CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Scott knew early on that it would probably be a bad idea to go back to the Novacks’ house at all that night.
He’d dawdled on the golf course to watch the comet for another minute or two, but as he made his way back, he’d heard shouting near the club house and had spotted what looked like the small, shadowy figures of Carver and his parents acting out some wacky Benny Hill routine which ended with Carver sprinting toward the parking lot.
Whatever this was, it didn’t seem to bode well, but he did his best to remain optimistic.
Carver was a grown man. He could fight his own battles.
It would be untoward of Scott to worry too much, especially after he said all of that quite frankly wacky shit.
He was not being cool at all. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d acted this uncool.
Once inside, he took his seat at the table where Letty had parked all of her high school friends and tried to have a normal time catching up with them.
He ended up introducing them to Johnny, who hit it off with the group as well as Scott expected and took a lot of the conversational burden off of him, which ruled.
This went as planned for about half an hour until Conway interrupted and asked to speak with him in private.
He said sure and followed her out onto the balcony with mounting dread.
“Before I ask you anything, I need you to know, I don’t want gory details,” Conway said once they were outside, raising one manicured hand to punctuate this with an emphatic gesture. “I’m just trying to get tonight’s narrative straight.”
“Uh, okay,” Scott said.
“I asked Lillian where Carver went, and she told me that she confronted you guys about hooking up last night?” Conway raised her eyebrows hugely.
Through the glass he could see Lillian on the dance floor, tearing it up cocaineishly to a Pitbull song with a pair of married tattoo artists who were friends with the brides. “Yeah. Correct.”
“Okay, fantastic.” She clearly did not find this fantastic.
“And then Chip texted me that he got Carver home and everything was okay, he was fine.” Conway paused.
“I had no reason to not think Carver was fine? So Chip just got back here, and I asked him what happened, and he said Carver had a blow-up with our parents and then bolted, but he was being really evasive and he said he doesn’t know what exactly the blow-up was about.
And Lillian said she doesn’t know shit about dick. So what happened?”
Blow-up with his parents. So Scott was probably fucked. Maybe as soon as they all left the balcony, Lillian had marched over to Doug and Nora and told them everything.
“I honestly don’t know either,” Scott said, trying to look unconcerned. “Not about that part, sorry. I mean, I did see him, like, trying to run away from your parents.”
“When? Where?”
“When I was coming off the golf course. They were up by the club house.”
“Why the golf course?”
“Carver ran out there and I went and got him. After the Lillian stuff.”
“Okay. Are they splitting up?”
Scott hesitated. “I…”
“Hope so?” she supplied.
“No, no. I don’t know. No clue.”
Conway shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Scott, this is so unhelpful.”
“I know, sorry.” He hated being unhelpful, but sometimes one had no choice.
Conway checked her phone, then let out a groan of frustration.
“Hey, we’re cool, right?” Scott said, hoping the answer was yes. He had a soft spot for Conway, who he remembered as a sweet and shy kid with impressive talents for air hockey and portraiture.
“We’re fine, I’m just pissed at my family. I literally never know what’s going on.”
“Right.”
“And it’s always something!”
“So Carver’s just back home with them? Just the three of them?”
Conway nodded.
“Okay,” Scott said. “And Chip had straight-up zero idea what they fought about?”
“Yeah, that’s why I just asked you,” she said, squinting at him.
“Right, right.” He was jittery and stupid. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Scott went back to his table and tried to not worry about what was going on down the road at Doug and Nora’s, but he couldn’t help it.
He knew he would only make things worse by showing up, but felt the need to anyway.
He wasn’t trying to rescue Carver, he just wanted to own his role in this conflict.
He was the person everyone should be angry at — he was the wasp in the cake.
Plus, he’d left one of his guitars in the pool house along with most of his luggage. And his broken-down van was still parked in the garage. All these objects felt like hostages he would soon have to negotiate the release of.
He turned in his chair to get away from a dumb conversation two of his high school friends were having about Taylor Swift and called Carver on the phone. It rang and rang and went to voicemail. He tried him a second time, then texted him, Hey hope everything is okay.
Carver did not text back, and Scott suffered through another half-hour with no information.
He was approached by the photographer’s second shooter, an attractive and heavily tattooed chick named Jia, who (to his relief) turned out to be normal but who unfortunately wanted to talk about his music in a way he couldn’t contend with right now.
He finally begged off by following her back on Instagram and telling her in the most platonic tone possible that she could DM him further questions, then decided it was time to leave this wedding.
He’d played a very solid set, congratulated the brides and said hi to everyone he knew — his conduct was unimpeachable, he deserved an honorable discharge.
He called an Uber and spent the whole ride distracted, responding to the driver’s non-stop conversation on autopilot with “Yeah, yeah,” and “So true, man.” This seemed to only frustrate the guy, who Scott eventually realized was trying to sell him a subscription to some kind of vitamin regimen.
The Novack home was dark and quiet when Scott arrived, but one light was on in the living room.
He knocked first instead of ringing the doorbell; after a moment the living room curtain swished like someone had peeked at him.
In another moment the front door was being yanked open to reveal Nora.
She didn’t look pleased to see him, and folded her arms across her chest.
“Hi,” Scott said gamely. This wasn’t the first unhappy mom he’d ever dealt with.
“Hi,” Nora said. “I’m guessing you came for your things? They’re here in the hallway.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call a tow truck for your van in a moment.”
“Okay. Listen —”
“What were you thinking? In our house?”
“Mrs. Novack, I’m truly sorry for that. You were generous enough to bring me into your home like family and I disrespected you as a host. I get it.”
“You must think I’m stupid,” Nora said. Scott had never heard her talk like this, and he was surprised to realize that she looked as if she’d been crying. “You must think this is funny.”
“This isn’t funny at all,” Scott said, with total sincerity.
“In my pool house.”
“I’m truly so sorry.”
“I love that pool house. You defiled my pool house. You defiled my child in my pool house.”
“Ma’am —”
“There’s an obscene stain on the couch. I have to get it reupholstered.”
Fuck! What? He cleaned the couch! He scrubbed it with some soap on a washcloth and everything! “We just got carried away,” Scott said desperately.
“I don’t want to hear that about my son!” Nora exclaimed.
“Okay. Listen. Thanks for gathering my stuff up. Tow truck is fine, thank you, I’ll pay for it —”
“No, I’ll pay for it, you’re an indigent troubadour.”
“That’s really not necessary.” Scott took a deep breath, suddenly exhausted. “I — can I just talk to him for five seconds?”
“Are you insane?”
“I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s fine!”
Scott looked over her left shoulder and noticed something strange on the wall behind her. He craned his neck. The wall had five — no, six — holes punched in it.
An old-timey clanging alarm bell went off in his head. “What happened?”
“Huh?” Nora said, rubbing one of her eyes. She turned and looked at what he was pointing at. “Oh.”
“What happened tonight?” Scott pressed her. “You’re obviously upset, obviously something is up, I don’t think it’s just about me.”
“That’s absolutely none of your business.”
“Who punched your wall?”
“Who do you think?” Nora said, in complete exasperation.
“Okay, well, I’d love to see him for two seconds. He wasn’t picking up my calls earlier.”
“He’s sleeping,” Nora said. “Or he doesn’t care about you, I don’t know which. Either way I’d like you to get off my front step.”
“Just a quick proof of life,” Scott said.
This was the wrong turn of phrase. Nora stared at him like he’d taken a dump in front of her.
“Yes, Scott,” she said, dripping with sarcasm. “I killed my son for having sex with a man. What country do you think you’re in?”
“I didn’t mean it seriously, Mrs. Novack, I was being whimsical, okay?”
“You know what?” Nora said in a silky voice, getting up in his face and pointing a finger in his chest. Fury and crying had given her green eyes a candy-like sheen.
“Go on back to that wedding and tell my sister you need a place to sleep tonight. Tell her I’m having your piece of crap van towed to her driveway.
And if you see Chip there, tell him I want to talk to him ASAP. ”
She took a step back and slammed the door in his face. Scott, who still needed his stuff, stood there in confusion for a moment before knocking again.
The door flew back open, and Nora shoved his duffel bag into his chest, then bent to grab his guitar and slammed it into the duffel bag.
Scott frantically shifted his weight so he could secure both of these unwieldy items in his arms. “Thanks,” he said, finally on the verge of losing his patience with her. “Appreciate it.”
Nora slammed the door again. Scott began to lost his grip on the guitar, his biceps burning, and slid into a sitting position on the steps so he wouldn’t drop it.