Boone
Carter, 11
Boone, 14
Declan, 14
"Dude, are you listening to me?" Declan asks. He's been going on about something or other for the past hour and is just noticing I'm not listening. He's been hitting the pot hard, even though we're watching Carter and are in public. I took a hit during the day, when we were skipping class, but I didn't want to go any further for fear Carter would run out in front of a car or something else equally terrifying—for instance, getting her hair ripped out of her head.
I promised her I'd take her to the park today since it's a nice day. I wanted the two of us to walk around and talk, but then Declan decided to come along, and now all he wants to do is sit on a bench. He's on his back, watching the clouds, and I'm busy watching Carter.
One of the kids she has class is on the playground, too. He and Carter are talking intently on the swings. I should be happy to see her this way, especially with someone her own age, but I’m also jealous. I like being the one to draw her out of the shell. But some kid being able to do the same thing makes her feel less like my Carter and more like she’s growing away from me.
Carter glances up at me, and her grin widens. At least I can get a bigger smile out of her without even having to say anything. Ha, kid.
"Boone."
"What?" I snap, looking over at Declan.
"Are. You. Listening. To. Me?"
"No, I'm not."
"Stop staring at my little sister. That kid's not going to do anything to her when we're here. Hell, his mom's here, too. There's no such thing as game when your mom's around."
"How are you okay with this?"
He doesn't answer me.
"I'm going to go over."
"Fine. Whatever."
I roll my eyes and stand up. He's always at an extreme when it comes to Carter—either the best brother or the worst. Last week, he was out in their front yard trying to help her do cartwheels, and he couldn't seem to get enough of her, but now he can't be bothered.
The boy straightens when he sees me walking toward them, and I feel more like an adult than someone only a few years older. Carter claps as if me joining them was the greatest thing.
"Boone, this is Tyler," she says.
I don't say anything, and Tyler doesn't either. Clearly, neither of us is happy with the other one being here.
Carter lets out a breath through her front teeth. "Okay. Well, I was just telling Tyler about how I'm getting to meet my sister next week."
Ever since she got a letter in the mail addressed to her from a Kara Cash, Carter's been buzzing with excitement. I think it'll be good for her to have a female figure in her life, since Tish isn't all that great.
"Have you talked to her more?" I ask.
"On the phone," she says. "She's really nice, and she wants to take me out for ice-cream. I asked her if you could come, but she said maybe next time."
It makes me feel as though I had the whole world in my hands to hear her say she wanted me to come with her to meet Kara. Not Declan, and not this random dude, Tyler. Me.
"That sounds good with me. What sort of ice-cream are you gonna get?"
"I don't know. I like chocolate, but she said she likes hot fudge brownie sundaes. What do you like?"
"I like milkshakes," Tyler answers.
Clearly, she wasn't asking him because she waits for me expectantly. "I like chocolate, too."
Eventually, Tyler's mom calls him over, and he stares at Carter awkwardly before leaving. I can only hope I saved them both from him trying something.
Carter looks ahead at Declan, who's still lying back. I can hear him whistling a tune all the way over here. "I feel bad," she whispers.
"Why's that?"
"Because I'm afraid Declan's mad at me."
I turn to face her in the swing. I immediately reach out and pull her toward me by using the chain, then link my feet with hers. "What are you talkin' about?"
"I have a sister now, and I'm going to be spending time with her instead of Declan."
I rear back. She's worried about Declan's feelings when he can't be bothered right now? I shake my head and try to keep a handle on myself. She shouldn't feel this way about something good happening to her.
"Hey, don't think that way. Declan loves you, and he should be happy you're going to have another person in your life. What's makin' you think this?"
"He gets quiet when I talk about Kara."
"He shouldn't. He should be happy for you. Maybe he just wants a sister, too."
"He already has one," she reminds me in that dry way of hers.
I chuckle. "Okay, an older one then."
"I'll share Kara if he likes."
"You know it doesn't work that way."
"I wish it could. I don't know why I get Kara and he doesn't." She licks her lips and swallows. "I'm worried about him, Boone."
I reach out and take her hands in mine. "You shouldn't be."
"He—he's like Mama. I know what you two do, and I know he does it without you," she whispers in a rush. "I wish you wouldn't."
"I—" I start to tell her I won't, but then I think about how good it feels to be high. It's not as good as when I'm with Carter, and it doesn't make me feel as light, but it's the closest thing I've got to it. I can't be with her twenty-four seven to take away everything that's bad, so sometimes I need to get high. With my dad always drunk, and the bills and the pressure to keep everything together—I need an outlet. "I'll try."
"Declan won't, because Mama doesn't."
"What about me? My dad doesn't try."
"Yeah, but you're strong. Declan …" She trails off, and the faraway look in her eyes makes her look older than she is. The girl who was swinging on the swing set and laughing just a few minutes ago now looks like she's living a nightmare. "He's not."
#
One of my only friends who's always been on the straight and narrow, Jason Grant, meets up with me at the local bar in town. There's nowhere else for two guys to meet up and shoot the shit. If there were, we'd probably hightail it there. As the son of an alcoholic, I hate anything having to do with liquor. It's not the taste or the way it makes me feel—it's the look of it. I can picture my dad guzzling it all down, ramping up with each bottle or can. My stomach's in knots just thinking about it.
Jason's reason is he's got two younger kids, and he's trying to set a good example. I can get behind that. All it takes is one really bad experience to ruin a kid.
The waitress side-eyes us as she sets down our sodas. I take a long drink of it and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Damn, this is just what I needed."
Jason holds up his drink. "I know what you mean, man. I've been on edge all day waiting for this."
The waitress makes a noncommittal noise and scurries away. That'll teach her for judging us when we're just trying to do right.
"So, I've got a proposal," Jason begins.
I set my drink down and raise an eyebrow. "It's a little soon, isn't it? I mean, you haven't even seen me at my worst yet."
"Yeah, pretty sure I have." Jason was one of those kids most people ignored when we were in school. He was quiet and kept to himself—and was smart, too. I got to know him in shop class. By then, I'd realized I didn't want to stay on the same road to destruction as Declan. I was in dire need of a good influence. "I know you've been doing stuff around town for people, and I have, too. I was thinking that we should try our hand at it. We can split the jobs, get more customers, make more money."
"Here, you made it sound like you wanted to go to Vegas for a quickie." I let out a low whistle and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. "How long have you been thinking about this?"
"A while now," he explains. "The wife just got promoted at work, and it leaves some wiggle room for me to make this happen. Plus, I can watch the kids more if I work for myself rather than a boss."
I mull it over for a second. I've thought about starting something up like this before, but it's a little stupid when you're your only employee and boss. It's just been easier to pretend I'm only doing side jobs and that this isn't my sole income. At least if I make a business out of it, I can start charging at a fixed rate and maybe won't get the sob stories, as the ones who claim they can't pay me, yet they've got a new car out in the drive.
I don't even need to think about it. "I'm in."
"Really?"
"I'm as serious as a stick of dynamite."
He taps the rim of his glass. "See, that means you could be pullin' my leg. It's hard to tell when you're really serious and when you're fake-serious."
"Didn't know that was a thing."
"With you, it is."
"Yeah, you've got me there." I think Carter's probably said something to me of the same effect. I'm just so goddamn persistent I tend to forget to take constructive criticism to heart.
Eventually, Jason and I come up with some semantics, moving on to our second sodas, which earns us another confused look from our waitress. That's not going to mean a big tip for her.
After a while, we talk about his wife and two daughters—who are cute, but handfuls, something he's not afraid to admit. He ends up telling me a story about finger painting with one of them, which puts a huge grin on his face. I mean, I don't really know much about fatherhood outside of what I've seen in movies and read in books. That doesn't mean I don't want it. No, I want the whole shebang—the kids, the wife, the home, everything. I want the ideal. I want to grin that big about finger painting.
"I've been talking to Carter," I blurt out.
His smile immediately disappears. He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table. He was there for me when I started going toward the point of no return with Carter—a place where I couldn't talk to Declan about anything. He was too high out of his mind to give a shit. I could've told him anything and he would've just stared at me or laughed his ass off, even if it was about me being in love with his kid sister.
"All right, define 'talking.' Did you forget to put an s at the beginning?"
I grit my teeth. "I'm not stalking her."
"You go see her every day. Last week, Marie said she passed you on your way to 'talk' to her."
Maybe it's not so good having a friend with a wife. "Yeah, well, I've gotta buy food to eat."
"From a gas station. Right."
"Fine, I've been writing her notes because it was somethin' we used to do. Well, it got her to talk to me. Granted, it wasn't the best conversation of my life, but it's more than I've gotten out of her so far."
"You're obsessed, man."
"It's Carter," I tell him. "It's hard not to be."
"She hates you."
"Trust me, I know that. I think everybody in the goddamn world knows it, too."
He stares at me, long and stern. "If you get a restrainin' order put against you, it better not affect the business."
"You're an asshole," I mutter, trying to hold back a laugh.
"And you're a good punching bag. Listen, we've talked about her before, so I'm gonna give you the same advice I always do—you got to clean up your act or else we're just gonna keep havin' this conversation."
This time, I do start laughing. What he said isn't even the least bit funny, but if I don't laugh, I'll punch something or buy a drink that isn't soda. I've been doing the same dance with Carter for years, and I've never learned anything. I try to do good by her, but I'm too weak to do the best thing for her, which is to walk away.
Maybe it's time to start trying to deserve her, since I obviously can't be the bigger man and leave for good.
#
Gabe and Kara's cars aren't in the driveway, so I figure I'm okay to sneak into their backyard to deliver my next note. Lord knows the last thing I want is Gabe fucking Matthews to catch me sneaking up to Carter's room. Gabe's damn good to Carter, but you don't wanna be on his bad side. The last time I hurt her pretty bad, he showed up at my trailer and read me the right act. Words, in my opinion, are more terrifying than fists. I'm used to fists.
I'm lucky Kara installed a trellis at the back of the house, which acts sort of like a ladder that leads up to Carter's room. I would've had to get creative if it wasn't there—probably would have had to figure out how to stealthily move and hide a real ladder. The only downside is the flowers growing up the trellis cut my hands up, which hurts like hell. Afterward, it's worth it, but that doesn't mean I'm not cursing my whole way up.
I stuff the note in my back pocket, carefully put the stems of the flowers in my other pocket, and then start climbing.
My hands are already raw from doing this twice and then using them to work, so I just clench my teeth when the stinging starts. It's not just the flowers, either; it's the splintered wood.
When I make it up to the top, there's somebody waiting for me. I immediately jolt back, feeling the trellis move with me. "Shit."
Carter is sitting right there, window open. She lunges forward and takes hold of my shirt, pulling me back to the wall instead of letting me fall backward. Well, that's definitely progress.
"Are you okay?" she asks, looking me over. Her gaze lands on my hands, still gripping the trellis, which has splatters of blood from cut skin.
"Better than ever, now," I answer. What is pain, really? Mind over matter and all that shit.
Her eyebrows pull together. "You could hurt yourself doing this."
"I've done worse."
She snorts, and it's cynical. Clearly, she agrees.
"Well, pretend you didn't see me leave my stuff here."
Using one hand, I wrestle the note and the flowers out and then carefully set them together on the windowsill. Carter doesn't hesitate to pick them both up and read the note. I wish I weren’t here for this. I don't want to see her face when she reads what I sat for the longest time agonizing over. When I finally wrote them, I understood how my dad finds the words in the Bible so holy.
Dear Junebug,
I wish I would've done things differently. I should've tried harder to deserve you and your love.
Boone
She stares at the note for too long. She's not reading it anymore; her eyes aren't moving. They're fixed. She's told me off a hundred times and told me to get away from her, but she's never told me to go away forever. I've always worried the time would come when she'd do that. It always seemed like it was right there, hanging between us, lying in wait.
I shift to head back down because I'm afraid this is going to be the time she tells me to hit the road. Maybe I've finally gone too far. God, I hope not.
"Wait," she says, looking up at me with wide, surprised eyes. "Come in."
"Really?"
"Do it before I change my mind."
That sounds more like she's pardoning me from my execution. Like she's about to say, "You'll keep your head, but if the direction of the wind changes, I might change my mind." Still, I can't see anyone ever disagreeing with their pardon. If you've got the chance not to be executed, then you're gonna take up the offer and go for it. That's my reasoning, at least.
Hell, who am I kidding? I don't need any reasoning. I'm in no position to reason.
I climb up the rest of the way, but I already know it's going to be a struggle to fit in through the window. All those years ago, I was wrong to leave flowers on the windowsill. I should have used the damn doorstep. That's easy. You can fit a guy my height in through most doors, no problem.
Carter doesn't help me, and I don't blame her. I'm lucky she doesn't have her phone out videotaping this. She has her arms crossed, and she looks bored. But then again, sometimes her bored face is also her irritated face.
I use the inside of the wall to push myself up and inside, nearly cracking my head open in the process. I tumble to the hardwood floor with a large, obnoxious bang. It's a damn lucky thing Kara and Gabe are gone. My arms flail, and I grab onto the curtain, trying to right myself, which isn’t a good idea, because I hear something pop. Luckily, it's in my shoulder—I didn't break Carter's room.
I somehow manage to sprawl out on my back, staring up at her ceiling. "A cat I am not," I say with a winded laugh.
Carter snorts again. "I don't think I could handle nine lives of you."
"Too hot to handle," I grin. If I could see her, I'm sure she'd be rolling her eyes. "Listen, I'm not like, questioning you or anything, because I'm pretty damn happy right now, bruises aside, but why'd you let me in?"
"Because I forgot once you invite vampires in, they can come in anytime they like."
She delivers the line so blandly that I can't hold in a laugh. "I'm no vampire, Carter. A lot of things—but no vampire. I'd never come in without your permission."
"I know," she says. "I think."
"So, real reason now?"
Her straight face falters, and she looks away from me, in the direction of a bookshelf, which has pictures on it. I'm surprised to see there's a lot with me in them. Even if I was a sucky guy toward the end of our friendship, I wasn't so bad before that; I guess if she's going to hold onto memories, it's better to keep these with her.
My favorite one is sitting front and center. She's probably about twelve in it, and I've got her hanging over my shoulder, and instead of freaking out, she actually posed for Declan to take the picture. It was with a cell phone I decided I needed to buy, even though I couldn't afford to actually use it. Most of the pictures of us are from later ages, when Kara came into the picture because she actually had the money and the heart to print them. There's another one on a lower shelf of me, Carter, and Declan, taken during one of the rare times he spent time with us after he started hitting the heroin hard. He clearly looks drugged out of his mind; he's gaunt, and he doesn't have the huge grin as Carter and I are sporting. We were too happy he was there to notice how shitty he looked, acted, and felt. We're all laying on a trampoline Kara bought and Kara's the one taking the picture. Even though she's got some years on us, she would always hang out with us. Sometimes I thought it was because she felt the need to supervise Carter when she was with us, but other times I think she just wanted to spend as much time with Carter as she could.
"Kara and Gabe are the only people who have shown up and stayed," Carter says softly.
I open my mouth to tell her I wish I could have; only those words won't change our history.
"I wish that would be enough to make me believe in people, but it’s not. Not when no one else has been able to do it—my mom, my dad, Declan … you. I've never been able to tell anyone to go away permanently. My dad came over yesterday, and I wanted to do it so badly." She swallows and looks up at me. "These notes? Is that you trying to be here, or is it you just leading me on again?"
My throat feels dry. "I want to be here."
"Then I'll give you a chance to prove to me you'll stay this time. But if you hurt me again or leave, I'm done with you. Forever." She holds up the note, her hands shaking. I want to reach out and hold them still—hold her—but I know doing so would ruin my chances of ever even being able to look at her again. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm not good enough."
Fire lights up inside of me. "You are good enough, Carter. For everything. Too good …"
"Am I?" she asks, her eyebrows drawing tight. "I don't feel like it." She starts shaking her head, and I can sense she's about to change the subject. I don't exactly deserve this conversation or the reason why we're having it. I have a feeling it has something to do with her dad's visit yesterday. "Tomorrow, I'll have Gabe drive me into work. You can walk me home."
She's testing me. She's purposefully not asking me if I have the time to do it or if I can make it. This is my first obstacle—move around my schedule and show up for her. I'll put my whole life on hold for her if I need to.