someone had to avenge his Daddy.'
There was a long pause from Gordie before I glanced up in annoyance.
"That it?"
"Not exactly. I was just kinda wondering how you liked it so far."
"I'd like it a damn sight better if you read me the rest."
Gordie laughed and blushed at the same time.
"Okay, okay- 'So every night at exactly ten o clock, a pretty blond walked in and sat at the same seat at the bar without fail. She didn't talk, or laugh, or watch the television like the rest of his customers. Instead, she ordered a gin and tonic and sipped it slowly, lost in thought before leaving. She never ordered another and she never spoke to anybody besides from ordering her drink.'
Now Buck wasn't a curious guy but every day when the blond walked out, he wondered why it was she came to the dingy tavern Monday- Sunday without talking to anyone….'
I wasn't sure when it was that I fell asleep but I dreamed that Buck was Chris and that strangely I was the one to walk into his bar.
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